Pondering what it means to create things, and taking the time to do so--

I've been up since 5:50 am, which is about an hour later than I have been getting up--so, for me, that is sleeping in. And it was sorely needed. I put a movie on last night just before 9pm, and I have no idea what it was about. I fell asleep in my chair before the plot even got rolling. I'm not even that sure who was in it, and I certainly do not remember the title. I woke up a little after 10, turned it all off, and went to bed. 

That said, I have a stack of final papers to wade through sometime today. I'd like to get those done before I go to the grocery store, so I can clear my desk for the weekend. I might even get that done. It's damned cold out, so I'm not rushing to head out, but I have a tentative plan to go with Meg around 10am, so that's what I'm aiming for. I'd like to not hurry at the grocery for the first time in a couple of months, so that is a goal.

But yesterday, I wrote a bit about taking some time to myself each day, to recharge and let my brain wander without being fettered to a to-do list. I would like to think that by sleeping in, and then having a cup of coffee with the newspaper before turning on the computer, is a good start. There was a really interesting article about some possible discoveries of many, many early works by Louisa May Alcott, and that captivated my attention for a bit. Other articles were not so interesting, but I read them. I read almost the entire paper, including the ridiculous letters to the editor. From the looks of those, my job is not only necessary but secure-- people just cannot write cogently. There's also the interesting commentary in the weekly column by Jay Craven, a relatively local film-maker, who is at Sundance with a crew of 44 college students. They will, when they return, begin early production work on a proposed film based on a work by George Bernard Shaw. That is exciting in itself; taking the time and effort to create a film based on an award-winning work by a noted playwright. 

See? I fed my brain. Some of it was not to my general taste, but I did. I read before anything else this morning. And it got me thinking about what it means to create things, and how one goes about that, and how will it be found years from now.

But back to this idea of previously undiscovered work by a prominent 19th century author. The stories and poems were found under a few pseudonyms, all published in local papers of her time. I wonder, then, about authors who are publishing, or self-publishing, digitally today. Who is going to go looking for their early work? Will it be findable at all? Without paper copies stored in libraries, under the careful and hopeful watch of the Keepers of the Written Word, what will become of anything that is created now? And speaking of creation, with the rise of AI, how can we safeguard our work, our record, of human creation? 

And will it matter? 

I'd like to think so. AI may compile and sort, but only sentient beings --humans, and a few higher-order animals-- can create. 

Even the most mundane little poem written by a grade-school kid is more creative and more valuable as art than anything AI will churn out. The same goes for paintings, music, and other forms of expression-- human expression-- that speak back to the void, that puts a wish in visible form. 

A lot of ponder on that, and a lot to keep in mind as I grade those papers.

Have a good day, and keep warm,

C