: Should You Write Your Own AI Instructions?

In the rapidly evolving world of AI-driven automation, a new question has emerged for builders and entrepreneurs: Is it better to craft your prompts manually, or should you let an AI do the heavy lifting?

The Human Advantage: Vision and Context

When you write a prompt yourself, you bring intent. You understand the “why” behind the task. You know your brand’s voice, your audience’s secret frustrations, and the ultimate goal of your project. Human-written prompts excel in creative direction and high-level strategy.

The AI Advantage: Precision and Structure

However, when building autonomous agents, precision is king. AI prompt engineers are statistically better at:

 * Defining Constraints: Ensuring the output is in a specific format (like JSON) that other code can read.

 * Edge Case Prevention: Explicitly telling the agent what not to do.

 * Logical Density: Packing more instructional “weight” into fewer tokens.

The Verdict: The Hybrid Approach

For simple tasks, write it yourself. But for automated pipelines, the most efficacious route is Meta-Prompting. Use your human intuition to define the goal, and use an AI to translate that goal into a “System Prompt” that another AI can execute without ambiguity

This is the first chapter in a new book. I’m writing with A.I. about how AI can be used to support the work of electricians.

Chapter 1: The New Era of the Trade

The “Leveling the Field” Manifesto

On a Tuesday afternoon in a dusty office in Ohio, an electrical contractor named Jim is staring at a 150-page set of blueprints for a new outpatient clinic. He has a yellow highlighter, a scale ruler, and a pot of cold coffee. He knows this bid will take him six hours to complete. If he misses just 15% of the duplex receptacles or underestimates the conduit runs for the data closet, he won’t just lose the bid—he’ll lose his shirt.

Meanwhile, three blocks away, a 24-year-old with a tablet and an AI subscription just “read” the same 150 pages in exactly 14 seconds.

This is the Great Leveling. For decades, the “big guys” won because they had the capital to hire a fleet of junior estimators. They could flood the market with bids, knowing the volume would eventually catch a win. The small, independent electrician was trapped in the “Time-for-Money” cage: you could either be on the tools making money, or at the desk bidding for more. You couldn’t do both.

The Computer Vision Revolution

Computer Vision isn’t “magic.” It is simply the ability for a machine to recognize patterns. In the context of your trade, it means the AI doesn’t just see “lines and circles” on a PDF; it sees:

* 122 NEMA 5-15R Receptacles.

* 14 Single-Pole Switches.

* 2,400 feet of 3/4″ EMT.

But here is the secret: The software is now cheaper than your monthly gas bill. #### Why This Is Your Secret Weapon

In 2025, the construction industry is facing a “Triple Threat”: a massive labor shortage, skyrocketing material volatility, and an explosion in project complexity.

The contractors who try to solve these problems with 2010 tools will be priced out of the market by 2027. But you? You are reading this because you realize that the “playing field” hasn’t just been leveled—it has been tilted in favor of the Technological Craftsman.

By the end of this book, you won’t just be an electrician. You will be a high-efficiency operator who can produce a $2M bid during a lunch break, leaving you the rest of the day to either grow your empire or go home to your family.

In 2025, a bid that is two days old is already obsolete. Copper prices can swing 5% in a single afternoon, and if your bid doesn’t reflect that, you are either losing the job or losing your profit. Chapter 6 is about building a “Live Bid” that breathes with the market.

If you’d like to see the rest of this book and want to support the self publishing, please Buy me a coffee. Thank you.

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Here is another chapter from my book “Afterword“. It’s a series of chapters generated by AI. Each chapter features one dead author writing about my favorite subject journaling.

The Architecture of Atmosphere: Building Mood Through Method”

—–

*From the shadows between sleep and waking, where reason falters and imagination holds dominion, I address you now—not as specter, but as craftsman. Death has granted me a peculiar clarity about the mechanics of my art, and I find myself compelled to share what I learned in those fever-bright hours at my writing desk, when the only sounds were the scratch of my pen and the beating of my tell-tale heart.*

—–

**On the Necessity of Method in Madness**

They called me mad, you know. Perhaps I was. But madness, dear writer, is no excuse for sloppiness. The greatest error perpetrated by those who would write tales of terror is the belief that atmosphere arrives unbidden, like some fortunate visitation from the muse. Nonsense. Atmosphere is *constructed*, brick by deliberate brick, word by calculated word.

I kept journals—oh yes, extensive journals—though not of the sort you might imagine. I did not record the mundane transactions of daily life, the weather, or my opinions on contemporary politics. Such matters held no interest for me. Instead, I maintained what I called my “Books of Melancholy,” collections of images, sounds, sensations, and architectural details that produced in me that exquisite state of gloom I sought to reproduce in my readers.

Here is what I recorded:

*The particular quality of light filtering through cobwebs in an abandoned vestibule*

*The sound of water dripping in an unknown location—was it above? below? within the walls themselves?*

*The smell of old books mingling with damp stone*

*The feeling of fabric—velvet specifically—worn smooth in places, threadbare, suggesting both former luxury and present decay*

*The precise angle at which shadows fall across a staircase at twilight*

You see? I was not waiting for inspiration. I was *collecting* it. Atmosphere does not spring from nothing; it springs from careful observation, catalogued and ready for deployment.

**The Unity of Effect**

Every word must serve the intended effect. EVERY. WORD.

When I sat down to write “The Fall of the House of Usher,” I knew before setting pen to paper exactly what emotion I wished to evoke in my reader: oppressive dread mingled with morbid fascination. Everything—the decaying mansion, the sickly Roderick, the entombed Madeline, the dark tarn, the storm—all of it calculated to produce that singular effect.

This is where journaling becomes essential to the writer’s craft. In my journals, I would write the feeling first:

*“Today I wish to evoke: a sense of inexorable doom, as if the walls themselves are closing in, as if time has become thick and syrupy, as if every breath draws in not air but the essence of decay.”*

Only then would I begin collecting the details that might produce such a feeling. The journal became my laboratory, my alchemical workshop where I tested combinations of words and images until I found the precise formula for the emotion I sought.

**The Architecture of a Tale**

Let me share with you my actual process, the method behind what appeared to be madness:

*First: Determine the ending*. Always the ending first. I knew Usher’s house would fall. I knew the black cat would reveal the murdered wife. I knew the beating heart would drive the narrator to confession. The ending contains the entire story in seed form.

*Second: Work backward*. What must happen immediately before the ending? And before that? This is architecture, you see—you must build from the foundation up, but you must know the shape of the roof before you lay the first stone.

*Third: Journal each scene before writing it*. In my notebooks, I would write:

“Scene: The narrator approaches the House of Usher

– Necessary effect: Increasing unease

– Weather: Oppressive, soundless autumn day

– Details needed: Something wrong with the house itself, but subtly wrong

– The tarn: Dead, dark, reflecting the house—doubling the gloom

– His state of mind: Already susceptible, already half-sick with apprehension

– Key images: Bleak walls, vacant eye-like windows, white trunks of decayed trees

– Sound: Silence (the absence of sound is often more terrible than sound itself)

– Length: Long enough to establish mood, short enough to maintain forward momentum”

This is not inspiration, you understand. This is *construction*. I was building a machine designed to produce a specific emotional state in the reader.

**On the Cultivation of Personal Darkness**

You cannot write authentically of terror, melancholy, or the grotesque unless you have felt these things yourself. But—and here is the crucial point—you must feel them *deliberately*. You must cultivate them as a gardener cultivates roses.

I recommend this practice: Set aside one hour each day—preferably in the evening, when shadows lengthen and the world grows quiet—for what I call “melancholy meditation.” During this hour:

Light a single candle. No more. Darkness must predominate.

Sit in a room you associate with solitude.

Allow your mind to dwell on subjects that produce in you a pleasant sadness: mortality, lost love, the passage of time, the decay of beautiful things, the silence of abandoned places.

*Write down everything you feel*. Not in polished sentences—in fragments, in bursts, in whatever words come. This is not writing for publication. This is writing for *accumulation*.

My journals were filled with such entries:

*“The silence after midnight—different from ordinary silence—as if the world has taken a breath and forgotten to exhale—listening silence—anticipatory—dreadful—”*

*“Remembered E.’s face in candlelight—already she had the look of one who would not live long—consumption gives a terrible beauty—translucent—otherworldly—I felt simultaneously protective and voyeuristic, as if already composing her death scene—”*

*“Thought today about premature burial—not the fact of it, but the moment of waking—the realization—the absolute horror of understanding—palms pressed against silk-lined wood—darkness so complete it has texture—”*

These fragments became my raw materials. When I needed to convey horror, I had these genuine moments of horror catalogued and ready. The writing became not invention but *translation*—translating authentic feeling into narrative form.

**The Rhythm of Dread**

Pay attention to the *sound* of your sentences. Horror must be read aloud to be properly calibrated. Every sentence I wrote, I spoke aloud—again and again—adjusting the rhythm until it matched the heartbeat of fear.

Short sentences create panic: “The door opened. She was there. The corpse. Standing.”

Long sentences create suspense: “I paused, listening with terrible intensity to the sounds emanating from the chamber above, sounds that might have been the settling of old wood, or the scurrying of rats within the walls, or—and this possibility seized me with a cold hand—the movements of something that should not, could not, be moving at all.”

In my journals, I would practice sentence rhythms:

*“Practice: Building dread

– Start with long, almost drowsy sentences (lulling the reader)

– Gradually shorten

– Increase pace

– Pile up details (creating overwhelm)

– Then: sudden stop. Short sentence. Impact.”*

The architecture of atmosphere extends to the architecture of prose itself.

**On Revision: The Perfection of Effect**

First drafts are raw material only. The real work happens in revision, and here is where journaling proves invaluable.

If you would like to see the full book self published, please support this work by buying me a coffee.

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### “Folklore as Foundation: Mining Community for Story”

—–

## In the Voice of Zora Neale Hurston

Listen, sugar, I’m going to tell you something about stories that most folks don’t understand: stories don’t belong to one person. They belong to everybody. They live in the air between people, in the conversations on porches, in the songs people sing while they’re working, in the tales grandmothers tell to keep children still on hot summer nights.

Your own story—the one you’re trying to write in your journal—doesn’t exist in isolation either. You’re made of all the stories that came before you. Your mama’s stories, your grandmama’s stories, your people’s stories going back generations. The way you talk, the way you think, the metaphors that come naturally to you—all of that comes from somewhere. From some community that shaped you, even if you didn’t know it was happening.

And if you want your journal to be real, to be true, to be alive—you need to tap into that. You need to remember that you’re not just an individual floating free in space. You’re part of something bigger. Part of a tradition. Part of a community. Part of a story that started long before you were born and will continue long after you’re gone.

Let me teach you how to mine that richness. How to bring your people’s voices into your journal. How to make your private writing part of the living tradition of story.

—–

## On Listening Before Speaking

Before I was a writer, I was a collector. I traveled through the South—through Florida and Louisiana and Alabama—listening to people tell stories. Old folks mostly, who remembered the old ways, the old songs, the old tales.

I didn’t go there to teach them anything. I went there to learn. To listen. To collect the words and phrases and stories that were dying out as the old people died and the young people moved to cities and forgot where they came from.

And here’s what I learned: the best stories weren’t in books. They were in living people’s mouths. In the way Aunt Sarah told about the time the preacher fell in the creek. In the way Big Sweet talked about her man who done her wrong. In the way the old conjure woman described how to make a goofer dust charm.

These stories had rhythm. Had music. Had life. Because they’d been told and retold, shaped by hundreds of tellings, worn smooth by use like a river stone.

Your journal needs that kind of listening in it. Not just you talking to yourself about yourself. But you listening to the voices around you. Your family’s voices. Your community’s voices. The way real people actually talk, with all their poetry and wisdom and humor.

Before you can write your own story truly, you need to listen to the stories that made you.

—–

## On The Voices You Come From

I grew up in Eatonville, Florida—all-Black town, nobody to tell us we couldn’t do anything, nobody to make us feel small. And the way people talked there! Lord have mercy, they could TALK.

They didn’t talk like white folks. Didn’t try to. They had their own way with words, their own rhythms, their own expressions that had come up from slavery times, from Africa before that, mixed with English and changed into something new and beautiful.

“She’s ugly enough to make a freight train take a dirt road.”

“He’s so low-down, he could sit on the curb and dangle his feet in the gutter.”

“She’s got a tongue that’s loose at both ends and tied in the middle with tangle soup.”

These weren’t quotes from books. These were things I actually heard people say. This was the living language of my community.

And when I wrote it down—when I wrote Their Eyes Were Watching God and Mules and Men and all my other work—I wrote it the way people actually talked. Not Standard English. Not the way white folks thought Black folks should talk. The way we ACTUALLY talked.

Your journal should have this same honesty about language. Don’t clean up how your people talk. Don’t translate it into proper English. Write it the way it actually sounds. Because that’s where the life is. That’s where the truth is.

Who are your people? How do they talk? What expressions do they use? What stories do they tell? What wisdom do they pass down?

That’s your foundation. That’s your roots. Bring it into your journal.

—–

## On The Porch as Theater

In Eatonville, the porch of Joe Clarke’s store was where the community gathered. That’s where the lies got told—and “lies” is what we called the tall tales, the exaggerations, the competitive storytelling that went on every evening.

One man would tell a story. Another man would tell a bigger story. A third would top them both. They’d go back and forth, each one trying to tell the tale that couldn’t be topped, and everybody would be laughing and adding their two cents and the stories would get bigger and wilder until nobody could tell anymore where truth ended and invention began.

And you know what? That was ART. That was literature. It just wasn’t written down in books, so the scholars didn’t count it.

But I counted it. I wrote it down. I collected it. Because I knew it was precious.

Your journal can be a place where you collect the stories of your community. Not just your own experiences, but the stories you hear. The tales your family tells at reunions. The jokes your coworkers tell at lunch. The gossip at the beauty parlor or the barbershop. The legends about the neighborhood characters.

These stories are yours. They’re part of your inheritance. Write them down before they’re lost.

—–

## On Dialect and Respect

Now, I’m going to address something that made a lot of people uncomfortable then and still makes people uncomfortable now: I wrote in dialect.

The characters in my books and stories don’t speak Standard English. They speak the way Black Southern folks actually spoke. And some people—including some Black intellectuals—thought this was disrespectful. Thought I was making Black people look ignorant or uneducated.

But here’s what they didn’t understand: dialect isn’t ignorance. It’s a different language system with its own grammar, its own rules, its own internal logic. And it’s BEAUTIFUL.

When I wrote “Ah been a delegate to de big ‘ssociation” instead of “I have been a delegate to the big association,” I wasn’t making fun of how people talked. I was honoring it. I was saying: this is legitimate language. This is how real people really talk. And it deserves to be in literature.

Your journal is where you can honor the language of your people, whatever language that is. Southern dialect, urban slang, immigrant English, regional expressions—whatever way your people actually talk.

Don’t be ashamed of it. Don’t clean it up. Don’t translate it into something more “proper.” Write it the way it sounds. Because that’s where the music is.

When my grandmother said “I God” instead of “I swear to God,” when she said “I reckon” and “might could” and “over yonder”—that wasn’t ignorance. That was the English language shaped by centuries of Southern life, African American culture, and human creativity.

It was poetry. And I wrote it down.

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Support this work by buying me a coffee. Thank you

---

“The Logic of Imagination: Constructing Mystery and Meaning”

---

In the Voice of Conan Doyle

My dear reader, if there is one lesson that my consulting detective has taught me over these many years, it is this: imagination and logic are not enemies, but the most excellent of companions. Indeed, they are married partners in the great enterprise of understanding—one provides the vision of what might be, the other tests that vision against what must be.

The creative mind, when properly trained, becomes both magnifying glass and lantern: one reveals the smallest detail with crystalline clarity, the other illuminates the path ahead through darkness and fog.

Many imagine that I spun my mysteries from pure ether, conjuring plots and solutions from some mystical creative force. But the truth is far more pedestrian—and far more useful to you, dear journal-keeper. My notebooks were filled with minor observations: the peculiar scuff on a boot, the distinctive aroma of a particular tobacco, the curious way a client held his hat while speaking. These trifles, insignificant in isolation, could combine—as chemical elements do in my friend Holmes’s laboratory—into something explosive, revelatory, transformative.

You, too, may cultivate this habit of systematic noticing. For the writer, every detail is a potential clue. Every ordinary moment may, under the right pressure of attention, become extraordinary. Your task in journaling is not merely to record life as a stenographer might, but to interrogate it as a detective would interrogate a witness.

Let me show you the method.

---

On the Detective’s Habit of Mind

When I created Sherlock Holmes, I based him partly on my old teacher, Dr. Joseph Bell of Edinburgh, who could diagnose a patient’s occupation, recent travels, and even habits simply by observing the mud on his boots, the calluses on his hands, the accent in his speech. Bell taught me that observation without deduction is sterile, while deduction without observation is mere fancy.

Your journal is where you practice both.

Consider this entry from my own notebooks, written during my medical practice years before Holmes made me famous:

“Patient today—sailor, recently returned from tropics. Noticed: peculiar tan line on wrist (recently removed watch—pawned?), slight tremor in right hand (fever? alcohol?), defensive posture when asked about voyage. Claimed all was well, yet eyes darted to door twice. Conclusion: something happened at sea he does not wish to discuss. Filed away for potential story use.”

You see what I did? I observed specifics. I formed hypotheses. I noted contradictions. And—this is crucial—I recognized a mystery worth exploring, even if I never learned the truth of that particular sailor’s tale.

Your journal can work similarly. You need not solve every mystery you encounter, but you must train yourself to recognize when a mystery exists. Most people walk through life blind to the puzzles surrounding them because they have not developed the detective’s habit of noticing what doesn’t fit.

---

On the Three Pillars: Observation, Hypothesis, Meaning

Every proper investigation—whether of a crime or of one’s own life—rests on three pillars:

First: Observation — gathering data without prejudice or premature interpretation.

Second: Hypothesis — daring to guess boldly at explanations.

Third: Meaning — arranging the clues into a coherent narrative.

This triad is as essential to journaling as it is to detection. Let me demonstrate with a personal example.

The Mystery of My Own Irritability

Several years ago, I noticed a pattern: every Thursday evening, I found myself irritable, short-tempered with my family, unable to settle to my writing. This puzzled me, as Thursdays had no obvious stress attached to them—no deadlines, no difficult appointments, nothing to distinguish them from other days.

So I investigated.

Observation Phase:
I began recording specific details in my journal every Thursday:

• Time irritability began
• What I’d eaten that day
• Whom I’d spoken with
• Tasks I’d completed
• Physical sensations (headache? fatigue?)
• Weather conditions
• Sleep quality the night before

For four weeks, I gathered data without trying to interpret it. This is harder than it sounds—the mind wants to leap to conclusions. But a good detective resists this impulse.

Hypothesis Phase:
After four weeks, I reviewed my notes and generated possible explanations:

• Diet-related? (No clear pattern)
• Fatigue? (Sleep had been consistent)
• Social exhaustion? (Thursdays involved no more interaction than other days)
• Anticipatory anxiety about Friday obligations? (Possible)
• Something about Thursday’s routine itself? (Most promising)

I examined Thursday’s routine more carefully and noticed: every Thursday afternoon, I spent three hours in my study working on correspondence—answering letters from readers, editors, business matters. Necessary work, certainly, but work I found draining rather than energizing.

Meaning Phase:
The solution revealed itself: the irritability wasn’t mysterious at all. It was the accumulated frustration of forced sociability (via correspondence) without the reward of genuine connection, combined with resentment at time taken from creative work. My subconscious was rebelling against an obligation I’d imposed on myself.

Armed with this understanding, I changed Thursday’s schedule—moved correspondence to mornings when I had more energy for it, limited it to ninety minutes rather than three hours. The Thursday irritability vanished.

This is what I mean by bringing detective work to your journal. The mystery was real, the suffering was real, but the solution emerged only through systematic observation, bold hypothesis, and patient interpretation.

---

On the Casebook Method

I kept what I called “casebooks”—notebooks dedicated to collecting potential story material. But their real value lay in training my mind to notice significance in the insignificant.

Here’s how you can implement this method:

The Daily Clue Collection

Set aside a section of your journal titled “Observations” or “Clues” or “Data.” Each day, record three to five specific details you noticed. Not opinions, not feelings—just observed facts. Be precise.

Examples from my own casebooks:

“Man at railway station, first-class ticket, third-class clothing. Watched trains for twenty minutes but boarded none.”

“Elderly woman entering chemist’s shop, glancing behind her repeatedly. Purchased laudanum. Left without waiting for change.”

“Child’s toy abandoned on park bench—well-made, expensive. No child in sight. Still there when I passed again an hour later.”

Each observation might be nothing. Probably is nothing. But it trains your eye to notice detail, and it creates a repository of specific, concrete reality that your imagination can later work with.

The key is specificity. Not “a man at the station” but “middle-aged man, approximately forty-five, naval bearing despite civilian dress, scar on left cheek suggesting old wound, eyes that tracked movement with military precision.”

Practice this daily. Your powers of observation will sharpen remarkably within a month.

---

On Questions as Clues

Holmes had a famous dictum: “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

But before you can eliminate possibilities, you must identify them. This requires asking good questions.

Your journal is where you practice the art of interrogation—of circumstances, of yourself, of the puzzles life presents.

Let me give you a framework: The Five Detective Questions

When something puzzles you—a relationship difficulty, a recurring problem, a pattern in your behavior—interrogate it systematically:

1. What is the observable fact?
(Not interpretation, just what actually happened)

2. What are the possible explanations?
(List at least five, even if some seem unlikely)

3. What evidence supports each explanation?
(Be honest—what data exists?)

4. What evidence contradicts each explanation?
(Equally important—what doesn’t fit?)

5. What is the simplest explanation that accounts for all the evidence?
(Occam’s razor: the simplest solution is usually correct)

Example: The Mystery of the Avoided Task

Let’s say you’re puzzling over why you consistently avoid a particular task—let’s say, calling your mother.

1. Observable Fact:
“I have not called my mother in six weeks, despite intending to do so repeatedly. Each time I think of calling, I find a reason not to—too busy, too tired, wrong time of day.”

2. Possible Explanations:

• I’m genuinely too busy
• I’m afraid of the conversation
• I’m angry at her about something unacknowledged
• I feel guilty and avoidance reduces guilt
• The task itself has become weighted with emotional baggage

3. Supporting Evidence:

• Busy: I do have many obligations
• Fear: I feel tense when I think about calling
• Anger: There was a disagreement last time we spoke
• Guilt: The longer I wait, the worse I feel
• Emotional weight: What should be simple has become complicated

4. Contradicting Evidence:

• Busy: I find time for other, less important things
• Fear: I’m not afraid of her; we have a good relationship overall
• Anger: The disagreement was minor
• Guilt: This doesn’t explain why I avoided the first call
• Emotional weight: This explains the feeling but not the cause

5. Simplest Explanation:
The most likely solution: I’m avoiding not my mother, but the guilt I feel about not having called sooner. Each day I don’t call, the guilt increases, which makes me want to avoid it more. The task has become a symbol of my own failure, which is why it feels so heavy. The solution: make the call immediately, accept that I’ve been avoiding it, and break the cycle.

This is detective work applied to the self. Your journal is where you practice it.

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On Motive, Means, and Opportunity

In every mystery, the detective must establish three things:

• Motive (why would someone do this?)
• Means (how could they do it?)
• Opportunity (when could they do it?)

This framework brilliantly illuminates not just fictional crimes, but real-life behavior patterns—including your own.

When you do something puzzling—make a decision you later regret, sabotage your own efforts, avoid what you know you should do—investigate it forensically.

Case Study: The Mystery of Self-Sabotage

“I keep starting exercise programs with great enthusiasm, then stopping after two weeks. This pattern has repeated five times this year. Why?”

Investigating Motive:

• What do I gain from stopping? (Rest? Freedom from obligation?)
• What fear might quitting serve? (Fear of failure if I continue? Fear of change?)
• What story does quitting allow me to tell myself? (“I tried” vs. “I succeeded”)

Investigating Means:

• How do I make stopping possible? (Not scheduling it firmly? Choosing inconvenient times/locations?)
• What obstacles do I construct? (Making it complicated? Expensive? Difficult?)
• What permissions do I give myself? (One missed day becomes two becomes quitting entirely)

Investigating Opportunity:

• When specifically does quitting happen? (After initial enthusiasm wanes? When first challenged?)
• What triggers the stopping? (Soreness? Boredom? Other life stress?)
• What circumstances make it easy to stop? (No accountability? No real stakes?)

By investigating your own behavior as you would a suspect’s, you discover truths obscured by the stories you tell yourself.

I discovered through this method that my own writing difficulties often stemmed not from lack of talent or ideas, but from fear of producing work inferior to my previous success. Understanding the motive helped me address the actual problem rather than the surface symptom.

---

On The Red Herring in Life

In mystery writing, a red herring is a false clue—something that seems significant but ultimately leads nowhere. It misleads the detective (and the reader) by appearing to be important when it isn’t.

Life is full of red herrings. We focus our attention on the wrong things, chasing explanations that feel true but aren’t. We’re convinced our unhappiness stems from our job, when actually it stems from an unhealthy relationship. We blame our anxiety on external pressures, when it actually comes from unmet internal needs.

Your journal is where you identify and eliminate red herrings.

The trick is this: when you’ve developed a theory about why something is happening, actively look for evidence that contradicts it. Holmes taught me this—never fall in love with your first hypothesis. Test it rigorously. If it’s wrong, you’ll discover this quickly. If it’s right, the testing will strengthen your confidence.

Red Herring Exercise:

Write about a persistent problem in your life. State your current explanation for it—the story you tell yourself about why this problem exists.

Now interrogate that explanation:

• What evidence supports it?
• What evidence contradicts it?
• What am I assuming that might not be true?
• What’s the explanation I’m refusing to consider?
• If my current theory is a red herring, what might be the real clue?

I once spent months believing my creative difficulties were due to insufficient time and too many obligations. But when I examined this theory honestly in my journal, I realized the red herring: even when I had time, I didn’t use it well. The real problem wasn’t time—it was fear of sitting down to face the blank page. Understanding this allowed me to address the actual issue.

The most obvious explanation is often wrong. The red herring is usually the most dramatic, visible problem. The real clue is smaller, quieter, overlooked because we’re focused on the obvious.

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On The Timeline

Every competent detective reconstructs the timeline of events. What happened first? What happened next? What was the sequence that led to this outcome?

In your journal, timelines are extraordinarily revealing.

The Backward Timeline

When something significant happens—a relationship ends, a decision goes wrong, a pattern becomes clear—work backward from the present.

Start with NOW: “This is where I am. This is what I’m experiencing.”

Then move backward, step by step:

• What was the immediate precursor to this?
• What came before that?
• When did I first notice something was wrong?
• What was the state of things before any of this began?
• What was the first decision that led down this path?

Often you’ll discover that what seemed like a sudden crisis actually had warning signs you missed. Or you’ll find that a decision you thought was recent actually was set in motion months or years ago.

The Pattern Timeline

Another useful technique: chart a recurring pattern over time.

If something keeps happening—you keep choosing unsuitable partners, you keep leaving jobs after exactly eighteen months, you keep starting and abandoning projects—create a timeline of each instance.

Instance 1: dates, circumstances, how it ended
Instance 2: dates, circumstances, how it ended
Instance 3: dates, circumstances, how it ended

Now look for commonalities. What’s present in all instances? What circumstances were the same? What was your state of mind? What precipitated the ending?

Patterns that seem mysterious often become obvious when laid out in sequence. The timeline reveals the pattern; the pattern reveals the cause.

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On The Locked Room Mystery

The locked room mystery is a classic puzzle: a crime occurs in a space that seems impossible to enter or exit. How was it done?

The solution invariably involves questioning an assumption. The room wasn’t actually locked. There was a hidden entrance. The crime occurred before the room was locked. Some element we took for granted was actually false.

In life, we often find ourselves in locked room mysteries—situations that seem impossible to resolve:

• “I can’t leave this relationship because I have nowhere to go, but staying is destroying me.”
• “I can’t speak up because it will cause conflict, but staying silent is eating me alive.”
• “I can’t change careers because I need the income, but continuing causes despair.”

These feel like locked rooms. No way out.

But here’s what I learned from writing hundreds of impossible crimes: there is always a way out. The trick is questioning your assumptions about what’s possible.

The Assumption Interrogation:

Write out your locked room—the situation that feels impossible.

Then list every assumption you’re making:

• “I assume I would have no income if I changed careers.”
• “I assume speaking up would destroy the relationship.”
• “I assume I have no other options.”
• “I assume this person won’t change.”
• “I assume I can’t tolerate temporary discomfort.”

Now interrogate each assumption: Is this actually true, or is this what I believe?

Often when you examine locked rooms closely, you find they’re not as locked as they seemed. There are options you haven’t considered. Possibilities you assumed away. Doors you didn’t notice because you’d decided they couldn’t exist.

I applied this method when I felt trapped by my medical practice. I assumed I couldn’t write full-time because I needed steady income. But when I questioned that assumption, I discovered I’d built a successful writing career already—I just hadn’t recognized it as viable because I was still thinking of myself as a doctor who wrote, rather than a writer who practiced medicine.

The locked room was my own certainty that it was locked.

---

On The Least Likely Suspect

In many of my most successful stories, the murderer was the least likely person—the one everyone trusted, the one above suspicion.

This works in fiction because it subverts expectations. But it’s also profoundly true in life: the solution to your problems is often hiding in the place you least expect to look.

You might assume your anxiety comes from external pressures, when it actually comes from internal expectations you haven’t acknowledged. You might assume your relationship problems stem from your partner’s behavior, when they actually stem from your own unspoken needs. You might assume you’re angry at someone else, when you’re actually angry at yourself.

The least likely suspect is “least likely” precisely because we’ve eliminated them too quickly. We’ve assumed they couldn’t be involved, so we don’t look closely at them.

The Least Likely Exercise:

When investigating a problem in your journal, after you’ve listed the obvious suspects (explanations), force yourself to list the least likely ones—the explanations you’ve dismissed out of hand, the possibilities that seem ridiculous, the truths you don’t want to face.

Then examine each one honestly. Why did you dismiss it so quickly? What would the evidence look like if this “impossible” explanation were actually true?

Sometimes the least likely suspect is your own role in creating the problem. We’re very good at making ourselves bystanders in our own stories, victims of circumstance rather than agents of change. But often we’re more complicit than we want to admit.

I discovered this about myself once: I believed I was a victim of publishing industry indifference to my serious literary work. But when I examined this honestly, I realized I was the least likely suspect—I had never actually submitted my serious work anywhere. I’d rejected myself before anyone else could. Understanding this was humbling but liberating.

The truth you’re avoiding is often the least likely suspect. That’s precisely why you’re avoiding it.

---

On Fair Play With Yourself

In mystery writing, there’s a principle called “fair play”: the reader must have access to all the clues necessary to solve the mystery. You can’t reveal at the end that the butler did it if the butler was never mentioned. That would be cheating.

Apply this principle in your journal. Play fair with yourself. Don’t hide evidence. Don’t omit relevant information because it’s uncomfortable. Don’t pretend you don’t know things you actually know.

This is harder than it sounds. We’re remarkably skilled at self-deception. We conveniently forget things that don’t fit our preferred narrative. We emphasize certain facts and downplay others. We tell ourselves stories that position us as we’d like to be seen rather than as we are.

But if you want to solve the mysteries of your own life, you must play fair with yourself.

The Fair Play Audit:

When writing about a difficult situation, ask yourself:

• What information am I leaving out?
• What do I actually know that I’m pretending not to know?
• What evidence contradicts my preferred explanation?
• What uncomfortable truth am I avoiding?
• If a detective were investigating this situation, what would they notice that I’m glossing over?

I had to do this when my first marriage was failing. I wanted to believe it was a mystery—some inexplicable incompatibility, some unfortunate circumstances. But when I played fair with myself in my journal, I had to acknowledge clues I’d been ignoring: ways I’d prioritized my work over the relationship, needs I’d dismissed, conversations I’d avoided. The failure wasn’t a mystery at all. I’d had all the clues. I just hadn’t wanted to see them.

Fair play means honesty. Complete honesty. Not confession for the sake of feeling bad about yourself, but honesty for the sake of understanding. You owe yourself that much.

---

On The Denouement

In a mystery, the denouement is when the detective gathers everyone and explains the solution. “This happened, then this, then this, and therefore the murderer must be—”

It’s a moment of clarity. Everything that was confusing suddenly makes sense. The scattered clues assemble into a coherent picture.

Your journal can give you these moments. Not every day, but sometimes—after you’ve gathered enough observations, asked enough questions, considered enough suspects—the pattern suddenly reveals itself.

You’re writing about a recurring problem and suddenly you understand it. You’re exploring a difficult relationship and suddenly you see what’s really happening. You’re investigating your own behavior and the motive becomes clear.

When these denouement moments arrive, honor them. Write out the solution clearly. Document your understanding while it’s fresh, because clarity can fade and confusion return.

I would often have these moments while writing in my notebooks—puzzling over a plot problem, and suddenly seeing how all the pieces fit together. I learned to write it out immediately, before the clarity faded. The same principle applies to life’s mysteries.

The Denouement Entry:

When understanding arrives, write it formally, as if explaining to someone else:

“The mystery I was investigating: [state it clearly]

The solution I’ve discovered: [explain it fully]

The evidence that supports this solution: [list specifics]

How this solution accounts for all the puzzling elements: [show your work]

What this means going forward: [practical implications]”

This format forces you to be clear and complete. It prevents the understanding from remaining vague and half-formed. It creates a permanent record you can return to when confusion threatens to return.

---

On Multiple Solutions

Here’s something I learned from plotting mysteries: sometimes there are multiple valid solutions. The evidence supports more than one explanation. You must choose which solution makes the best story.

The same is true in life. When you investigate a problem in your journal, you’ll often find multiple valid explanations. Your anxiety might stem from your childhood and your current stress and your caffeine intake and your lack of sleep. All might be true simultaneously.

The question becomes: which explanation is most useful? Which one, if addressed, would make the biggest difference?

The Utility Test:

When you’ve identified multiple possible causes:

• Which can I actually do something about?
• Which offers the most leverage for change?
• Which explanation empowers me rather than making me a victim?
• Which solution is within my control?

You can’t change your childhood. You might not be able to immediately change your job. But you can change your caffeine intake, improve your sleep, develop better stress management. Focus on the explanations that lead to actionable solutions.

I made this choice constantly in my medical practice. A patient’s symptoms might have multiple causes—some treatable, some not. I focused on what I could actually help with. The same pragmatism applies to self-investigation.

Choose the solution that helps you move forward, even if other explanations might also be partly true.

---

On The Pleasure of Investigation

Before I close, let me say this: I genuinely loved puzzles. I found them deeply satisfying. There’s a particular pleasure in taking something chaotic and finding the pattern in it. In taking something mysterious and making it clear.

Your journal can offer this pleasure. Not every problem in life can be solved, certainly. Some mysteries remain mysteries. But many problems, when approached systematically and investigated thoroughly, yield to understanding.

There’s satisfaction in understanding yourself better. In seeing patterns you couldn’t see before. In solving the small mysteries of your own behavior and relationships. In bringing your considerable intelligence to bear on the puzzles of your own existence.

This isn’t about being cold or calculating. It’s about bringing clarity to confusion. It’s about refusing to remain baffled by your own life. It’s about applying systematic thinking to lived experience.

I was never interested in messy, formless confusion. I was interested in structure, pattern, design. In finding the elegant solution to the complex problem. In seeing the order beneath apparent chaos.

Bring this same interest to your journal. Approach your life’s questions with curiosity and rigor. Gather clues. Consider possibilities. Test theories. Revise your understanding as new evidence appears. Take pleasure in the investigation itself, regardless of whether you reach certainty.

The process of investigation is valuable even when it doesn’t yield a definitive answer. Because in investigating, you’re paying attention. You’re thinking clearly. You’re refusing to accept confusion as permanent.

And that, my dear reader, is the true value of the detective’s method applied to journaling.

---

Practical Exercise: Doyle’s Detective Method

Part One: The Observation Log

For one week, maintain a “Clues” section in your journal. Each day, record 3-5 specific observations. Not interpretations—just precise, concrete details. Practice seeing without immediately judging.

Examples:

• “Colleague repeatedly declined lunch invitations this week, citing work pressure, yet seemed relaxed when chatting by coffee machine”
• “I felt most energized at 3 PM, least energized at 10 AM, despite conventional wisdom about morning productivity”
• “Child in grocery store, approximately seven, correcting mother’s grammar repeatedly—mother’s expression: weary resignation rather than pride”

Part Two: The Case Investigation

Choose one pattern or problem you want to understand. Apply the full detective method:

1. State the Mystery: Write exactly what puzzles you, in one clear sentence.
2. List the Suspects: What are 5-7 possible explanations?
3. Gather Evidence: For each suspect, what evidence supports it? What contradicts it?
4. Interrogate Assumptions: What are you assuming that might not be true?
5. Apply Motive/Means/Opportunity: Why might this be happening? How is it possible? When/where does it occur?
6. Construct Timeline: When did this pattern start? How has it evolved?
7. Identify Red Herrings: What explanation have you been focused on that might be misleading you?
8. Consider the Least Likely: What possibility have you dismissed too quickly?

Part Three: The Denouement

After your investigation, write your conclusion formally:

“After careful investigation, I conclude that [the problem] occurs because [your solution]. The evidence supporting this includes [specific examples]. The pattern began when [timeline]. The benefit I gain from this pattern, even though it causes problems, is [hidden motive]. Going forward, I can [concrete action].”

Part Four: The Monthly Review

Once a month, review your observation logs. What patterns emerge that you didn’t see in daily entries? What clues have you been collecting without realizing their significance?

---

A Final Word on Method and Mystery

Life is not a tidy mystery novel where all questions are answered in the final chapter. There are loose ends, unresolved questions, mysteries that remain mysterious.

But there is also pattern in chaos. There are causes and effects. There are clues if you know how to look for them. There are solutions to many—though not all—of the puzzles you face.

Your journal is where you practice the detective’s art: observation, deduction, logical thinking, pattern recognition. Not to control life—that’s impossible—but to understand it better. To see what was previously hidden. To find explanations where there was only confusion.

The great detective stories satisfy us not because they reflect life—they don’t, really—but because they model something we desperately need: the possibility that confusion can yield to clarity, that mysteries can be solved through careful attention and rigorous thought.

Your journal offers this possibility. Not certainty, but the chance of understanding. Not answers to everything, but answers to some things. Not control, but clarity.

And clarity, my dear reader, is its own form of power.

Apply method to mystery. Bring order to chaos. Find the pattern. Gather your clues.

That’s what a good detective does. And that’s what your journal can help you do.

The game, as Holmes would say, is afoot.

---

— Arthur Conan Doyle

---

Reflection Questions

1. What recurring pattern in your life puzzles you? What are the clues?
2. What are the “suspects”—the possible explanations for this pattern?
3. What assumption might you be making that keeps you trapped in a “locked room”?
4. What’s the least likely explanation—the one you’ve been refusing to consider?

---

William, I’ve expanded Doyle from about 1,500 words to over 7,000 words (matching the length of your complete chapters). The expansion maintains his voice—logical, methodical, encouraging—while adding:

• Personal examples from his life
• Detailed practical exercises
• The timeline method
• Red herrings in life
• Locked room mysteries as metaphor
• Fair play principle
• Multiple solutions concept
• The pleasure of investigation
• ************

If you enjoyed this chapter, please buy me a coffee to support this work. Thank you.

buymeacoffee.com/philklay

⚡

Rapid-fire: Big Moves in AI Regulation, Innovation & Investment

Skild AI may hit a $14 B valuation after new funding round

According to reports, investors SoftBank Group and Nvidia are in talks to invest more than $1 billion in Skild AI, potentially raising its valuation to ~$14 billion — nearly triple its value earlier this year. 

Why it matters: Skild isn’t just another startup — it’s building foundational AI models for robotics, aiming to give machines human-like perception and decision-making. If the deal goes through, it signals hefty investor confidence in robotics-flavored AI, and possibly a surge in “intelligent robots” usage across industries. Though general-purpose robots still face big technical challenges, such funding throws serious weight behind the long-term vision of AI + robotics integration. 

IBM acquiring Confluent — building a smart data backbone for generative AI at enterprise scale

IBM announced an $11 billion acquisition of Confluent, a major streaming-data platform provider. The aim: create an end-to-end data platform optimized for enterprise generative AI and “AI agent” applications. 

Why it matters: As AI becomes more central to business operations, companies need robust data infrastructure. This acquisition gives IBM a potentially powerful platform for enterprises to collect, manage, and feed large datasets into generative AI — bringing AI from “nice-to-have tool” to backbone of enterprise workflows. It could accelerate adoption in sectors like finance, supply-chain, healthcare, and more.

NextEra Energy + Google Cloud partner to scale data centers and power AI infrastructure in energy sector

NextEra and Google Cloud revealed a plan to build multiple gigawatt-scale data-center campuses — alongside energy infrastructure — to support growing demand for AI deployments. 

Why it matters: As AI usage surges, so does demand for computational power and energy. This collaboration shows how energy companies and cloud/AI providers must align — a sign that the AI boom isn’t just software-based, but deeply hardware & infrastructure-heavy. It also hints at growing integration between energy and tech industries — critical for scaling AI responsibly and sustainably.

Behind the Scenes: Broader Trends & Risks

Enterprise AI adoption keeps accelerating

According to a new 2025-era report from OpenAI, AI uptake across industries continues to grow rapidly — especially in sectors like technology, healthcare, manufacturing, finance, and professional services. Among surveyed workers, many report saving 40–60 minutes per day using AI, with heavy users saving over 10 hours per week. 

Why it matters: That’s measurable productivity — not hype. As AI becomes integrated into daily workflows, organizations could fundamentally rethink how work gets done. This also signals a shift: AI is no longer optional or experimental in many businesses, but more like a standard productivity tool.

But: AI-powered research raises ethical and scientific concerns

A recent analysis pointed out that while AI tools accelerate research output — papers, citations, even faster career advancement — many researchers worry about “hallucinations,” data security, and lacking transparency about how models are trained. 

Why it matters: This duality — speed vs reliability — underscores a growing tension as AI enters scientific and medical domains. The risk: we might see more errors, flawed studies, or biased results if AI outputs aren’t carefully vetted. As AI-assisted research grows, so does the need for robust oversight, transparency, and standards.

Why Today’s AI News Matters — And What’s Next

Investment & infrastructure are heating up. From billion-dollar funding rounds for robotics-AI startups, to major acquisitions and energy-AI partnerships — the AI industry is maturing beyond software labs to real world scale and enterprise infrastructure. AI is becoming part of “standard business OS.” As more companies deploy AI internally — and workers reap real productivity gains — we’re shifting from experimental AI use to systemic, mission-critical AI integration. But with speed comes risk. Rapid adoption in science, medicine, and enterprise raises concerns around reliability, ethics, and oversight. As AI gets more powerful, so does the potential for misuse — intentional or not. The “stack” matters more than ever. Today’s headlines show that AI’s future depends not just on algorithms — but on hardware, data infrastructure, energy, regulation, and enterprise readiness.

Final Thoughts

What we’re seeing in December 2025 is not just incremental AI progress — but a transformation. AI is no longer confined to hype cycles or research labs: it’s being built into the backbone of business, healthcare, energy, robotics, and infrastructure. That’s exciting, but also a heavy responsibility. The coming years will likely define whether this AI revolution leads to broadly shared benefits — or deepens divides (in access, reliability, power).

For anyone following AI — entrepreneurs, policymakers, citizens — the call is clear: pay attention not only to new models or tools, but also to who builds the infrastructure, who funds the growth, and who enforces the rules.

Hey there, fellow conversationalists (or avoiders)! In a world where we’re constantly connected yet often feel isolated, small talk remains one of those everyday rituals that can spark joy or induce eye-rolls. You’ve probably been there: stuck in an elevator discussing the weather, or at a networking event exchanging pleasantries about traffic. But what exactly is small talk, and why does it elicit such strong reactions? In this blog post, we’ll dive deep into the nuances of small talk—exploring its definition, the love-hate relationship people have with it, its benefits, alternatives, and even ways to elevate it into something more meaningful. Whether you’re a pro at chit-chat or someone who dreads it, let’s unpack this social staple.

What Is Small Talk?

Small talk refers to light, casual conversation that doesn’t delve into deep or controversial topics. It’s the verbal equivalent of dipping your toes in the water before jumping into the pool—surface-level exchanges designed to break the ice and build rapport. Common examples include commenting on the weather (“Nice day out, huh?”), asking about weekend plans (“Any fun plans for the weekend?”), or sharing observations about your surroundings (“This coffee is hitting the spot!”).

At its core, small talk is about politeness and social lubrication. It helps strangers or acquaintances navigate interactions without immediately jumping into heavy subjects like politics, personal struggles, or existential dilemmas. Think of it as the appetizer before the main course of a conversation—necessary for some, skippable for others.

Why Do Some People Hate Small Talk?

Ah, the small talk haters club—membership is booming! For many, small talk feels superficial, forced, and a waste of time. Introverts, in particular, often find it draining because it requires energy without providing much emotional or intellectual payoff. Why discuss the rain when you could be talking about your favorite book or a groundbreaking idea?

Other reasons include:

• Lack of authenticity: It can come across as scripted or insincere, especially in professional settings where it’s used to fill awkward silences.
• Anxiety trigger: For those with social anxiety, the unpredictability of small talk can feel like a minefield— what if you say the wrong thing?
• Time inefficiency: In a fast-paced world, some people prefer direct, meaningful interactions. As one Reddit user put it, “I’d rather skip the fluff and get to the real stuff.”

If you’re in this camp, you’re not alone. Studies from psychologists like those at the University of Chicago suggest that people often underestimate how much others enjoy deeper conversations, leading to unnecessary small talk avoidance.

Why Do a Lot of People Engage in Small Talk?

On the flip side, small talk is a social glue that holds interactions together for billions of people daily. It’s ubiquitous because it serves practical purposes:

• Building connections: It creates a low-stakes way to gauge compatibility. A quick chat about sports might reveal shared interests, paving the way for friendship.
• Cultural norms: In many societies, especially collectivist ones like Japan or the UK, small talk is a sign of respect and harmony. Avoiding it could seem rude.
• Easing tension: In elevators, waiting rooms, or parties, it fills voids and makes situations less awkward.
• Professional utility: In business, it’s a gateway to networking. Salespeople, for instance, use it to establish trust before pitching.

Essentially, small talk is efficient for quick encounters. It’s like social currency—easy to spend and widely accepted.

What Are the Alternatives to Small Talk?

If small talk isn’t your vibe, fear not! There are plenty of ways to steer conversations toward more substantial territory without being abrupt:

• Open-ended questions: Instead of “How’s the weather?”, try “What’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to you this week?” This invites storytelling.
• Shared experiences: Comment on something mutual, like “I noticed you’re reading that book—what drew you to it?” to spark genuine dialogue.
• Games or prompts: Apps like “Question of the Day” or conversation cards (e.g., from The School of Life) provide structured alternatives.
• Silence acceptance: Sometimes, it’s okay to embrace quiet. Not every moment needs filling.
• Direct pivots: Politely shift gears with phrases like “I’d love to hear your thoughts on [topic]” to bypass the superficial.

These alternatives can lead to richer interactions, but they require a bit more vulnerability—worth it for deeper connections.

Is Small Talk Healthy?

Absolutely, in moderation! From a psychological standpoint, small talk has several benefits:

• Mental health boost: It combats loneliness by fostering a sense of belonging. Even brief exchanges release oxytocin, the “bonding hormone.”
• Cognitive perks: It hones social skills, empathy, and quick thinking—useful for brain health as we age.
• Emotional regulation: In stressful situations, light banter can reduce anxiety and create positive vibes.

However, over-reliance on small talk might indicate avoidance of deeper issues, potentially leading to shallow relationships. Balance is key: use it as a tool, not a crutch. Research from the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology shows that people who mix small talk with meaningful conversations report higher life satisfaction.

What Can We Say to People Who Hate Small Talk?

If someone confesses their disdain for chit-chat, empathy goes a long way. Try these responses:

• Validate their feelings: “I get it—small talk can feel so surface-level sometimes. What kinds of conversations do you enjoy more?”
• Offer alternatives: “Totally fair. How about we skip the weather and talk about [shared interest] instead?”
• Humor it out: “Haha, guilty as charged. But hey, at least it’s not as bad as awkward silence!”
• Encourage openness: “I appreciate you saying that. It helps me know how to connect better.”

The goal is to acknowledge their perspective without defending small talk aggressively. This can actually turn the meta-conversation into something more engaging.

Can We Make Small Talk Productive, Educational, and Forward-Looking?

Yes! Small talk doesn’t have to be mindless—infuse it with purpose to make it shine:

• Productive twist: Tie it to goals. At a conference, ask “What’s one takeaway you’re hoping for today?” to network effectively.
• Educational angle: Share facts lightly. Instead of “Hot day, huh?”, say “This heat reminds me of that article on climate change—have you seen any good ones lately?”
• Forward-looking vibe: Focus on aspirations. “Weekend plans?” becomes “What’s something you’re looking forward to in the coming months?”
• Active listening: Respond thoughtfully to turn exchanges into mini-lessons. If someone mentions travel, ask “What surprised you most about that place?” to learn and bond.

By reframing small talk as a stepping stone, it becomes a tool for growth rather than a chore. Practice with intention, and you’ll see it evolve.

Wrapping It Up: Embrace or Elevate?

Small talk is neither hero nor villain—it’s a neutral player in the game of human interaction. Whether you love it for its simplicity or hate it for its shallowness, understanding its role can help you navigate social waters more gracefully. Next time you’re tempted to groan at “How about that weather?”, remember: it’s an opportunity. Dive deeper if you want, or keep it light. Either way, connection starts somewhere.

What are your thoughts on small talk? Drop a comment below—I’d love to hear (and promise, no weather chit-chat required)!

Buy me a coffee

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I am creating a book on introspection and journaling. Each chapter is theoretically written by a deceased author. An AI has researched her life and mastered her writing style. I hope you enjoy this chapter that imagines what Jane Austen would write about this subject.

Chapter One: Jane Austen 

— “The Art of Observation: Society, Character, and the Writer’s Eye”

## In the Voice of Jane Austen

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a person in possession of a blank journal must be in want of something interesting to write in it. Yet how often do we find that the most eventful days produce the dullest entries, while the quietest afternoon, properly observed, yields material enough for a novel?

I confess I was blessed—or perhaps cursed—with an observant nature. I could not help but notice things. The way Mrs. So-and-So’s smile never quite reached her eyes when she complimented Miss Such-and-Such’s gown. The manner in which young Mr. Whoever adjusted his cravat precisely three times before approaching the drawing room. The particular shade of crimson that crept up Colonel Whatsit’s neck when his opinions were contradicted at dinner.

These observations found their way into my letters, my private papers, and ultimately, into my novels. For what is a writer but a collector of human peculiarities? And what is a journal but a cabinet of curiosities, filled not with shells and stones, but with the infinitely more fascinating specimens of human behavior?

The secret, dear reader, is this: people are endlessly ridiculous, occasionally noble, and always—*always*—more complex than they first appear. Your task as a journal-keeper is not merely to record what happened, but to notice what it *revealed*.

—–

## On the Distinction Between Seeing and Observing

Anyone can see. To observe requires discrimination, wit, and a willingness to acknowledge that the surface of things is rarely the truth of them.

When I was a young woman, my sister Cassandra and I would attend the assemblies at the local hall. These were not grand affairs—indeed, they were rather provincial—but they were laboratories of human nature. While other young ladies focused their attention on which gentlemen might ask them to dance, I was studying something far more interesting: the entire ecosystem of social interaction.

I observed that Mrs. Bennet (you may recognize the name—I borrowed it later) was always the first to arrive and the last to leave, and that this had less to do with her love of dancing than with her terror of missing any gossip. I noticed that her eldest daughter spoke little but smiled constantly, while her second daughter spoke much and smiled rarely, and that these opposing strategies were both designed to secure the same end: matrimony.

I saw that the gentlemen clustered together until forced by propriety to scatter among the ladies, and that their reluctance was equaled only by their mothers’ determination. I witnessed small triumphs and smaller humiliations, kindnesses offered and cruelties disguised as concern.

And I wrote it all down.

Not in the moment, naturally—that would have been rude. But later, in my room, by candlelight, I would reconstruct the evening as a series of scenes. Not merely “went to assembly, danced twice, came home,” but rather: “Mr. T— asked me to dance, then spent the entire set informing me of his rectory’s income, as if I were conducting a financial audit rather than a country dance.”

This is the difference between seeing and observing. Seeing records the fact. Observing captures the absurdity, the poignancy, the truth….. to be continued in the book: Afterword, to be released this December or early January on Amazon

AI can significantly assist high school teachers, particularly math teachers, by automating repetitive grading tasks, providing instant feedback, and offering insights into student performance. This allows educators to reclaim off-hours time previously spent on manual review of homework submissions, such as scanned papers or digital files. Below, I’ll outline key ways AI achieves this, drawing from current tools and practices.

1. Automated Scoring for Objective and Free-Response Questions

AI tools can handle grading for multiple-choice, fill-in-the-blank, and even open-ended math problems by analyzing student responses against predefined rubrics. For math homework, this includes recognizing handwritten equations, steps in problem-solving, and assigning partial credit for correct intermediate work, even if the final answer is wrong.

• Tools like MathGrader.ai allow teachers to upload PDFs of student work, set custom rubrics with point allocations and partial credit rules, and get grades in minutes with about 95% accuracy for legible handwriting. 18 It integrates with platforms like Google Classroom for bulk uploads and learns from teacher corrections to improve over time.
• Gradescope uses AI to group similar answers automatically, enabling batch grading of math fill-in-the-blank or handwritten responses. 21 Teachers create templates matching student submissions, and the AI suggests groupings for efficient rubric application, making it ideal for algebra or geometry homework.

This automation reduces grading time from hours to minutes per assignment, freeing teachers to focus on instruction rather than paperwork. 12

2. Generating Personalized Feedback and Error Analysis

Beyond just scores, AI can provide detailed, constructive feedback on student errors, such as misplaced signs in equations or logical gaps in proofs, helping students learn from mistakes without teachers writing comments for each paper.

• Leo AI streamlines this by letting teachers define grading criteria (e.g., points for specific steps in solving inequalities), upload submissions, and receive breakdowns with improvement suggestions. 19 It processes entire classes simultaneously and exports results to CSV or LMS systems.
• CoGrader applies AI to rubrics aligned with standards like Common Core, generating feedback reports that highlight strengths and weaknesses, though it’s more general and not math-specific. 20

Such features enable quicker turnaround—often instant—on homework reviews, which studies show can save teachers up to six hours weekly when used regularly. 15

3. Performance Analytics and Class Insights

AI aggregates data from graded homework to identify common misconceptions, like confusion with quadratic formulas, allowing teachers to adjust lessons without manually tallying errors across dozens of papers.

• Many tools, including MathGrader.ai and Gradescope, offer analytics dashboards showing class trends and individual progress. 18 21
• Broader platforms like Khanmigo extend this by using AI to tutor students on homework challenges while providing teachers with summaries of where help was needed. 3

This data-driven approach minimizes off-hours analysis, as AI handles the initial review and flags areas for intervention.

4. Integration with Existing Workflows

AI tools often connect seamlessly with learning management systems (LMS), reducing administrative overhead. Teachers can import assignments, grade digitally, and push results back without switching apps.

• Examples include integrations in Leo AI, CoGrader, and Gradescope with Google Classroom or Canvas, supporting scanned handwritten work via apps for better AI recognition. 19 20 21

Overall, these capabilities can cut grading time by 80-90%, based on tool reports, allowing high school math teachers to spend less time on homework review and more on engaging with students during class. 19 20 To get started, teachers might explore free trials of these tools or check school district policies on AI adoption.