Let’s Talk about AI

Sometimes a new tool is just a new way to do the work.

My dad was what he liked to call “nerdy before it was cool to be nerdy.” He was an older father, very smart, and endlessly curious. When I was in college, a friend jokingly dubbed him “Professor Lil’ Old Man,” which somehow fit him perfectly.

He was always learning something. For much of my childhood, he studied Egyptian hieroglyphics. We had flashcards around the house with little drawings and explanations. It was completely normal to me that my dad might be sitting at the kitchen table trying to understand an ancient writing system.

He was not especially hip. He was not chasing trends. But when he saw a tool that could help him do his work better, he paid attention.

I remember the sound of his office changing.

My bedroom was above his office in the basement. For years, the sound of his writing came through the floor. First, the heavy clacking of an old stand-up typewriter. Then the lighter tap-tap of an electric typewriter. Then the version with the little cartridge you could remove so you could “easily” erase a word. Eventually, the typewriter disappeared.

My dad bought a home computer long before most people I knew had one. It was a Kaypro, and I remember people thinking he was a little nuts for getting it. But he saw something.

He was a technical writer. He wrote constantly. And he understood that computers were going to change the future of writing technology. So he took a night class. He learned how to use it. The sound from his office changed again. No more typewriter. Instead, I remember the sound of the dot matrix printer.

And then, eventually, silence.

He was interested in the tool because it helped the work.

My dad was not interested in computers because computers were exciting. He was interested in computers because writing was his work.

He wrote about genetic technology, and he was one of the first people in his office to understand the value of building a database for information, contacts, topics, and content. If he was writing about a subject, he could look up what he had already written. He could update it, build from it, or find a slightly different angle.

That was the part that mattered to him. The tool helped him do the work.

That is how I think about AI.

My mother understood useful tools, too.

My mother was a librarian. When the internet first became available to the public, for a long time the public library was one of the only places people could access it. She was chosen to learn how to use it so she could help patrons. And she became very good at it. People needed help understanding how to search, where to look, and what to trust. My mother became one of the people who could help them find their way.

So maybe it makes sense that I have been more curious than nervous about AI.

I grew up around people who understood that new tools could be confusing at first, but also deeply useful when they helped people do something they already cared about.

I do not use AI by writing perfect prompts.

Some people love working hard to create the perfect prompt. That is not really my style. I usually start simply. I share what I am thinking. Then I ask:

“What are your thoughts?”

Or:

“Is there anything I’m missing or should consider?”

Those are not complicated prompts. They are not masterful or technical. But they have been some of the most useful questions I ask. Because I am not looking for AI to hand me a finished answer from the sky.

I am looking for a working conversation.

A reaction.
A reflection.
A question.
A nudge.
A different angle.
A way to keep going.

That is how I have always liked working with people. The banter matters. The back-and-forth is often where the magic happens. Someone says something, and it triggers a thought in me. Someone asks a question, and suddenly I realize I feel more strongly about my original idea. Or I see that another direction may be stronger.

When I realized I could work with AI in a similar way, something clicked.

Artists don’t have to begin with a big AI strategy.

This is where I think AI can become useful for artists. Not as a giant, overwhelming thing. Not as another technology you have to master before you are allowed to use it. Not as a replacement for your own taste, voice, or judgment.

Start smaller. Use it as a sounding board

Tell it what you are thinking about a piece.

Ask what a follower might want to understand.

Share a few rough ideas and ask which one feels clearest.

Ask if there is anything you missed.

Ask it to help you turn a scattered thought into a simple caption.

Ask it to help you find patterns in what your audience seems to respond to.

Ask it to organize your thoughts so you can make the next step easier

You still decide. You still bring the meaning. You still make the work.

But you don’t have to do every piece of the thinking alone.

The tool isn’t the point.

When I think back to my dad’s office, I remember the sounds.

The typewriter.
The electric keys.
The printer.
The eventual quiet.

But underneath all of that, the work was the same. He was writing. Learning. Organizing ideas. Trying to explain complicated things clearly.

The tools changed. The work remained. That’s how I want artists to think about AI. Not as a huge, scary thing that asks you to become someone else. But as a tool that might help you do the work you already care about with a little more support.

Create freely. Share easily.