Archives for posts with tag: writing

It is a hard time to be a skeptic about Artificial Intelligence (A.I.) or to give it its more proper title in its current iteration: Machine Learning. What do I mean by hard time? Well, there are plenty who accuse those who do not wholly embrace A.I. tools as being modern Luddites, people against any kind of progress (that is a slanderous gross misinterpretation of the position the Luddites held, but I digress…). Just look at the stock market and all the money pouring into A.I. research say the true believers. For those who have never heard of a bubble; I have a bridge to sell you.

Then we could ask, what do I mean by skeptic? This is a surprisingly nuanced question when it comes to Machine Learning. I believe Machine Learning can do some interesting and useful things in our world. However, I do not believe that we are in any way asking the right questions or placing the right guardrails to protect those without whom these machine learning tools would not exist. I’m talking about those whose work is used to train A.I., are given no credit, and stand to suffer the most from a race to the bottom to find a machine that can do a good enough job to replace a costly human and make someone else a billionaire. I’m not a skeptic about Machine Learning. I am skeptical about people and our seemingly limitless capacity to exploit any opportunity, disguise it as something else, and then abdicate any responsibility for the consequences.

Mathematician Marcus Du Sautoy in an entertaining book, The Creativity Code: Art and Innovation in the Age of AI, acts as a proponent of Machine Learning. At the same time the author is having a self-confessed existential crisis over whether he is being put out of a job as a mathematician by A.I.  Ultimately, the book fails due to the author’s lack of an ethical framework for this discussion. Written in 2019, that’s before the days of Chat GPT kiddies, Mr. Du Sautoy uses Eva Lovelace as a jumping off point for his existential exploration of all things Machine Learning.

Eva Lovelace, born in 1815, was an English writer and mathematician and is frequently called the first computer programmer. She was also a colleague of Charles Babbage, the inventor of the Difference Engine and proposer of its follow up the Analytical Engine. It is Lovelace who is credited with the intellectual leap of understanding that the Analytical Engine was not just a calculation machine. That once a machine understood numbers it could be applied to all sorts of subjects where numbers could take the place of other values. She is also famously known for a quote seeming to pour scorn on A.I.

 “The Analytical Engine has no pretensions whatever to originate anything. It can do whatever we know how to order it to perform. It can follow analysis; but it has no power of anticipating any analytical relations or truths.”

Mr. Du Sautoy ultimately believes that Ada Lovelace was mistaken, but I feel this is more down to interpretation rather than to clinical facts. What the author does rightly acknowledge is that data is the fuel of A.I. That access to data will probably be the oil of the 21st century. Where he fails is in not grappling with the consequences of data as fuel and its ethical ramifications. “Don’t worry about all those people in the Middle East, they don’t matter considering all that oil that’s right under their feet,” the writer seems to be saying.

In the Creativity Code, there is some interesting exploration of how the use of algorithms is teaching us about how humans think about subjects and how we go about creativity. To unlock the human algorithm. It is particularly insightful to recognize that the creative leap is not to create new things, but to recognize when one of those new things may have value to others.

While Mr. Du Sautoy worries about his own profession, he is all to ready to write off whole armies of other creative people because he does not consider the work they do to have value. Whether that is to write business articles or reports, or to write background royalty free music. He fails to realize that it is this “bread and butter” creative work that allows writers and composers to work on projects more dear to their hearts. The author seems to believe that this “drudge work” is holding them back from doing more interesting things. No, it’s the money these creatives charge that has an impact on the bottom line and Machine Learning is cheaper. These creative people will not have more time for more interesting work. They will be unemployed. That the previous work of the creatives is used by machine learning as part of its training data, its fuel, is of course just salt in the wound.

Indeed, Mr. Du Sautoy blithely admits that he asked a Machine Learning tool to write a section of the book for him. In a fit of worry about plagiarism, he hunts down an almost identical article on the internet – but then keeps it in the book saying; “if I get sued for plagiarism, we can then agree that this is a bad idea.”

This book probably suffers from being a book of its time, before there was seemingly endless hype and not enough skepticism surrounding Machine learning. And it is such a shame as the book is genuinely entertaining. The section on the game Go in particular raises some interesting questions. However, the lack of ethical awareness is unforgivable and tarnishes this otherwise interesting and entertaining volume.

I left my veterinary practice, and the associated other ventures, after 13 years as Hospital Administrator, three weeks ago as of this writing.

I have left jobs before, I’ve even left vet practices before, but nothing came close to this. Thirteen years is a long time.

When you manage people for a living you hope that you make a difference in people’s jobs and by extension their lives. At the same time, you have your doubts…

“Did I really make any difference at all?”

Sure, there are people who say you’ve made a difference. People who you grow to care for – maybe even think of as friends. At the same time, one can never be unaware of the inequality of those relationships. Managers, by definition, are not on an equal footing with the people they manage.

“Are they saying that nice thing because they mean it or because I’m their manager and they know it’s what I want to hear?”

Leaving changes all that.

Who signs your card and who does not. Who finds the time for a quiet conversation – a mentorship confessional. Those who reach out over social media, knowing your aversion to mixing your personal life and work, is now no longer such an issue. The moving of people from the thought bucket of colleague to the one marked friendship. These are the subtle reminders that you matter. That despite all the challenges, you did good work.

The jaded manager in me, the one who regularly has to be beaten down less he rears his head with his negativity, would always whisper the word “fraud.” That making a difference had failed. That you were not the manager you aspired to be, that indeed you were not the manager you thought you were, that you were the manager you feared being. Many sarcastic thanks to the makers of The Office (either one) for adding to the management second guessing in case we inadvertently and momentarily became David Brent / Michael Scott. Although truthfully there are far worse managers out there, both on Television or Film and in the real world, than David Brent or Michael Scott.

But in leaving one can leave those thoughts behind. These are not the rose-tinted memories of times gone by – although I’m sure those are to come. These are the genuine thing. Reactions from people who care. Who recognize the role you have played. Whether it was a timely job offer, a suggestion of a new role or promotion, advice about how to deal with a colleague, or for faith and belief in another when everyone else has none. This is what work is supposed to be. The collaboration between people in pursuit of a shared goal.

Leaving makes you realize your value. That your value is that things will carry on. That you are not indispensable because you have dedicated your management career to ensuring that others thrive and have the skills they need to grow.

Leaving makes you realize your value.

That’s not sad, that’s legacy.

This blog has now been running in its present form for 10 years. Its previous iteration ran for a couple of years and then there was a six-year gap. All of the old content, such as it was, is archived somewhere, but for now the past ten years is it.

What does ten years of writing a blog post every few weeks get you? Well, it is certainly not fame and riches. I’ve definitely grown as a writer. Grown to become a better writer – whether I’m a good writer is up for debate. My own self-copy-editing skills have most definitely improved.

Having a body of work, even one as unfocused as mine, I have found useful over the past 10 years. After finding myself answering the same questions online a lot, I wrote a number of posts to definitively answer those questions from my point of view. That’s has been a useful practice for me. It has also been a great way to harvest content ideas when I am in the mood to write, but don’t have a topic.

Blogging has also taught me a number of things:

1: Practice makes better, never perfect.

I certainly always feel I am growing as a writer. My punctuation gets better, for example, a bit like my vocabulary. I’m overly fond of complicated sentences; but I’m getting better at spotting them. For example, the last one very nearly turned into a monster in a fit of irony.

2: Consistency is great, but its either a job or a hobby.

There is nothing worse than the feeling of having to write creatively, but not being in the mood to do so. I found that out the hard way when I was a writer full time. To paraphrase the great Scott Stratten; Write when you have something to say. That’s a lesson I have really taken to heart and if you follow my blog, dear long-suffering reader, that is why I am so inconsistent.

3: Don’t be afraid to revisit topics.

Retreading over the same territory is boring if you have nothing new to say. However, I have found that I often have a lot more to say, and I sometimes contradict what I have said in the past about topics – particularly reviews and specifically Yelp.

4: What you think will be great is often ignored.

I think all writers think this way. You have your pet pieces. Perhaps the ones that stretch you with their subject matter or your approach. They may work out pretty well from your perspective, but not always for the reader. I also have a weakness for gimmicks, which readers, well my readers anyway, do not.  

5: The great discoveries will surprise you.

For me its poetry. In the last 15 months or so I’ve found that while I enjoy writing, and get a lot of personal satisfaction from it, I love writing poetry. Whether I am any good at it is not for me to say. But while I find that Mikefalconer.net is a way for me to process my thoughts and ideas about work and books, I find that wordoutlet.net is a way for me to process emotions. I’ve never been a particularly emotional person, but they are still there. I also find the process on concentrating on a few lines, or even just a few words, unlike an article like this which is 548 words and counting, is much more satisfying to the creative side of me. This side of me loves the language of writing, but can get bored by facts, figures, and descriptions. 

The bottom line (see, still not above using clichés!) for me is that writing a blog has been a voyage of self-discovery and improvement. It has become part of who I am. I’ve been writing on mikefalconer.net longer than I have ever held a job for. The site has become an extension of my personality; for good and bad. I’m proud of having the body of work. I think it says a lot about who I am by how diverse the topics I deal with on here have been.

I have no intention of stopping, and I don’t know if I could if I tried.