"The Market" vs AI

Annamaria on Monday˜

 It is generally believed that in a capitalist economy business leaders decide on their next steps based on how they think "the market" will respond.  Lately, I have been thinking about the inherent dangers of such decisions in an era of ultra-rapid change. Considering the speed at which we're moving, guessing what happens next is a tricky undertaking.

It looks (to me anyway) that in chasing profits, "the market" has prejudices.  Above anything else, it prefers the lowest possible costs.  But that means, it wants the greatest quantity even it it means sacrificing quality.  Fast beats out slow, and machine made wins over human made.

As I approached this topic, I had a long conversation with my dear friend Sibylle Westbrook, who is well known to crime writers as an enthusiast of our genre, as well as an author of children's books.  When I brought up my topic of today, we wandered into a conversation of how the fashion industry works in this regard.  Sibylle's an expert in the field.  As a case in point, she brought up the current enthusiasm for Fast Fashion: clothes that are cheap and plentiful but because the are "the latest fad," need not be durable.

 This can be fun for a lot of people and produce delightfully large bottom lines to manufacturers.  The market says "go for it."  But let's hold on for a second.  What about the downside, such as the environmental costs of manufacturing clothes with a built-in short life span and shipping them around the world.  To say nothing of the millions of tons of cast off fabric clogging up the trash.  And what about the quality of life of the workers in faraway countries.  As usual in such scenarios, those who benefit from the situation are not the ones who have to clean up the mess.  Or to pay for the clean up.  Looked at with these points in mind, those "bargains" don't really come cheap.

The growth of Artificial Intelligence is a thorny case in point.  And for me, the most urgent one.  The AI band wagon is full of happy participants.  Many, many proponents in corporations are rapidly letting AI take over jobs from human beings, pesky things that we are.  We want decent wages and benefits.  We sometimes get sick.  We can walk out if we can get a better deal elsewhere.  AI is so much cheaper. 

But is it?  Really?  Are we sure that the quality of a company's products and services will be just as good with AI?  If a company cuts staff because AI can take over things like writing reports, can management trust that  those reports are well thought out and germane?  Are we really progressing if we accept/demand that workers use AI instead of their own brains?

And what about the concomitant costs?  Are they all being considered when we decide what is best?

I have been following the writings of Paul Krugman, a Nobel prize winning economist.  He is even more skeptical than I.  And, as economists do, he bases his conclusions on facts.  He worries about the gargantuan amount of electricity that AI installations require. Even if power production levels can be raised in time to keep up with AI's growth, the cost will go up fast and furiously. Chances are that the cost of electrical power will rise for everyone, not just for the tech companies. In fact, that has already started to happen. Then, there are the environmental impacts of huge increases in power production.  Are these outcomes being considered before the crossover to AI?

Regular readers of this blog might have seen my doubts about the wisdom of allowing AI to be used in schools. I fear for the brain development of nine-year-olds. I am also quite concerned that the latest batch of college grads are having a dreadful time trying to find entry-level jobs because employers have turned entry-level work over to AI. Entry-level jobs are the doorway to new staff members becoming highly competent and hard-working members of a corporation's staff.  Where are those new employees going to come from? Will the jobs at the next level up have to be filled with raw recruits?  Is having ignorant people doing higher level work the right choice? 

There are lots of question marks in this post.  I don't have the answers.  But I think that these questions are important. They may be vital.

A Recurring Ode I'm Itching to Tell.

 

The world these days is in a state of perpetual "it sucks," offering not a bit of of unqualified uplifting news.  Life appears committed to defying the basic parameters of civilized behavior.  Intolerance, indifference, violence, and selfishness seem the watchwords of our times. There is no place to turn for peace of soul.  Even the bucolic woods surrounding my farm have turned on me with their venomous poison ivy.

Scratch, scratch.

In such a mood where can one turn except to writing poetry. No, not my own—that would require far too much talent—but in parodying others. It relaxes me. I hope it has a similar affect upon you…though not so much as to put you to sleep.

So, with apologies to Edgar Allen Poe and any Raven fans out there, here goes:

Once upon a midday early, while I wandered, quick and surly,

Over many a quaint and curious meadow of neglected chore—

While I prodded, briskly clipping, suddenly there came an itching,

As if from some gentle scraping, scraping from elbow to fore.

“‘Tis some hairy vine,” I muttered, “scraping me elbow to fore—

 Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was nigh the first September;

And each separate shining three-leaf wrought its oil upon me more.

Eagerly I wished the tractor;—I’d foolishly forgot to factor

Would shield my skin from oh such sorrow—sorrow for the itch and more—

From the red and recurring blisters even angels itch and more—

Shameless scratching evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain bandage of each purple keratin

Chilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

“‘Tis some shining three-leaf entreating access from my elbow to fore—

Some new shining three-leaf entreating access from my elbow to fore;—

This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Ivy,” said I, “or if Oak, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was clipping, and so gently you came scraping,

And so faintly you came scraping, scraping my elbow to fore,

That I scarce was sure I felt you”—here I opened wide the door;—

For Urushiol and more.

Deep into that toxin peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no scratcher ever dared to dream before;

But the blister was unbroken, though the swelling reached Hoboken,

And the only word heard spoken was the whispered “itch and more.”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, “and more!”—

Should you scratch there will be more.

Back onto the elbow turning, all my arm upon me burning,

Soon again I heard a scraping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

’Tis the vine and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

Out there stood a hairy vine of the poisoned sort before;

Not the least obeisance made it; not a minute moved or stayed it;

But, with mien of Trump-like hair, seemed to search beyond my fore—

Searching for a rhyme of Pallas just below my itching fore—

Searched, and that, and nothing more.

Was this hairy vine beguiling my sad fancy into smiling?

So at the grave and stern decorum of the ivy I swore,

“Leaflets three, let it be craven,” for on that I’m a maven,

Ghastly grim and ancient ivy that has me itching every night and more—

Tell me if thy worldly cure is what Methylprednisolone’s for.”

Quoth the three-leaf, “Itch no more.”

I think I’ll stop now at a half parody (please feel free to hyphenate “half” into an appropriate adjective of your choice).

Not because I’m afraid of what all you Poe folks out there might want to do to me, but because it’s time to reach for the Calamine lotion and call it a night.

Scratch, scratch.

Jeff—Saturday

 

Jeff’s upcoming events

2025

All Live Events

 

September 3 – 7 | Bouchercon 2025 | New Orleans, LA
Friday, September 5, 4:00-4:45 p.m.
New Orleans Marriott—La Galeries 5-6
Panelist, “Tips and Tricks for Keeping a Series Fresh,” with Anne Cleeland, Marcy McCreary, Charles Todd, Tessa Wegert, and Moderator Deborah Dobbs

Saturday, September 6, 10:30-11:25 a.m.
New Orleans Marriott—La Galerie 3
Panelist, “No Passport Required: International Mysteries and Thrillers,” with Barbara Gayle Austin, Cara Black, Joseph Finder, J.L. Hancock, and Moderator Mark Ellis

 

Wednesday, September 17, 6:30 p.m.
Greek National Tourist Organization
Presentation of the literary work of Jeffrey Siger
Ilias Lalaounis Jewelry Museum
Kallisperi 12, Acropolis

 

A Blog From The Past

Here's a three part blog! Somebody was asking me about the relevance of Harrogate, a Victorian Spa town, to the world of crime fiction on this side of the pond. It is the home of the Harrogate Crime Writing Festival, which was set up by my old agent Jane Gregory. The festival takes place in the Swan Hotel in Harrogate for a special reason.

I thought I had blogged about 'The special reason' but must have imagined it.

On searching around, I found a blog from my Friday predecessor,  Mr Dan Waddell, who was having trouble with his access at the time. I think it's from 2015. 10 years ago. I know you could have worked that out but numeracy rates in Scotland are at an all time low.

It makes interesting reading, so I thought I'd leave it as it was except for a new photos I have added.

And one comment that I shall add as it puts a spin on 'the event'.  "Theresa Neele" was the name of Agatha Christie's first husband's mistress.

This intro by me.

Second intro by Stan

Blog by Dan.

  

Harrogate

Dan has been having problems accessing Murder is Everywhere, so he asked me to post his blog.  He apologizes about the lack of photos, but he's been having problems with them too.  (Probably too much Theakston!) - Stan

_______________________________

I’m currently lounging around at the Old Peculier crime writing

festival in Harrogate (that’s not a typo by the way – Old Peculier is

a beer made by the sponsors Theakston. A very strong beer. The sort

that makes you walk and talk very silly). Harrogate is the most

prestigious event of its type in the UK, which is not the same as

being the most fun. Crimefest wins that contest, but then it’s an

entirely different festival. Harrogate is invitational, which gives it

a rather aloof, undemocratic air, unlike the

one-for-all-for-one-oh-go-on-I’ll-have-another atmosphere of Bristol.

It’s still a good laugh, however. This year’s line-up is very starry:

Ian Rankin (he’s having a cappuccino over there, so much for Tartan

noir…), Jeffery Deaver, Jeff Lindsay, Karin Slaughter, Val McDermid

(mineral water behind me) and Joanne Harris are all appearing. Rather

than there being a number of panels running concurrently for punters

to attend, there is only one event at a time, and as a consequence the

audiences can be huge. Last year I was invited to appear on the New

Blood panel, and there must have been 500 or 600 people in the

audience, which was pretty daunting. I was almost tempted to break

open my complimentary bottle of Old Peculier for some Dutch courage

while we waited to go on stage, though sanity prevailed. We managed to

muddle through.

I’m not invited this year (lost in the mail, I reckon) so I’m here as

a fan rather than writer. I’m particularly interested by the 5pm panel

today, celebrating the life of Agatha Christie. She may not be

fashionable, and some of her books may not have dated particularly

well, but I’m very fond of a spot of Agatha. I remember reading a fair

bit of Poirot as a young teenager, and while I date the beginning of

my love of crime fiction to reading Emil and the Detectives as a

pre-teen, my teenage dalliance with Christie helped deepen the affair.

She has an indelible link to Harrogate. It was here, in this sedate,

spa town in North Yorkshire that she fled in 1926. She was then

probably the most famous person in England. Her disappearance was

national news. It was feared that she had committed suicide, the

police launched a manhunt that lasted eleven days, Arthur Conan Doyle,

convinced she was dead, took one of her gloves to a medium to see if

she could be located in the afterlife. She was finally spotted by a

banjo player at the Swan Hydropathic Hotel, where she had booked in

under the name Mrs Teresa Neele

Last year I stayed at the Swan (now the Old Swan, and it makes much of

its part in the Christie disappearance). The rooms are so small you

have to go outside to change your mind but tucked away, at the end of

a leafy side street, you could see why she chose it as the place to

escape from the pressures of her fame. Personally, I couldn’t help

but marvel at her ability to remain incognito for so long. These days,

with GPRS, 24 hour rolling news, cashpoint machines, credit cards, it

would be an achievement for a notable figure to disappear for 11

hours.

Anyway, must go. Knitting Needles at Dawn is about to start...(which

reminds me of the time at a talk where an old lady told me about a

woman she knew who stabbed her abusive husband of 36 years to death

with a knitting needle. Apparently when the police arrived – she had

called them – she asked for a few more minutes to finish a jumper for

her granddaughter.)

Cheers

Dan - Friday 

 

This Teaching Life

 Wendall -- every other Thursday

As many of you know, I’ve been teaching since 1981. I started as a teacher and dorm master (it was mistress at the time. . .) at the all-male boarding school Deerfield Academy and taught at the Hotchkiss School in the summers. 

 

The students at my first ever teaching job.

 

The students living on my "hall."

 

Then I worked as a Teaching Assistant in the Film Criticism course at the University of North Carolina from 1983 to 1986, started teaching Screenwriting in the Graduate Film School at UCLA in 1996, and since 2000, I’ve also lectured and run various courses in Europe, Australia, and New Zealand.

 

Of course, the international jobs have always been the most fun, as they include travel, hotels, working with wonderful, creative people, and lots of other perks (including meeting my husband). 

 

My "classroom building" on one teaching trip to Italy.

Doing one of my "Living Room Lectures" in San Francisco.

Teaching in Brisbane.

The Sofitel Melbourne, where I stayed during my first years lecturing at the Melbourne International Film Festival.

 

I was lucky in Melbourne to be working beside the most knowledgeable film person I know, Adrian Wootton, head of Film London.

 

And wound up next to Geoffrey Rush at dinner in 2015.

 

Here James and I are with our now "forever friend," script editor extraordinaire Claire Dobbin.

They are also the most stressful, as they require the most prep and can be marred by many things out of my control, like typhoons, cancelled flights, incompatible or non-working equipment, bureaucracy, miscommunications, and fear that my work visas won’t come through in time, etc.

Our bed when I am prepping for lectures.

 

The long search for an Australian, NTSC compatible VCR/DVD player is finally sucessful!

I’m recently back from Melbourne, where I am lucky enough to be running a year-long initiative to develop genre-friendly feature films for the State of Victoria’s film agency, VicScreen. https://vicscreen.vic.gov.au/news/genre-at-the-forefront-of-vicscreens-latest-originate-initiative

 

At the beginning of the course, I presented eight hours of Zoom lectures on film structure and characterizations, with a specific emphasis on thriller, horror, fantasy, sci-fi, and comedy films.

 

A few of the films I reference.

I am now in the second portion of the scheme, working directly on eight projects chosen out of 146 applications. I can report that we have chosen well and that my week-long workshop with the writers was an absolute delight, from beginning to end. They were smart, funny, diligent, attentive, worked well as a group, and were a general joy to be around. 

Official photo by the wonderful Daniel Mahon.

The view from our workspace.

Writers hard at work.

 

Teaching is very hard and often underpaid work. Almost everyone I know who does it for a living is currently trying to get out.

Every once in a while, though, all the work is worth it, and this was one of these times. If you’d like to read about the initiative or the projects, you can find an article here:

https://if.com.au/vicscreen-advances-eight-genre-films-through-originate/

 --Wendall