[FRIAM] "I hope I'm wrong. But that text reads like it was generated by an LLM"

Frank Wimberly wimberly3 at gmail.com
Sun Jan 26 19:54:37 EST 2025 

Cormac's going to be out of work at this rate.  You should work as a prompt
engineer.

---
Frank C. Wimberly
140 Calle Ojo Feliz,
Santa Fe, NM 87505

505 670-9918
Santa Fe, NM

On Sun, Jan 26, 2025, 5:43 PM Stephen Guerin <stephen.guerin at simtable.com>
wrote:

>  Frank,
>
> Playing a little bit about what it is to kill small animals as a young boy
> - which I experienced too with air rifles, 22's and 20-gauge
>
> In Cormac's voice writing about the old man Frank writing his memory of
> the rabbit kill. :-)
>
> ----------------
>
> The boy dismounted, the rifle slung low, its barrel still warm where it
> kissed the air. The horse snorted and turned its head, uneasy. The rabbit
> lay where it had fallen, a mound of fur and meat half-swallowed by the
> dust. It was not yet still. The legs twitched in faint, convulsive rhythm,
> the body gripped by some remnant machinery of life that had not yet
> conceded its end. A bubbling came from the hole in its side, sharp and wet,
> as though the creature itself were astonished by the sudden vacancy within.
>
> The boy stood over it, the rifle loose in his hand. He crouched. He had
> been told the kill should be quick, clean, a matter of precision and
> respect. But there was nothing clean in this. The blood came too freely,
> glistening in the sun before pooling black in the dust, and the rabbit’s
> dark eyes caught the light like polished glass. It kicked once more, a
> great spasm that sent its broken body jerking forward, then fell back in on
> itself, its chest rising faintly, and then no more. The earth drank deep,
> and the boy knelt there and watched, not knowing why he could not look away.
>
> His hand reached for the fur at its nape. He expected it to feel different
> now, transformed by death, but it was still soft, still warm. He lifted the
> rabbit by its hind legs, its head flopping sideways to reveal the tear in
> its throat where the bullet had exited. The meat was ruined. He had ruined
> it. He knew this but felt no shame. He stared at the bloodied wound, at the
> jagged wreckage of what had once been whole, and he thought of nothing but
> how easy it had been.
>
> The old man watched from the casita. His face, gaunt and unreadable,
> seemed carved from the same plastered walls that surrounded him. The boy
> was not real, not anymore. He was a specter, a revenant born of memory and
> time, riding loose in the currents of the old man’s mind. The rabbit’s
> death was his death, the boy’s life his own, and he could not tell one from
> the other. They had bled into each other like the crimson stain in the dirt.
>
> At his desk, the man sat before the screen, its glow feeble against the
> dimming light of the kiva fire. The screen showed graphs and nodes, lines
> that spidered out and tangled back into themselves, searching for order in
> the chaos. He could not read it now. He looked past it to the window, to
> the land where the boy knelt with his kill. The land was indifferent. It
> did not weep for the rabbit or the boy or the man who had carried them both
> into this moment. The land was what it had always been, and it would
> outlast them all.
>
> The boy tied the rabbit to the saddle, the blood dripping in slow,
> deliberate beats to the earth below. He mounted and turned the horse, its
> hooves clopping dull and soft against the dust. The shadow of the horse and
> rider stretched long across the desert, a ghostly thing that moved ahead of
> them, unclaimed and free. The boy rode back toward the casita, the rabbit
> swaying with the rhythm of the animal’s gait. He did not look back.
>
> The old man’s eyes followed the boy as he disappeared into the sun’s low
> embrace. The kiva fire crackled, spitting out a single ember that drifted
> upward and was gone. The man turned back to the screen, his hands resting
> on the desk, their veins ridged and blue like dry riverbeds. He thought of
> the boy’s hands, bloodied and bright in the dust, and the quiet machinery
> of his own heart working ever slower. Outside, the land moved toward night,
> vast and empty and full of things waiting to die.
>
>
>
> On Sun, Jan 26, 2025 at 5:19 PM Frank Wimberly <wimberly3 at gmail.com>
> wrote:
>
>> Very good, Stephen.  More feelingful and poetic than my writing.  What I
>> wrote is more factual and specific.  I wish mine could have been a bit more
>> "romantic" but it was me.  (Grammar requires "I" but...)
>>
>> Frank
>>
>> ---
>> Frank C. Wimberly
>> 140 Calle Ojo Feliz,
>> <https://www.google.com/maps/search/140+Calle+Ojo+Feliz,++Santa+Fe,+NM+87505?entry=gmail&source=g>
>> Santa Fe, NM 87505
>> <https://www.google.com/maps/search/140+Calle+Ojo+Feliz,++Santa+Fe,+NM+87505?entry=gmail&source=g>
>>
>> 505 670-9918
>> Santa Fe, NM
>>
>> On Sun, Jan 26, 2025, 5:01 PM Stephen Guerin <stephen.guerin at simtable.com>
>> wrote:
>>
>>> [image: image.png]
>>> Chapter 1: A Boyhood in the High Desert
>>>
>>> This is the story of my relationship with New Mexico—a bond as enduring
>>> as the rugged mesas and boundless skies of the land where I spent my most
>>> formative summers. My childhood was a patchwork of places and experiences,
>>> stitched together by the Navy’s pull on my father and my own restless
>>> curiosity. But no matter where life took me—California, Pennsylvania, or
>>> the Pacific Northwest—New Mexico was the constant.
>>>
>>> Outside the small town of Mountainair, on the edge of the Manzano
>>> Mountains, I spent the summers of my youth with my grandparents. There, I
>>> was free in ways that my life in naval housing never allowed. My
>>> grandparents’ home was both sanctuary and adventure—a place where I could
>>> roam for miles on horseback, rifle in hand, hunting small game and
>>> discovering the rhythm of life in the desert.
>>>
>>> Hunting was as much about self-reliance as it was a rite of passage. My
>>> grandfather would remind me to respect what I killed. A rabbit, cleaned and
>>> cooked by my grandmother, wasn’t just a meal—it was a lesson in gratitude
>>> and consequence. The land taught me patience and awareness, whether I was
>>> following a jackrabbit’s tracks in the sand or watching the still coil of a
>>> rattlesnake on the trail.
>>>
>>> Those summers were a paradox—wild and unstructured, yet deeply
>>> grounding. On the back of a horse, the wind in my face, I felt unshakably
>>> connected to the land and its history. My grandfather, a section foreman
>>> for the Santa Fe Railroad, would tell me stories of the railroad’s role in
>>> shaping the state, while my grandmother wove family history into the fabric
>>> of my identity. They spoke of the Nuevomexicano culture, of resilience and
>>> pride in a place where cultures met and mingled.
>>>
>>> In Mountainair, I learned to see life not in the rush of the cities
>>> where my father’s career often took us, but in the slow unfolding of the
>>> desert itself. Each canyon, arroyo, and sunlit stretch of scrub held a
>>> story. Even as a child, I felt the weight of those stories and began to
>>> understand that they were part of my own.
>>> Chapter 2: Mountainair Summers
>>>
>>> New Mexico summers had a rhythm all their own. Days began early, with
>>> the rising sun painting the Manzano Mountains in hues of orange and gold.
>>> My grandparents’ house in Scholle, a town that has since all but
>>> disappeared, was quiet in the mornings except for the sound of my
>>> grandmother humming as she prepared breakfast. By the time the rest of the
>>> house stirred, I was usually already outside, drawn to the landscape like a
>>> moth to a flame.
>>>
>>> The land around Scholle was untamed and endless, filled with arroyos and
>>> juniper-studded hills. It was a place where a boy could feel completely
>>> free. My days were a mix of exploration and chores, though I hardly saw the
>>> latter as work. Whether I was mending a fence with my grandfather or
>>> helping my grandmother in the garden, the tasks felt like an extension of
>>> the land itself. There was a satisfaction in being part of something so
>>> ancient, so rooted.
>>>
>>> Horses were central to my summers. My grandfather’s ranching background
>>> ensured that I was comfortable in the saddle from a young age. I spent
>>> hours on horseback, the reins in one hand and a .22 rifle in the other,
>>> riding across the desert in search of adventure. Sometimes I’d head toward
>>> the ruins of old pueblos, their crumbling adobe walls a reminder of those
>>> who had lived on this land long before us. Other times, I’d ride just to
>>> see where the trail would take me.
>>>
>>> Hunting was a rite of passage in those days. Rabbits were the most
>>> common game, though quail and dove were plentiful too. My grandfather
>>> taught me to shoot, but more importantly, he taught me respect. “Never kill
>>> more than you need,” he’d say. “And never waste what you take.” His lessons
>>> stayed with me, though they were at odds with the boyish thrill I felt each
>>> time I brought down my target.
>>>
>>> One summer, I had a memorable encounter with a rattlesnake. I had
>>> wandered off the trail to investigate a stand of sagebrush when I heard the
>>> telltale buzz of its rattle. The snake was coiled, its eyes fixed on me. I
>>> froze, heart pounding, as we sized each other up. It wasn’t fear I felt in
>>> that moment, but awe. The snake seemed like a living embodiment of the
>>> desert itself—beautiful, dangerous, and utterly indifferent to me.
>>>
>>> Evenings in Scholle were a time of reflection. After dinner, my
>>> grandparents and I would sit on the porch, watching the sunset give way to
>>> a sky filled with stars. My grandfather often told stories about his time
>>> working for the Santa Fe Railroad, tales of long hours and hard work, but
>>> also of camaraderie and pride. My grandmother, on the other hand, spoke of
>>> family history—of ancestors who had lived and loved and endured in this
>>> rugged land. Their stories wove together to create a tapestry of identity
>>> that I would carry with me long after I left New Mexico.
>>>
>>> Faith was another constant during those summers. My grandparents were
>>> devout Baptists, and Sundays meant dressing up and attending church. The
>>> fiery sermons and spirited hymns were a far cry from the calm Presbyterian
>>> services I was used to back home. As a child, I didn’t understand the
>>> theological differences, but I felt the contrast deeply. Religion in New
>>> Mexico seemed more visceral, more tied to the land and the struggles of its
>>> people.
>>>
>>> Those summers in Mountainair and Scholle shaped me in ways I’m still
>>> uncovering. They gave me a sense of place and a respect for the land that
>>> would stay with me throughout my life. More than that, they taught me the
>>> value of hard work, the importance of family, and the quiet beauty of a
>>> life lived close to the earth.
>>> _________________________________________________________________
>>> Stephen Guerin
>>> CEO, Founder
>>> https://simtable.com
>>> stephen.guerin at simtable.com
>>>
>>> stephenguerin at fas.harvard.edu
>>> Harvard Visualization Research and Teaching Lab
>>> <https://hwpi.harvard.edu/eps-visualization-research-laboratory/home>
>>>
>>> mobile: (505)577-5828
>>>
>>>
>>> On Sun, Jan 26, 2025 at 3:57 PM Frank Wimberly <wimberly3 at gmail.com>
>>> wrote:
>>>
>>>> Compare the result with
>>>>
>>>> amazon.com/author/frankwimberly
>>>>
>>>> It took me two weeks to write and contains about 100 pages.
>>>>
>>>> Frank
>>>>
>>>> ---
>>>> Frank C. Wimberly
>>>> 140 Calle Ojo Feliz,
>>>> <https://www.google.com/maps/search/140+Calle+Ojo+Feliz,++Santa+Fe,+NM+87505?entry=gmail&source=g>
>>>> Santa Fe, NM 87505
>>>> <https://www.google.com/maps/search/140+Calle+Ojo+Feliz,++Santa+Fe,+NM+87505?entry=gmail&source=g>
>>>>
>>>> 505 670-9918
>>>> Santa Fe, NM
>>>>
>>>> On Sun, Jan 26, 2025, 3:40 PM Eric Charles <
>>>> eric.phillip.charles at gmail.com> wrote:
>>>>
>>>>> Frank,
>>>>> And think of how much easier it all would have been with AI assist!
>>>>>
>>>>> Nick,
>>>>> Can you ask George to give you the first 20 pages of a memoir of a boy
>>>>> growing up in New Mexico in <insert appropriate year range>, including the
>>>>> first few years and every summer until the boy went to university? Be sure
>>>>> to mention that the boy moved on from his rural beginnings to a much more
>>>>> worldly and high-tech career. Tell it you would like the tone to be
>>>>> "comfortingly familiar" for those who might have had similar experiences.
>>>>> Just for kicks, please also name the boy "Frank" :- )
>>>>>
>>>>> Best,
>>>>> Eric
>>>>>
>>>>> <echarles at american.edu>
>>>>>
>>>>>
>>>>> On Sat, Jan 25, 2025 at 9:49 PM Frank Wimberly <wimberly3 at gmail.com>
>>>>> wrote:
>>>>>
>>>>>> I wrote a memoir about my life in New Mexico including the first few
>>>>>> years and every summer until I went to university.  People who read it who
>>>>>> know me say they can hear my voice when they read it.  LLMs were not
>>>>>> available when I wrote it.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> Frank
>>>>>>
>>>>>> ---
>>>>>> Frank C. Wimberly
>>>>>> 140 Calle Ojo Feliz,
>>>>>> <https://www.google.com/maps/search/140+Calle+Ojo+Feliz,++Santa+Fe,+NM+87505?entry=gmail&source=g>
>>>>>> Santa Fe, NM 87505
>>>>>> <https://www.google.com/maps/search/140+Calle+Ojo+Feliz,++Santa+Fe,+NM+87505?entry=gmail&source=g>
>>>>>>
>>>>>> 505 670-9918
>>>>>> Santa Fe, NM
>>>>>>
>>>>>> On Sat, Jan 25, 2025, 7:24 PM Pieter Steenekamp <
>>>>>> pieters at randcontrols.co.za> wrote:
>>>>>>
>>>>>>> DaveW,
>>>>>>>
>>>>>>> Thank you for your reply. I really appreciate what you said.
>>>>>>>
>>>>>>> For me, the key thing is to keep our human qualities. I like using
>>>>>>> AI to help make us better, like when it helps with writing.
>>>>>>>
>>>>>>> You mentioned that AI can't make writing more eloquent. I agree with
>>>>>>> this for people who are already good writers. I've read some
>>>>>>> autobiographies where the writing is so beautiful, it's like AI couldn't
>>>>>>> match that. But there are others who might need help. AI could make writing
>>>>>>> easier and better for those who have good ideas but struggle with words.
>>>>>>>
>>>>>>> I just want to clarify one point from your message about "voice."
>>>>>>> When AI helps with writing, it's important that the words still sound like
>>>>>>> me, not like a machine. I saw your point about my writing sounding like
>>>>>>> ChatGPT instead of me, which wasn't my goal. I aim for AI to enhance my
>>>>>>> voice, not replace it.
>>>>>>>
>>>>>>> Improving oneself and one's writing is a great goal. We've all had
>>>>>>> moments where we wish we could express something as well as someone else.
>>>>>>> If AI can help make my writing sound better or clearer, I think that's good
>>>>>>> to use.
>>>>>>>
>>>>>>> But I agree with you, AI might not make writing more 'eloquent,'
>>>>>>> just more precise or detailed. So, I would use AI tools carefully, making
>>>>>>> sure they enhance my own style, not define it.
>>>>>>>
>>>>>>> Pieter
>>>>>>>
>>>>>>> Note: I use AI to assist my writing.
>>>>>>>
>>>>>>> On Sat, 25 Jan 2025 at 17:58, Prof David West <profwest at fastmail.fm>
>>>>>>> wrote:
>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> Pieter,
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> I applaud your use of AI to improve your writing. It is my belief
>>>>>>>> that the* "proper"* use of AI, along with computers and computing
>>>>>>>> tools in general, is to *augment* human abilities ala Vannevar
>>>>>>>> Bush's "how we may think," Douglas Englebart's institute, Alan Kay's
>>>>>>>> dynabook, (the fictional Young Ladies Primer of Stephenson's *Diamond
>>>>>>>> Age*), and Jobs' "bicycle for the mind."
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> This is in direct contrast, it seems, to the sentiments of most on
>>>>>>>> this list who think that AI should, and inevitably will, replace "inferior"
>>>>>>>> human intelligence.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> I am curious if you see any question of "voice" in the AI improved
>>>>>>>> text? For example, I took glen's question as nothing more than an
>>>>>>>> observation that the "voice" of your post seemed to that of ChatGPT instead
>>>>>>>> of Pieter—definitely not *"augmented-Pieter,"* as I believe you
>>>>>>>> intended it to be.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> All of us respect Pieter and value his words. If, however, we are
>>>>>>>> confused by "voice." it raises issues of how much consideration the writing
>>>>>>>> should receive and how we should respond.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> Improving oneself, and one's writing, is a great goal. And we all
>>>>>>>> have experienced examples of "I wish I had said that," or "I wish I had
>>>>>>>> expressed that idea as eloquently as she did." If AI tools provide wordings
>>>>>>>> that you admire, or feel express your ideas more eloquently, you should
>>>>>>>> adopt them.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> Personally, I do not believe that AI can ever provide more
>>>>>>>> 'eloquent' writing, only more precise or more complete writing. So I,
>>>>>>>> again, strictly personally, would eschew using such tools as currently
>>>>>>>> constructed. I would however, if I had the chance, use Richard Gabriel's
>>>>>>>> tool, *Inkwell*, which, BTW, he emphatically states is not an AI,
>>>>>>>> to enhance my writing. But Richard is primarily a poet and writer, despite
>>>>>>>> his education and career in AI and computing, and he created
>>>>>>>> *Inkwell* expressly to be a writer's assistant. I have tremendous
>>>>>>>> respect for Richard's writing and I know he uses Inkwell to enhance his
>>>>>>>> intrinsic abilities.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> davew
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> On Fri, Jan 24, 2025, at 10:48 PM, Pieter Steenekamp wrote:
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> I was surprised by the comment "I hope I'm wrong. But that text
>>>>>>>> reads like it was generated by an LLM"  At first, I just thought, 'so
>>>>>>>> what?' But it got me thinking about how AI changes how we communicate,
>>>>>>>> which is really important to me.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> Here's my main point:
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> I think it's okay to use others, whether they're people or AI, to
>>>>>>>> help me communicate better, as long as the ideas are mine and I'm not
>>>>>>>> copying someone else's work. If using AI to polish my words bothers
>>>>>>>> someone, we can talk about it.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> Here's some background on why I think this way:
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> a) Learning to communicate is one of the best things you can take
>>>>>>>> away from school or university. For example if a student is supposed to use
>>>>>>>> her own words in an assignment, then using AI or asking someone else to
>>>>>>>> rewrite is wrong.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> b) In the workplace, we've always had people like personal
>>>>>>>> assistants or speech writers. I see using AI in the same way, just a modern
>>>>>>>> tool to help.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> c) Writing assistance used to be expensive because you needed
>>>>>>>> people. Now, AI can do the job for free, and that doesn't go against what I
>>>>>>>> believe is right.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> d) Your writing should still sound like you. So, I write something
>>>>>>>> first, then ask AI to make it better but keep it simple and in my style,
>>>>>>>> like, 'Please make this sound better but keep it easy to understand.' I now
>>>>>>>> realise I violated this previously and will adapt.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> e) Maybe it's good, depending on the situation, to mention when
>>>>>>>> you've used AI in your writing.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> f) Here's a funny story: I used AI to help write a message for an
>>>>>>>> AI workshop, and someone complimented the writing so much they suggested I
>>>>>>>> should be a writer instead!
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> My bottom line:
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> I plan to add a note at the end of each message in this group
>>>>>>>> saying I used AI to help with my writing. If my using AI is a problem for
>>>>>>>> anyone here, feel free to ask me to leave the group or simply remove me
>>>>>>>> from the group.
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>> Note: I use AI to assist my writing.
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