Quote: Robert Bresson

Make visible what, without you, might perhaps never have been seen.

–Robert Bresson

When I was younger, I thought originality was the most important thing you could aim for as a writer. Make things that nobody else could make. And that I was always falling short of this goal.

I spent years reading, writing, studying, and while I still believed it was important for a writer to have their own voice, it was clear that stories share elements with each other (even unintentionally).

Looking at this quote, I think about how perspective isn’t just manufactured. It’s not an affectation you put on (ex: That Barton Fink Feeling). Who you are, where you are, where you came from, and where you’re going—they all play into it.

By the very nature of existing as a singular person, that gives you a point of view different from other people.

And it would be a shame to not know that, and still believe there’s nothing about you that’s unique or original.


Side note: As an example, I started thinking about the connections between Winter Light, Diary of a Country Priest, and First Reformed. So I stumbled on to this great video about those films and several other existential stories:

I don’t want this AI

Nobody listened to Dr. Ian Malcolm and this is where we are now.

I don’t want an AI to create uncanny valley renderings for fan casts of film remakes.

I would love an AI I can train to prune my phone’s photo library so that I can quickly find the best shots to share after a day out with my kids.

I don’t want an AI to generate SEO optimized content so I don’t have to write something.

I would love an AI that helped me sort my RSS feeds for the most important things for me to read, so I could more quickly collect ideas for response posts or newsletter links.

I don’t want a plagiarizing Ouroboros that tries to mimic human creativity, but ends up generating mediocre recycled snake shit.

I would like an AI that could analyze my ideas and show me comps, or suggest that there’s more work I need to do to craft something unique.

I do not need a flirty AI digital assistant programmed by people who continue to miss the point of the science fiction classic “Don’t Create the Torment Nexus.”

I would love it if the people working on applications of AI would appreciate human imagination, craft, and connections instead of thinking there’s a need for a “better” simulation of those things.

10. His Girl Friday

Still from His Girl Friday. Cary Grant reads over Rosalind Russell’s shoulder as she reviews a page from her typewriter.

It’s a 1940s movie where a man works to convince a woman not to leave her career and become a suburban housewife. That stands out on its own.

There’s also the element of adapting an existing play, but changing the gender of one of the main characters to create a new sense of tension and different relationships. Layer on top of that the way the story also plays with the popular Screwball Comedy setup of divorce and re-marriage.

It makes for a great lesson in adaptation, and how a work can stand on its own from the source material.

Building wealth vs. The Attention Lottery

I’ve been thinking about social media, sharing content, etc. for work and for myself. Right now when there are a lot of potential Twitter replacements/new players entering the game, it’s easy to want to just jump on board with any or all of them.

There’s also the POSSE concept: Publish (on your) Own Site, Syndicate Elsewhere. I’m generally a fan of this idea.

If the goal is to share things with the hopes of capturing other people’s attention with them, building your own space online is like maintaining an investment portfolio, while putting something up on social media is like buying a lottery ticket.

Sure, every once in a while someone gets the big prize, but it’s about luck as much as anything, (and it doesn’t always end well for winners).

The problem I have (and maybe some other people have this, too) boils down to the dopamine, and the flaws in the brain’s ability to play the long game.

When we think about what hasn’t yet happened, it tends to be abstract. Things right now, on the other hand, we think of in more tangible terms. Several behavioral studies have supported the idea that what we cannot clearly imagine, we value less. We tend to have more intense emotional feelings about things we can imagine vividly. Being depressed doesn’t look like anything in particular, but a vision of a diabetic patient on dialysis can be disturbing. In fact, having depression is generally much worse than having diabetes. Yet people tend to say they’d prefer to get depression. Since future things are similarly thought of more abstractly, we feel less emotional about them and underestimate their value.

Lee and his colleagues confirmed this by looking at people’s brain activity with an fMRI when they’re making decisions about the future. They used a brain decoder to detect a “neural signature of the vividness of prospective thought” and showed that “neural measures of vividness decline as rewards are delayed farther into the future.” Lee had people imagine things that varied in how concrete or abstract they were, and how pleasant and unpleasant they were. “We show that when they see options that are farther in the future, their neural vividness scores decrease,” he said.

On the face of it, this imagination bias, in which future rewards appear less vivid, works against us, because delaying gratification is so useful. A recent analysis suggests that one’s general ability to delay gratification, or to value future outcomes over more immediate ones, predicts greater success in life in a number of areas.

Why Your Brain Isn’t Into the Future, Jim Davies

It’s easy to imagine what a successful social media post looks like. It has a scorecard attached to it.

What does a successful blog look like? What does it look like to have spent years building an audience, a reputation, and consistently showing up to craft more work?

It’s harder to picture. But what can be that kind of middle ground is learning to enjoy the process. Seeing the opportunity to do the work, and the execution of that task, as the rewarding part.