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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Kickstarting the audiobook of The Lost Cause, my novel of environmental hope

Tonight (October 2), I'm in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab. On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

The Lost Cause is my next novel. It's about the climate emergency. It's hopeful. Library Journal called it "a message hope in a near-future that looks increasingly bleak." As with every other one of my books Amazon refuses to sell the audiobook, so I made my own, and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/the-lost-cause-a-novel-of-climate-and-hope

That's a lot to unpack, I know. So many questions! Including this one: "How is it that I have another book out in 2023?" Because this is my third book this year. Short answer: I write when I'm anxious, so I came out of lockdown with nine books. Nine!

Hope and writing are closely related activities. Hope (the belief that you can make things better) is nothing so cheap and fatalistic as optimism (the belief that things will improve no matter what you do). The Lost Cause is full of people who are full of hope.

The action begins a full generation after the Hail Mary passage of the Green New Deal, and the people who grew up fighting the climate emergency (rather than sitting hopelessly by while the powers that be insisted that nothing could or should be done) have a name for themselves: they call themselves "the first generation in a century that doesn't fear the future."

I fear the future. Unchecked corporate power has us barreling over a cliff's edge and all the one-percent has to say is, "Well, it's too late to swerve now, what if the bus rolls and someone breaks a leg? Don't worry, we'll just keep speeding up and leap the gorge":

https://locusmag.com/2022/07/cory-doctorow-the-swerve/

That unchecked corporate power has no better avatar than Amazon, one of the tech monopolies that has converted the old, good internet into "five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four":

https://twitter.com/tveastman/status/1069674780826071040

Amazon maintains a near-total grip over print and ebooks, but when it comes to audiobooks, that control is total. The company's Audible division has captured more than 90% of the market, and it abuses that dominance to cram Digital Rights Management onto every book it sells, even if the author doesn't want it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

I wrote a whole-ass book about this and it came out less than a month ago; it's called The Internet Con and it lays out an audacious plan to halt the internet's enshittification and throw it into reverse:

http://www.seizethemeansofcomputation.org/

The tldr is this: when an audiobook is wrapped in Amazon's DRM, only Amazon can legally remove it. That means that every book I sell you on Audible is a book you have to throw away if you ever break up with Amazon, and Amazon can use the fact that it's hold you hostage to screw me – and every other author – over.

As I said last time this came up:

Fuck that sideways.

With a brick.

My books are sold without DRM, so you can play them in any app and do anything copyright permits, and that means Amazon won't carry them, and that means my publishers don't want to pay to produce them, and that means I produce them myself, and then I make the (significant) costs back by selling them on Kickstarter.

And you know what? It works. Readers don't want DRM. I mean, duh. No one woke up this morning and said, "Dammit, why won't someone sell me a product that lets me do less with my books?" I sell boatloads" of books through these crowdfunding campaigns. I sold so many copies of my last book, *The Internet Con, that they sold out the initial print run in two weeks (don't worry, they held back stock for my upcoming events).

But beyond that, I think there's another reason my readers keep coming back, even though I wrote a genuinely stupid number of books while working through lockdown anxiety while the wildfires raged and ashes sifted down out of the sky and settled on my laptop as I lay in my backyard hammock, pounding my keyboard.

(I went through two keyboards during lockdown. Thankfully, I bought a user-serviceable laptop from Framework and fixed it myself both times, in a matter of minutes. No, no one pays me to mention this, but hot damn is it cool.)

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/13/graceful-failure/#frame

The reason readers come back to my books is that they're full of hope. In the same way that writing lets me feel like I'm not a passenger in life, but rather, someone with a say in my destination, the books that I write are full of practical ways and dramatic scenes in which other people seize the means of computation, the reins of power or their own destinies.

The protagonist of The Lost Cause is Brooks Palazzo, a high-school senior in Burbank whose parents were part of the original cohort of volunteers who kicked off the global transformation, and left him an orphan when they succumbed to one of the zoonotic plagues that arise every time another habitat is destroyed.

Brooks grew up knowing what his life would be: the work of repair and care, which millions of young people are doing. Relocating entire cities off endangered coastlines and floodplains, or out of fire-zones. Fighting floods and fires. Caring for tens of millions of refugees for whom the change came too late.

But with every revolution comes a counter-revolution. The losers of a just war don't dig holes, climb inside and pull the dirt down on top of themselves. Two groups of reactionaries – seagoing anarcho-capitalist billionaire wreckers and seething white nationalist militias – have formed an alliance.

They've already gotten their champion into the White House. Next up: dismantling every cause for hope Brooks and his friends have, and bringing back the fear.

That's the setup for a novel about solidarity, care, library socialism, and snatching victory from defeat's jaws. Writing it help keep me sane during the lockdown, and when it came time to record the audiobook, I spent a lot of time thinking about who could read it. I've had some great narrators: Wil Wheaton, @neil-gaiman, Amber Benson, Bronson Pinchot, and more.

I record my audiobooks with Skyboat Media, a brilliant studio near my place in LA. Back in August, I spent a week in their recording booth – "The Tardis" – doing something I'd never tried before: I recorded a whole audiobook, with directorial supervision: The Internet Con:

https://transactions.sendowl.com/products/78992826/DEA0CE12/purchase

When it was done, the director – audiobook legend Gabrielle de Cuir – sat me down and said, "Look, I've never said this to an author before, but I think you should read The Lost Cause. I don't direct anyone anymore except for Wil Wheaton and LeVar Burton, but I would direct you on this one."

I was immensely flattered – and very nervous. Reading The Internet Con was one thing – the book is built around the speeches I've been giving for 20 years and I knew I could sell those lines – but The Lost Cause is a novel, with a whole cast of characters. Could I do it?

Reader, I did it. I just listened to the proofs last week and:

It.

Came.

Out.

Great.

The Lost Cause goes on sale on November 14th, and I'll be selling this audiobook I made everywhere audiobooks are sold – except for the stores that require DRM, nonconsensually shackling readers and writers to their platforms. So you'll be able to get it on Libro.fm, downpour.com, even Google Play – but not Audible, Apple Books, or Audiobooks.com.

But in addition to those worthy retailers, I will be sending out thousands – and thousands! – of audiobook to my Kickstarter backers on the on-sale date, either as a folder of DRM-free MP3s, or as a download code for Libro.fm, to make things easy for people who don't want to have to figure out how to sideload an audiobook into a standalone app.

And, of course, the mobile duopoly have made this kind of sideloading exponentially harder over the past decade, though far be it from me to connect this with their policy of charging 30% commissions on everything sold through an app, a commission they don't receive if you get your files on the web and load 'em yourself:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell/posts/3788112

As with my previous Kickstarters, I'm also selling ebooks and hardcovers – signed or unsigned, and this time I've found a great partner to fulfill EU orders from within the EU, so backers won't have to pay VAT and customs charges. The wonderful Otherland – who have hosted me on my last two trips to Berlin – are going to manage that shipping for me:

https://www.otherland-berlin.de/en/home.html

Kim Stanley Robinson read the book and said, "Along with the rush of adrenaline I felt a solid surge of hope. May it go like this." That's just about the perfect quote, because the book is a ride. It's not just a kumbaya tale of a better world that is possible: it's a post-cyberpunk novel of high-tech guerrilla and meme warfare, climate tech and bad climate tech, wildcat prefab urban infill, and far-right militamen who adapt to a ban on assault-rifles by switching to super-soakers full of hydrochloric acid.

It's a book about struggle, hope in the darkness, and a way through this rotten moment. It's a book that dares to imagine that things might get worse but also better. This is a curious emotional melange, but it's one that I'm increasingly feeling these days.

Like, Amazon, that giant bully, whose blockade on DRM-free audiobooks cost me enough money to pay off my mortgage and put my kid through university (according to my agent)? The incredible Lina Khan brought a long-overdue antitrust case against Amazon while her rockstar DoJ counterpart, Jonathan Kanter, is dragging Google through the courts.

The EU is taking on Apple, and French cops are kicking down Nvidia's doors and grabbing their files, looking to build another antitrust case for monopolizing GPUs. The writers won their strike and Joe Biden walked the picket-line with the UAW, the first president in history to join striking workers:

https://doctorow.medium.com/joe-biden-is-headed-to-a-uaw-picket-line-in-detroit-f80bd0b372ab?sk=f3abdfd3f26d2f615ad9d2f1839bcc07

Solar is now our cheapest energy source, which is wild, because if we could only capture 0.4% of the solar energy that makes it through the atmosphere, we could give everyone alive the same energy budget as Canadians (who have American lifestyles but higher heating bills). As Deb Chachra writes in her forthcoming How Infrastructure Works (my review pending): we get a fresh supply of energy every time the sun rises and we only get new materials when a comet survives atmospheric entry, but we treat energy as scarce and throw away our materials after a single use:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/612711/how-infrastructure-works-by-deb-chachra/

Anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. We have shot past many of our planetary boundaries and there are waves of climate crises in our future, but they don't have to be climate disasters. That's up to us – it'll depend on whether we come together to save ourselves and each other, or tear ourselves apart.

The Lost Cause dares to imagine what it might be like if we do the former. We don't live in a post-enshittification world yet, but we could. With these indie audiobooks, I've found a way to treat the terminal enshittification of the Amazon monopoly as damage and route around it. I hope you'll back the Kickstarter, fight enshittification, inject some hope into your reading, and enjoy a kickass adventure novel in the process:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/the-lost-cause-a-novel-of-climate-and-hope

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/02/the-lost-cause/#the-first-generation-that-doesnt-fear-the-future

#pluralistic #audiobooks #the lost cause #crowdfunding #kickstarter #spoken word #climate #climate emergency #monopoly #drm #amazon #audible #skyboat #science fiction #hope not optimism

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plottwiststudios · 14 days ago

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I Guess I Should Update Ya'll...

The upcoming Kickstarter's demo is wrapping up. Which means in a week or two, we'll go into refining the Kickstarter page, then going full speed ahead on the campaign. (Despite the fact we're only 10% of the follower goal on the actual Kickstarter page. Near existential dread there, but!) If the team has any fortune left, the Kickstarter follower count won't at all be indicative of the success of the game's campaign. So instead of looking at something I can't control, I will focus on showing everyone the vibe and feel of the sequel, and what they should expect in terms of changes.

First thing's first! Matching the narrative tones between the in-game sprites and the CGs has been greatly improved since the original game. Yes, partly because I have improved my directing and we have WAY more time to work with than before. But also, ssam_reptile's utter dedication to getting that look down while insisting on honoring @nekojirou sprites cannot be denied. There will be some scenes in the demo (that we're obviously not going to show here) that will absolutely have moments of "...Oh this is clean." And we can't wait to see ya'll's reaction to the events that play out.

Speaking of play, the core gameplay (read a visual book) is the same. But we've updated the UI a bit. The original UI artist makes his return, and presents us with a far simpler look that will hopefully cut down on confusion. Some fun little highlights:

Speaking character's name moved to the center

Quick menu display has more recognizable naming and icons

New font and font color

Name of the song playing now appears! With a volume slider!

Some of the new, cool features to the UI to be added post-campaign

And the story? For now, let's just say that breaking this game up into two has given us ideas and opportunities that we would not have had if this sequel was included in the original Women of Xal like we originally intended. One of the most notable changes is in fact the tone. Taking place weeks after the events of The True Ending of Women of Xal I, Xjena is learning the hard way that you cannot be a Matriarch without making enemies. And enemies of the powerful tend to be quite formidable themselves.

For the 1% of you who are familiar with how my stories tend to progress, this will be familiar territory: The honeymoon period that was the first part, no matter how light or dark it started, can never truly return. From this point on, things take a more serious turn, and the writing's real teeth come through. The script will still make you smile, laugh, and have heartwarming moments, but the characters have moved on from castle shenanigans. They're locked in for the turbulent second half, and the writing/presentation will reflect that.

Women of Xal II Demo Features

40 Minute Demo

New outfits for most of the returning cast

New locations

New environment art

All new music

Two new key characters

Liz has freckles now (You can thank ssam_reptile)

Please hit that Notify Me At Launch button! I'm quite serious when I say that the Kickstarter website LOVES seeing traction from the first few hours of launch and will help us encourage them to boost us from within.

#kickstarter #visual novel #gaming #steam #indie #women of xal #I like how I promised the full game will have more screentime for men #But like... I can't promise that at all for them regarding the demo #But like. Trust me! The men will get more screentime!#Especially compared to the first game #Ladies will still have more but STILL

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myokk · 5 months ago

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Three things I’ve been thinking of lately:

ONE:

I recently learned that people read differently in their minds🫨 the three types of reading are: subvocalization (you sound out each word internally, like reading to yourself), auditory reading (you hear the words you’ve read, faster than subvocalization) and visual reading (you just understand the meaning of the word..the fastest).

I’m a subvocalization girl which means that I read/write pretty slow but I also LOVE it, because it’s so entertaining this way. I think I mainly just read a lot of classics because their use of language and making their writing sound pretty is🤌🤌🤌 sometimes I just read chapters of Ulysses bc I like how they sound😆♥️ and for me, the main reason to read is to feast my brain!! And writing is so much fun too, because when you get that *exact* combination of words and punctuation and just aldkjgjdlsjgjss when it can sound pretty I get SO HAPPY !! (I think it’s quite obvious that I love alliteration🫶) I’m only a year into my writing journey but I’m excited to see if I can improve with it🥰♥️

But I’m curious…WHAT TYPE OF READER ARE YOU?? Did you know there were different ways?

TWO:

I love this website SO much & I wanted to share it with you all in case you’re interested:

YOU GET TO PRACTICE TYPING (ok maybe I’m weird bc I think it’s fun😆) PLUS you get to “read” all of these amazing novels! They have Austen, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Fitzgerald, Orwell,Homer, etc etc etc🫶

I think physically typing out prose you admire is also an amazing practice because it’s a different way to interact with some beautiful writing. As an artist, I love doing studies of the masters because I always learn something new♥️ (not fanart, my real art😆) and I feel like this is similar for writing.

THREE:

HOW DO SOME OF YOU WRITE SO FAST🫠🫠🫠 OR EVEN READ SO MUCH🫨

Im lucky if I have even 30 min a day to write, and I see some of you posting FULL CHAPTERS almost every day🫨🫨🫨 or even every week…please teach me your ways🥺 but even if I have a longer time to write sometimes, I feel like I write at a snail’s pace because now that the plot of my fic gets so complicated, I spend so much time just THINKING instead of writing🫠 I still have fun writing though & I don’t feel bad about my writing speed, I just wish that sometimes I was a bit faster♥️

Ok that’s all!! My weird rambling post for the evening😆🫶

#is this shitposting?#whatever this is my blog🤭 & I always love hearing your responses…#im just curious I suppose bc I’ve been thinking of these things a lot

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emotional-engine · 2 years ago

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In case you missed - GREAT Neopets News!

I didn't see anybody talking about the news here, so I thought that I could share a summary.

The Neopets Team announced today that they're under new management. They're no longer affiliated with Jumpstart (which announced their closure back in June) or their parent company NetDragon.

In their blog post in the official Neopets Medium page, they confirm that they are now an independent company:

(Dominc Law, worked for NetDragon and was an old school Neopets player. He put together a team to work on saving the brand.)

Also in that blog post the team talks about how they are well aware of the problems the site has been through in the last decade, they acknowledge the lack of resources which resulted in the Neopets website being left broken.

Going ahead, they are going to focus on community requests, such as speeding up the process of Flash Games conversion, clearing up the page conversion backlog, bug fixes, mobile compatibility issues and improving customer support.

Most importantly, in my opinion, they clear up that they WILL NOT go forward with any Metaverse bullshit, and will instead work on creating a game that feels like Neopets:

At this point, they have secured $4M in funding from various (unnamed) investors with additional funding from the management buyout. For the first time in forever, it looks like TNT has the resources they need to move the brand forward. In the blog post, they mention they have already hired developers and artists to work on the fixes the site needs.

From what it looks like, the game will be a mobile social life-simulation, parallel to the current website. We don’t have to worry that neopets.com will be replaced by a mobile app.

As of now, they have announced:

A brand new plot, scheduled for early 2024

A 2 million(!) NeoCash giveaway

More transparency with monthly updates from the team, scheduled AMAs

Neopets will be under the control of a new, unified entity: World of Neopia, Inc - the website will remain the same (neopets.com)

A Brand Ambassador Program

No longer going forward with NFT/Metaverse stuff

At the end, they published a FAQ with some answers that I found to be good and very interesting:

You can read the entire blog post here.

Or watch the YouTube announcement (which is way shorter):

youtube

#neopets #putting my journo degree to a good use i think #i am in no way affiliated with TNT or jumpstart or netdragon etc #i'm just really really happy #things look bright for once and i'd like to share the news #i know some people might be skeptical but i'd like to be optimistic for once and trust the team #most of them nowadays are old players if i'm not mistaken #i don't think they like to see the website in shambles as it was #also really goddamn glad they're moving away from crypto shit #i appreciate the transparency #also be nice to me i'm shy #Youtube #i admit i got a little lazy by the end #nostalgia #y2k nostalgia #kidcore #will these tags even show up

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axvoter · 2 months ago

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Blatantly Partisan Party Review VIII (federal 2025): David Pocock

Running where: ACT for the Senate

Prior reviews: federal 2022

What I said before: “Normally, individuals running on a ‘don’t ya know me and what I stand for?’ platform tack on something so that they are the Jacqui Lambie Network or the Rex Patrick Team or Katter’s Australian Party. David Pocock, however, has had an inspired moment and simply registered his party’s name as his personal name. This isn’t the David Pocock Group, Network, or Team. This is David Pocock.” (federal 2022)

What I think this year: Pocock has been a pretty decent Senator. He had a shaky first few months as he learnt how it all works, but once he figured out whose advice to take, whose to ignore, and what were the signs of a self-interested chancer in the setting of parliamentary lobbying, he got to work in a left-leaning way on issues affecting Canberrans and the nation alike. And, given that his victory at the 2022 election denied the Liberals a seat, his presence is all the more welcome—our parliament is better for Pocock ousting Zed Seselja.

Word on the street is that Pocock has done so well to cement his position in Canberra that he might even outpoll Labor. I will believe that when I see it, but in the contest with the Liberals for his seat, he’s the favourite to retain it. I have seen some speculation that Labor’s vote could drop low enough that Pocock scoops the left-leaning vote while the Liberals do enough to win the second seat ahead of Labor, but I don’t see this as likely. The fact that under Dutton the Liberals have taken aim at the public service and work-from-home policies makes me suspect they might register their worst ever result in Canberra.

Pocock’s website touts his “Wins”, including his ongoing goals. I like he opens with stats that he has given 617 parliamentary speeches, attended 167 ministerial meetings, considered 349 items of legislation, and negotiated 221 amendments. Canberrans, of all people, are most likely to appreciate this kind of info. He then sets out his main issues, and the left-leaning voter will find a lot to like in what he promotes that he is “still fighting for”. Not much leaps out at me as unappealing; he supports 4-year fixed-term parliaments, and while I think parliament should have fixed terms, I have seen no evidence that 4-year terms result in better governance than 3-year terms (and given Australia’s lengthy experience with both at state level, this evidence should be easy to produce if it exists). I prefer not to make politicians less accountable to electors. But this doesn’t seem to be something for which Pocock is fighting especially hard. His leading goal for political reform is to have the ACT’s Senate representation expanded from two to four Senators, which I agree is long overdue.

Pocock has been out the gates campaigning effectively for re-election and he has been busy releasing policies. Alongside climate action, for which he is well known, and action on cost-of-living issues, this year he has a strong focus on health, including more investment in the ACT’s healthcare system, better access to bulk billing GPs, and subsidies for longer appointments so that people with complex conditions don’t have to pay so much. I really like that he is pushing to overturn the ban on gay men in monogamous relationships from donating blood. It is an outdated policy that is no longer necessary for safety and repeal would bring Australia into line with other comparable countries and improve our blood supply.

On the housing front, he emphasises the need for much more investment in public and social housing, which should please many left-wing voters, and I’m happy to read that “the Territory must do more to relax zoning and other rules that restrict permissibility of ‘missing middle’ townhouse and medium-rise apartment buildings. More medium-density housing must be allowed … [and] The ACT Government has to find ways to speed up the development assessment process.” Build! Additionally, Pocock promotes “reform” of negative gearing and capital gains tax concessions. This would be welcome but other parties have stronger positions. I suspect he is right, though, that to make such reforms palatable—especially as this is such a hot-button issue among Australia’s chattering classes—provisions for existing investments will need to be grandfathered in to any reforms.

All in all, I think Pocock is a very good option for left-wing voters in the ACT, and I would unhesitatingly rank him above Labor. I would possibly (probably?) put him above the Greens too. I’m not an ACT voter though, so I don’t have to decide that one for myself.

Recommendation: Give David Pocock a good preference.

Website: https://www.davidpocock.com.au/

#auspol #ausvotes #ausvotes25 #Australian election #Australia #Canberra #ACT #Australian Capital Territory #Pocock #David Pocock #independent politics #independent candidates #David Pocock Senator David Pocock #good preference

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marketingtools-blog · 1 year ago

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Web Host Performance and Website Speed

Your website’s speed can make or break the experience for your visitors. Fast loading times, easy site flow, quick server replies, and well-set content delivery are key. These parts ensure users enjoy their visit from start to finish across all gadgets. A slow site often means people leave fast which isn’t good for how they see your brand. Everyone likes a snappy website; it helps them get what…

View On WordPress

#how to increase website speed #how to make website load faster #how to speed up my website loading #how to speed up wordpress website #how to speed up your website #how to speed up your wordpress website #improve website speed #increase website speed #speed up website #speed up wordpress #speed up wordpress website #speed up your wordpress website #website speed #website speed optimization #website speed test #wordpress speed optimization #wordpress website speed

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pixelglam · 11 months ago

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hey amelie! i just wanted to ask, how long did it take for you to learn how to build? did you watch youtube tutorials or anything like that? idk, i’ve always wanted to build a house for my own sims but it’s so hard for me to like what i’ve made. did you feel this way too? do you have any tips? sorry i’m such a yapper 😭 have a great day! <3

Hello! Watching simmers like bojanasims, lilsimsie and simlicy on youtube helped me a lot especially when I started building lots myself about one and a half years ago! I listed a few tips for you below!

I also received a similar message from another anon so I'll be answering both here. 🤍

'hiii i recently discovered your yt channel and i love your builds. how did you improve your building skills and how do you make your builds so realistic? 🩵'

Study Real Architecture: Look at real-life houses, apartments, and buildings to understand architectural styles, layouts, and details. This can give you inspiration and ideas for your own builds. My favorites are pinterest and real estate/architect websites.

Plan Your Build: Before starting, come up with a plan and layout for the build. Decide on the overall style (modern, traditional, etc.), number of rooms, color scheme and any special features you want to include.

Get Acquainted with The Basics: Understand the basic tools and controls in Build Mode. Practice using the wall tool, room tool, roof and terrain tools to create a solid foundation for all your builds. There are a lot of really informative tutorials on youtube! (important for beginners)

Pay Attention to Scale and Proportions: Ensure that rooms, windows, doors, and furniture are proportionate to each other. This helps in creating a realistic and cohesive look.

Use Realistic Colors and Textures: Choose colors and textures that are realistic and complement each other well. Consider the overall color scheme of the house and how different materials blend together.

Add Detailing: Pay attention to small details like trim around windows and doors, roof overhangs, and landscaping. These details can make a big difference in the overall appearance of your build.

Experiment with Roofing and Terrain: Roofs and landscaping can significantly impact the realism of your build. Experiment with different roof shapes, angles, and materials. Use terrain tools to create realistic slopes and landscaping features.

Furnish Thoughtfully: When furnishing your builds, think about how real people would use the space. Arrange furniture in a way that makes sense functionally and aesthetically.

Utilize Custom Content (CC): Explore custom content to expand your options for building, furniture and decorative items. This can often help to create a more realistic look as well.

Seek Feedback and Learn from Others: Share your builds in sims discord groups or on Simblr to ask for feedback and look for inspiration. Look at tutorials and speed builds by other players/creators to learn new techniques and tricks. (please don't copy or steal other people's builds to post online though)

Practice Regularly: Like any skill, building in The Sims 4 improves with practice. Experiment with different styles and challenge yourself with more complex builds over time.

Have Fun and Be Creative: Building in The Sims 4 is a creative outlet, so enjoy the process and don't be afraid to try new things in your designs.

#answered #tips

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gearsphere · 1 month ago

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I found this in the trash yesterday and im fascinated by the absolutely ai written ad copy/mission statements on this things website, and also these images of the ceo

Some choice paragraphs below lol

“You are one in 8 billion, having unique God-given talents to achieve your purpose and fulfill your destiny. Your abilities are designed to accomplish something extraordinary. We aim to ignite your supernatural, energetic creativity by innovating unique formulas that deliver unparalleled experiences. Ai was designed to give you a burst of exhilarating and vibrant energy to drive you toward your destiny. Our unwavering commitment to create superior innovations has resulted in billions of brilliant beverages sold. Our success is driven by a deep understanding of how specialized ingredients work in concert to enhance excellence and attain awesomeness.”

“We all have a unique purpose and God-given talents to fulfill and carry out our destiny. Our talent is creating special formulas with highly specialized ingredient combinations that deliver an unparalleled positive consumer experience. The success of having sold billions of brilliant beverage innovations is driven by our obsession with highly specialized ingredients. I have studied these ingredients for over three decades and have a book discussing our 31 double-blind placebo-controlled gold standard university studies at prestigious universities such as UCLA, Florida State University, Baylor University, and many other great research institutions. I have wrote a book with 1,144 scientific references and consider myself the foremost authority in the world in this genre. I designed and managed our own highly sophisticated science lab as (CSO) Chief Scientific Officer, for the last 25 years employing as many as many 11 research and development scientists and product development specialists. This unique and deep experience has made me one of the foremost authorities in the world on how these specialized ingredients work in concert to deliver an unmatched consumer experience.-“

And finally one about how this can make your brain match up to the POWER of ai

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honeydippedfiction · 5 months ago

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The Burden of Greatness

Prologue of Revved Up To Fight

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Summary: The prologue introduces Y/N Griffin, the heir to a legendary motorsport dynasty, raised in a world where racing is not just a passion but an expectation. As she grows, she grapples with the immense weight of her family’s legacy, ultimately questioning whether she races for herself or simply to fulfill the world’s expectations, setting the stage for a journey of self-discovery.

WC: 9.4k (she's looong lol I got carried away sorry)

Warnings: themes of family pressure, high expectations, self-doubt, and identity struggles, a racing accident, injury, emotional weight of legacy, burnout, and self-discovery

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The Griffin family was more than a name—it was a dynasty. To the world outside, they were motorsport royalty, icons whose achievements were woven into the very fabric of racing history. But to Y/N, they were simply family. Her grandfather’s records in Formula 1 still stood as monuments of speed and strategy, his name etched in the sport’s annals as one of the greatest to ever race. Her father had turned MotoGP into a stage for breathtaking audacity, riding like a man possessed, rethinking the very essence of what it meant to push the limits of human endurance and mechanical precision. And her mother—her mother was a legend in her own right, a woman whose dominance in IndyCar was less about brute force and more about an almost spiritual connection to the track, a quiet master of strategy, timing, and grace under pressure.

The Griffins didn’t just race; they defined racing. Their triumphs had become part of motorsport folklore, told and retold at every track, in every garage, on every pit wall. They were pioneers—risk-takers who had turned the sport into an art form. They had shaped it. Molded it. Redefined it.

From the day Y/N was born, the world had made up its mind. There would be no “if” about it; the question was always when. She wasn’t just another racer, another aspiring champion. She was the heir apparent to a legacy so great, it was almost impossible to imagine anything but the highest of expectations. Destiny, as far as the world was concerned, had already been written in the stars.

But for Y/N, the weight of that legacy was something far more intimate. It wasn’t about living up to the stories told about her family’s triumphs. It wasn’t about proving anything to anyone. It was about something simpler, more profound: living up to the quiet, unspoken legacy that had been passed down to her in ways she had never truly understood until much later.

Sunday nights at the Griffin house were never typical. There were no lazy meals or casual chats. There was always a blueprint spread across the table, a car engine in various stages of disassembly, and race footage flickering across the television screen, paused mid-turn as her father’s voice—deep and steady—talked through tire pressure and aerodynamics. “The car,” he would often say, “it’s not just a machine. It’s an extension of you.”

Her mother’s words were quieter, precise, her voice a soft, calculated hum that cut through the air like the hum of an engine coming to life. “Perfection,” she’d whisper, “is in the details. Watch the line. Every millisecond matters.” There was no room for error. The world they inhabited was one of constant improvement, of never settling, of always pushing towards that elusive thing called perfection.

To Y/N, these weren’t just lessons; they were a way of life. Her parents were more than just her mentors—they were the architects of her world. From the time she could walk, she was never handed toy cars or dolls. Instead, they put wrenches in her hands and showed her how to use them. They taught her how to take apart and rebuild an engine before she had even learned to properly tie her shoes.

The house wasn’t filled with the usual memorabilia of childhood. There were no stuffed animals, no posters of pop stars or superheroes. Instead, the walls of the Griffin household were adorned with photographs of races long past, faded trophies gleaming in the corners of rooms that smelled faintly of gasoline and leather. Y/N’s childhood was a laboratory of sorts—a place where racing was the answer to every question, and family was the force that held it all together.

Her earliest memories weren’t of parks or playgrounds, but of race tracks. Of the smell of fuel in the air, the roar of engines, the metallic hum of pit crews in their choreography of precision. She was there, in the pit lane, wide-eyed and breathless, as her parents worked their magic, tweaking settings and adjusting valves with the kind of calm intensity only those born into racing understood. For others, the sound of a revving engine might have been deafening. For Y/N, it was a symphony.

Her grandfather, sitting next to her with his weathered hands resting on the back of the pit wall, would often point out to the track. “Monaco,” he’d say, his voice gravelly but steady, “it’s about control. It’s about patience.” He’d recount the glory of his victory, detailing every twist and turn of the track as if it were etched into his bones. And Y/N, sitting on his knee, absorbed it all—each word, each piece of wisdom.

Her father, always the adventurer, would take her up to the podium after his victories, lifting her high into the air as though the triumph was hers, too. And in a way, it was. He’d tell her, with a proud grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “You’re next. You’ll be up here someday. But remember, it’s about more than winning. It’s about making every second count.”

And then there was her mother. Quiet, reserved, always with a plan. Before her first karting session, her mother had knelt before her, adjusted her helmet, and whispered the words that would stay with her forever. “You’re a Griffin, Y/N. You don’t just race—you set the standard.”

The Griffin family wasn’t just supportive; they were all in. Their belief in Y/N was not a passive thing—it was active, deliberate, and persistent. Her father wasn’t just content to let her watch from the sidelines; he became her first teacher, guiding her hands as she turned the wrenches, his voice always calm but firm, explaining the physics of a turn or the importance of throttle control. Her mother, ever the strategist, was always the one to help her perfect her technique, breaking down complex moves into bite-sized, understandable bits. She could see the potential in Y/N long before Y/N saw it in herself.

When Y/N first raced, it wasn’t with an overwhelming sense of competition. It was with a deep-rooted sense of connection—connection to the car, to the track, to the generations of Griffins who had come before her. Her father, meticulously adjusting her kart’s bolts, would look her in the eye and say, “You’ve got this, kid. Just remember what I taught you: Feel the car. Don’t fight it.” Her mother, always composed, would be there at the starting line, helmet in hand, leaning in with the softest words of advice. “Breathe. Focus. Own the track.”

The pressure of carrying the Griffin name, however, was something Y/N felt acutely. It was never spoken directly—it didn’t need to be. Every time she won, every time she stood atop the podium, the expectations of the world seemed to double. Every small mistake, every failure, felt magnified. Yet, in those moments of solitude, after the race had ended and the cheers had faded, her family was always there to remind her that the journey wasn’t about comparison. It wasn’t about matching the past—it was about creating her own future.

As Y/N grew older, the whispers started. Fans spoke her name with an air of inevitability, as if she were simply waiting for her time to emerge. Journalists speculated—often with more fervor than accuracy—about her future. T-shirts bearing her name began to pop up alongside those with her family’s, emblazoned with slogans like “The Next Griffin Legend.” Her family, it seemed, had become a measuring stick for all who came after.

Yet, despite the weight of these expectations, Y/N carried herself with a quiet, unshakable confidence. She didn’t feel the need to chase her family’s history, to prove she was worthy of the name she bore. No. She wanted something more—something deeper. She wanted to honor their legacy, to carry the torch forward, but she also wanted to carve out her own story, a story that was uniquely hers, even if it was still intertwined with the threads of her family’s past.

The world might have been watching, but Y/N wasn’t looking over her shoulder. Instead, she looked forward, her gaze set firmly on the track ahead. It was a daunting path, filled with expectations and pressure, but Y/N wasn’t afraid. After all, she was a Griffin. And Griffins didn’t just race—they set the standard.

Y/N's first race was a quiet affair—nothing more than a local karting competition in a forgotten corner of the world, tucked away in a dusty lot surrounded by bleachers that had seen better days. For most young racers, it would have been a humble start, a first taste of the sport that might not have amounted to much more than a handful of local bragging rights. But for Y/N, this was the beginning of something far grander, an opening chapter in the story of her destiny.

At just eight years old, she slipped into a custom-fitted racing suit, its fabric snug against her small frame. Her name—Y/N Griffin—was embroidered neatly on the back, a quiet echo of a legacy she hadn’t yet begun to fulfill. As she pulled the helmet over her head, the weight of her family’s history felt distant, almost irrelevant. Here, in the stillness of that moment, there was no roaring crowd, no cameras flashing, no family legacy pushing her forward. There was only the track, and only her.

Her father crouched beside her, adjusting the straps of her helmet with his usual precision. His hands were steady, but his eyes, focused and intense, betrayed the pride he was trying to hide. “The race isn’t won in the first corner,” he said, his voice calm yet knowing. “But that’s where you can lose it. Stay sharp. Trust yourself.”

When the flag dropped, everything around her faded. The world became a blur of asphalt, rubber, and the growl of a kart that vibrated beneath her, its engine alive with power. She gripped the steering wheel, her small hands steady as the nerves that had threatened to rise seemed to disappear entirely. There was no Griffin name, no family pressure—only the race.

She didn’t win that day. Her kart crossed the finish line a few places behind the leader, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was how she raced. Her control on the track, her ability to read the turns, and her cool-headedness in the midst of chaos stood out. She wasn’t just a kid trying to race—she was learning, adapting, and above all, she was growing.

Her family saw it immediately. Her father’s sharp gaze never left the track, watching as his daughter took each corner with uncanny precision. Her mother, standing near the pit lane, gave a small, approving nod. Y/N wasn’t just racing. She was beginning her journey in the same way her family had—on her terms.

From that first race, Y/N was hooked. The world of karting was her crucible, the place where she began to refine her skills, her technique, and her understanding of the sport. It wasn’t just the adrenaline that fueled her; it was the pulse of the competition, the thrill of the chase, the dizzying rush of passing a rival by mere inches, and the split-second decisions that made the difference between victory and defeat.

Karting, with its tight corners and rapid acceleration, taught her the value of patience and precision. Each race was an opportunity to perfect her craft, to peel away at the layers of her own abilities and uncover the racer hidden beneath.

Weekends became a blur of travel and racing, the familiar hum of the kart's engine a constant companion. When the races were over, the work didn’t stop. Y/N spent her weekdays tinkering with her kart, adjusting carburetors, studying engine specs, and constantly pushing the boundaries of what she could do with the machines. And when she wasn’t hands-on with her kart, she was at home, watching race footage—her parents’ wins, her mistakes, the greats of motorsport who had come before her. Every turn, every maneuver, every hesitation—she dissected it all, her young mind hungry for improvement.

Her parents, always in her corner, took on their roles with dedication. Her father, the motivator, pushed her harder than anyone could. “You need to brake later, Y/N. Feel the track. Push it.” Her mother, the strategist, taught her how to outthink her opponents. “It’s not just about who’s fastest. It’s about how you race.” Their teachings were complementary, a perfect balance of instinct and intellect, the very foundation of her rise to prominence.

Y/N wasn’t just racing to win. She was racing to dominate. And it was clear to everyone—especially her family—that she wasn’t just a prodigy. She was a force.

By the time Y/N turned 12, it was evident that karting was no longer enough. Her talents had outgrown the circuit, and the world of motorsports beckoned with a myriad of opportunities. But Y/N wasn’t content to simply conquer one discipline—she wanted to prove herself across the board.

It was time to branch out.

Her first foray into rallycross was a revelation. The sport, with its wild slides and gravel-churning corners, required an entirely new set of skills. But Y/N adapted seamlessly, her karting precision translating effortlessly to the unpredictable terrain. The art of control, of mastering the slide, became a natural extension of the technique she had spent years honing.

Next came dirt bikes. This was where Y/N learned fearlessness. She took to the dirt with the same tenacity she had shown on the tarmac, launching herself over jumps with an ease that belied her age. The rough trails, the high-speed descents, the sense of weightlessness as she soared above the ground—it was all part of the thrill. And it was here that Y/N discovered a different kind of rhythm, one that didn’t rely solely on smooth lines and perfect corners but on the thrill of the unknown, the unpredictability of nature.

Her experiments with single-seaters—low-tier cars that mimicked the high-speed elegance of Formula 1—further proved her versatility. Y/N was no longer confined to one style or one genre of racing. She was a racer in every sense of the word, adaptable and able to excel in a variety of disciplines. By the time she was 14, her trophy shelf was full, each medal a testament to her adaptability and raw talent. In every category she entered, Y/N didn’t just participate—she dominated.

At 16, Y/N’s career hit a new high. She had moved beyond local competitions and into the national circuits, competing with racers who were often several years older and much more experienced. Her name—once whispered in garage corners and paddocks—was now shouted in headlines and echoed in sponsorship meetings. The media took notice. Sponsors flocked to her, eager to align themselves with the rising star who was not only talented but magnetic.

Her victories were no longer just about skill—they were about her style. Fans adored her aggressive but calculated approach. She wasn’t reckless; she was fearless. Her ability to balance strategy with speed, to attack the track with an unrelenting drive, earned her the respect of competitors who knew exactly what it took to win. Y/N wasn’t just winning races; she was setting new standards.

The wins kept coming—one after another, each more impressive than the last. But it wasn’t just her on-track performance that drew attention. Y/N had an authenticity that resonated off the track as well. Her smile, her energy, her genuine love for the sport were evident in everything she did. Media outlets heralded her as “the future of motorsports.” Commentators couldn’t get enough of her.

But Y/N knew that the path she was carving was about more than just collecting trophies. She wasn’t just carrying the Griffin name into the future—she was redefining it.

With the victories came the weight of expectation. The world was watching, and the whispers of her family legacy were always in the background. Yet, Y/N wasn’t interested in just being a successor to the legends who had come before her. She wasn’t racing for the recognition or the fame; she was racing because it was her passion, her dream.

As she entered her late teens, Y/N’s name was becoming one of the most talked-about in the world of motorsports. Her legacy was only just beginning to take shape, and yet, beneath the accolades and the applause, a new question began to take root: Was she racing because she loved it? Or was she racing because she felt she had no other choice?

It was a question that would shape the trajectory of her career. Because the answer, she realized, would determine not just her future in racing, but the very way she would define herself in a world that had already decided who she was. The next chapter of her life, her career, and her legacy depended on it.

As Y/N’s career soared, so too did the mounting weight of expectation. What had begun as a promising start, a young prodigy following in the tire tracks of legends, had evolved into something much bigger. The Griffin name, a symbol of dominance and innovation in motorsports, now came with a new layer of pressure. With every victory, every podium finish, the comparisons grew louder.

“Is she the next Derrius?”

“Can she surpass her grandfather’s records?”

“Will she become the greatest Griffin to ever race?”

These questions were as constant as the roar of engines. They were present at every press conference, whispered among fans, and often, she could hear them echoing in her own mind long after the crowds had gone home. To the world, it was thrilling, a new chapter in an ongoing saga that had captured the imagination of motorsport fans everywhere. But for Y/N, it became suffocating.

The weight of her family’s legacy, once a proud foundation, now felt like an unshakable burden. The pressure to meet expectations—both her own and others’—became a constant companion. Every race was no longer just about the thrill of competition or the joy of racing. It was a test of her worth.

If she won, it was expected. Her grandfather’s records, her father’s titles, her mother’s legacy—every success she achieved felt like a mere continuation of something already set in stone. But when she lost, it was scrutinized, analyzed, and dissected as if each mistake reflected a flaw in the Griffin lineage itself. The media’s gaze was sharp, always searching for cracks, for signs that Y/N wasn’t quite what they had hoped for. Every miss, every off moment, felt like a personal failure.

Her family, supportive as ever, tried to shield her from the relentless noise of the media. Her mother, who had always seen the fine details others missed, reminded her time and time again, “Comparisons are inevitable, darling. But they don’t define you. Not unless you let them.” Her father, ever the rock, urged her to remember why she raced in the first place. “Feel the car, Y/N. The joy of racing isn’t in the records—it’s in the ride. Focus on that.”

But no matter how many times they spoke those words, the voice inside her head never quieted. “Is this what I really want?” she wondered. Racing had been her life for as long as she could remember, but was it her dream? Or had it always been someone else’s?

By the time she reached her late teens, Y/N began to question everything. The trophies, the accolades, the endless lines of sponsors eager to bask in her success—they all felt hollow at times. She loved racing, there was no doubt about that, but was she racing because she truly wanted to? Or was she simply fulfilling a role carved out for her long before she was born?

Her family’s legacy had been passed down through generations, and she had inherited not just the talent, but the weight of history itself. It was not enough to simply be a good racer; she had to be the racer, the one who carried the Griffin name into the future. But what if that wasn’t what she wanted? What if the very thing that had shaped her life was now suffocating her spirit?

It wasn’t just about winning races anymore; it was about carving out a new identity. She didn’t want to be defined solely by the greatness of those who came before her. Y/N yearned for independence, for a space where she could define her own success—not as another Griffin, but as Y/N, the person who had something unique to offer.

And yet, the road to independence was fraught with uncertainty. How could she step away from a legacy that had already been etched into the annals of motorsport history? How could she abandon a sport that had shaped every fiber of her being?

In the quiet moments between races, when the rush of adrenaline and the roar of the engines faded, those questions became harder to ignore. Was it time for her to find her own way, to redefine who she was, or was she doomed to live in the shadow of expectations for the rest of her life?

Then, it happened. The moment that would forever alter the course of her career—and her life.

It was supposed to be just another race. She had prepared for it with her usual meticulousness. The track was familiar, the car fine-tuned to perfection. She was in the zone, focused and ready, but in motorsports, as in life, things don’t always go as planned.

The collision was violent, a crash that seemed to unfold in slow motion, yet happened in an instant. Her car slammed into the barriers, metal screeching against metal, and everything around her dissolved into chaos. Her vision blurred, her thoughts scrambled, and then—silence.

When she opened her eyes again, she was in a hospital bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic in the air and the low hum of machines surrounding her. The pain was sharp and undeniable, but it wasn’t just the physical injury that hurt the most. It was the realization that something deep inside her had shifted. Racing had always been her everything—the heart-pounding excitement, the thrill of pushing herself beyond her limits—but now, in the quiet of the hospital room, that spark seemed distant, cold. The joy she once found in the sport felt like a distant memory, something she had once possessed but had now lost.

She spent days in that sterile room, alone with her thoughts. The questions that had plagued her for months now became impossible to ignore. Had she lost her love for racing? Had the weight of the legacy crushed something she could never get back? More importantly, what was the point of pushing forward if the joy had vanished?

It took weeks of recovery, both physical and mental, before Y/N made the most difficult decision of her life: to step away from racing. It wasn’t a resignation. It wasn’t giving up. It was a pause—a chance to reflect, to rediscover who she was outside the confines of the track and the overwhelming expectations placed on her.

When she told her family, she braced herself for disappointment. Her father, ever the stoic pillar, simply hugged her tightly, his words soft and reassuring. “You’ve already done more than enough to make us proud, Y/N. Whatever you choose, we’ll support you.”

Her mother, who had always known how to see the bigger picture, nodded with understanding. “You need to live your dream, not ours. Find your own path, darling. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

The motorsport world reacted with shock. Fans speculated endlessly, with many wondering if the pressure had finally broken her. Critics questioned her decision, sponsors scrambled to adjust their strategies, and journalists speculated about what went wrong.

But for Y/N, the noise of the outside world faded. For the first time in her life, she felt free. Free from expectations. Free from comparisons. Free from the weight of a legacy that had never been hers to begin with.

In that moment, Y/N made a vow to herself. No matter where life took her next, she would no longer race to meet the standards of others. She would race—if she chose to race at all—on her own terms.

—

It wasn’t until I lay there in that hospital bed, staring up at the sterile, white ceiling, that I fully grasped the weight I had been carrying all these years. The pressure, the expectations, the constant need to live up to the legacy that came with my name—it had all built up inside me, layer after layer, until it felt like I was drowning under its suffocating heaviness. Every race was no longer just a test of my skill or my passion for the sport; it had become a test of my worth. Could I live up to the standards set by my parents, my grandfather, by a family whose name was synonymous with greatness?

I had spent my entire life running toward that goal, toward the idea of becoming the next great Griffin in motorsports. I thought I loved racing, and for a long time, I did. But as I lay there in the stillness of the hospital room, it occurred to me that maybe I hadn’t been racing because I loved it at all. Maybe I was just running away from the truth: I was chasing the shadow of a legacy that wasn’t truly mine.

For years, the sound of engines roaring, the rush of the track beneath me, had been my heartbeat. But now, in the silence of my mind, a quiet voice asked: What if I want something different?

That question had never crossed my mind before. My life had been carved out for me, shaped by the stories of my parents' triumphs and my grandfather's legendary records. How could I step away from that? How could I turn my back on a legacy that had been a part of me since birth? The thought was terrifying. But there, in that sterile room, I realized something—something crucial. I didn’t have to become the next great Griffin. I just needed to become me.

When the doctors finally cleared me to leave the hospital, I went home, unsure of what to do next. But I knew one thing: I had to face my family. I couldn’t keep pretending that I wasn’t questioning everything. That day, as I sat with them in the living room—my parents, both sitting across from me, eyes full of concern—I felt the weight of their expectations. Their love. Their pride. It was in every glance they shared, every word they spoke. I couldn’t carry it any longer.

And so, with a voice that trembled more than I’d care to admit, I said, “I think I need to step away.”

For a heartbeat, the room was silent. My mother’s eyes softened, her hand reaching out to take mine. My father stayed quiet, his expression unreadable, though I could see the tightness in his jaw. I braced myself for the disappointment I feared would follow. But instead, my mother squeezed my hand and said, “Y/N, you’ve already proven yourself. Now it’s time to figure out who you are beyond the track.”

And just like that, something inside me broke free. The relief that washed over me was overwhelming. It was the first time in years that I hadn’t been afraid of disappointing them. In that moment, I realized they hadn’t been pushing me toward a legacy for the sake of their own pride. They just wanted me to be happy, to find fulfillment beyond the expectations of the world. Not just to be successful—but to be me.

Now, as I look ahead, it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. I don’t have a path laid out for me. The road is completely unknown. For the first time in my life, it’s mine to pave. One step at a time, I’ll carve my own way.

I have no idea where this journey will take me. But there’s one thing I know for sure: I’m ready to find out.

---

The months that followed my decision to step away from racing were some of the most challenging I’d ever faced. Physical recovery was only part of it—the real battle was internal. Every muscle, every bone, every ligament in my body screamed for relief during therapy. But it wasn’t the pain of healing that haunted me. It was the emptiness. The silence that hung in the air when I wasn’t on the track, wasn’t chasing another goal. I’d spent my life racing toward something. Now, I was racing away from everything I had known.

I was no longer driven by competition. The one thing that had always defined me—pushing myself past the limit, fighting to be the best—was suddenly gone. There was no finish line anymore. The absence of that goal felt like the most deafening thing I had ever encountered.

In the midst of this new, quiet life, I sought out small ways to heal. I started journaling, pouring my thoughts and feelings onto the page as a way to understand the chaos swirling inside me. My journals became a mirror, reflecting everything I had tried to ignore. My emotions, my doubts, my fears—everything came to the surface in a way I hadn’t expected. It was difficult. But it was necessary.

I also returned to the things I had enjoyed before racing had consumed me—painting, hiking, watching movies with my cousins. One afternoon, we decided to binge-watch old wrestling matches, something I hadn’t really thought about since I was a kid. I didn’t expect it to spark anything, but as I sat there, watching the legendary Trish Stratus face off against Lita, something stirred deep within me. I couldn’t put it into words right away, but I felt it—an electric thrill, a rush, an undeniable pull.

---

Wrestling had always been in the background of my life, a casual interest that my family indulged in every year when we tuned into WrestleMania. But that was all it was—entertainment. Something fun to watch, a distraction from the demands of our everyday lives. I never really saw it for what it was—a sport, yes, but also a spectacle. A carefully choreographed story that was told with every slam, every turn, every dramatic punch thrown in the ring.

For the first time, though, I began to see it through a different lens. As I watched the matches unfold before me, I saw the athleticism—the precision, the discipline, the risk-taking that mirrored what I had once loved about racing. The wrestlers didn’t just compete; they performed. Each match was a narrative, a story of triumph, of rivalry, of overcoming odds. And they did it all with an audience that was captivated, hanging on every word, every move.

It was the charisma of the wrestlers that truly grabbed me, though. Legends like The Rock could command a crowd with a single line. AJ Lee had the power to defy expectations with her every action, and Becky Lynch? She had the ability to turn every moment into an iconic one. The ability to weave a story, to make people feel something—this was what drew me in.

Wrestling wasn’t just about the competition. It was about the drama, the performance, the connection with the audience. It was a way to tell your story, to shape your own narrative. And in that moment, I realized something profound—I had a story of my own that I wanted to tell.

I could feel it then, the stirring inside me—the same excitement I once felt when I raced. This was new. It was terrifying. But it was exhilarating, too. The thought of stepping into the ring, of feeling the crowd’s roar, of telling my story on my terms, was a rush unlike anything I had experienced before.

It was a whole new world. And it was calling me.

Wrestling wasn’t something I could just try out casually. If I was going to pursue this, it had to be serious. I wasn’t looking for a hobby. I wasn’t looking for a replacement for racing. I wanted something new, something that could build its own legacy—my legacy. And I was ready to chase it.

I started researching wrestling schools, watching match after match, familiarizing myself with the industry. I didn’t know where to start, but I knew one thing: I was done running. This was my next chapter, and it was time to turn the page.

—

The realization came to Y/N with the sudden force of a freight train, an overwhelming clarity that struck her deep in her chest: she wanted to wrestle. Not as a fleeting hobby or a passing interest, but as her next chapter. It wasn’t just a desire for competition. It was the pull of something far more profound—a chance to reinvent herself completely. Wrestling offered everything she had once loved about racing: the adrenaline, the discipline, the commitment to constant self-improvement. But with wrestling, there was a new element, a new opportunity—reinvention. Here, she could carve out a completely different legacy, one that was hers and hers alone.

For so long, she had been defined by the legacy of the Griffins. The weight of that name had pushed her forward, but also bound her to a path that wasn’t entirely her own. Every race, every win, every loss had been part of a story that had been written long before she even had a say in it. But now, as she reflected on what she truly wanted from life, it became clear: this was the time for her to write her own story, from scratch. Wrestling was the blank page she had been waiting for.

It wasn’t a casual decision. Y/N’s approach was always all or nothing—whether it was racing or this new dream she was chasing. Her determination burned hotter than ever before. She threw herself into research, studying wrestling schools, watching hours upon hours of matches, learning about the history and nuances of the sport. She read about the greats, from Stone Cold Steve Austin to The Rock, and the pioneers who had transformed wrestling into the cultural force it was today. The fire she thought had long since extinguished in her was reignited—stronger, fiercer, and brighter than ever.

---

It wasn’t just about the wrestling moves. Y/N understood that now. It wasn’t enough to simply be good in the ring; in fact, that was only part of the equation. What truly made a wrestler unforgettable was their persona—the character they portrayed to the audience, the story they told. And who better to teach her how to build a persona than Nikki and Brie Bella?

When she first reached out to them, Y/N had been nervous. The Bella Twins were icons in the world of wrestling, known not only for their in-ring abilities but also for their savvy business sense. They had successfully transformed themselves into global brands, with legacies that stretched far beyond the squared circle. Y/N wasn’t sure if they’d even respond, let alone agree to mentor her. But much to her surprise, they were more than willing.

Their first session wasn’t in a gym or a ring. It was in a sleek, high-end studio, with glass walls and whiteboards, and an atmosphere that hummed with professionalism. The Bellas wasted no time, launching straight into the art of crafting a character.

“Wrestling isn’t just about what you do in the ring,” Nikki said, her voice full of conviction. She paced back and forth in front of a whiteboard, her hands moving with purpose as she outlined character traits, stories, and personas. “It’s about who you are. Your entrance, your promos, how you connect with the fans—that’s what makes people remember you.”

Brie, always the grounding presence, nodded in agreement. “But it has to be real,” she added, her eyes locking with Y/N’s. “Fans can tell when you’re faking it. Authenticity is key.”

Under their guidance, Y/N began the painstaking process of building her wrestling persona. Nikki encouraged her to tap into bold, daring aspects of herself, urging her to explore traits that would electrify the audience, leaving them wanting more. At the same time, Brie pushed her to stay true to her roots, to weave in elements of her motorsport legacy—her confidence, her drive, and the fierce independence that came with being a Griffin.

The work wasn’t easy. Crafting a persona that would resonate with millions required self-exploration, introspection, and, at times, vulnerability. But with the Bellas’ mentorship, Y/N grew more comfortable in her new identity. They worked on her mic skills, running mock promo sessions where Y/N would deliver lines with the same passion and intensity she once reserved for racing. Each time she stood in front of the mirror, microphone in hand, she could feel the transformation taking place. She wasn’t just a racer anymore. She was someone new. Someone powerful. Someone unforgettable.

---

Once Y/N had a clearer idea of who she wanted to be, the next step was to learn how to bring that persona to life in the ring. And there was no one better to teach her the fundamentals than Cody Rhodes and Seth Rollins, two of the most respected names in professional wrestling.

Cody’s approach was meticulous, almost philosophical. To him, wrestling wasn’t just about physical moves—it was about telling a story. Each match was a performance, a carefully choreographed dance between two athletes, and every move had to have meaning. “Every strike, every suplex, every hold, it has to matter,” he told Y/N during one of their early sessions. “It’s not just about beating your opponent—it’s about making the audience feel something with every move you make.”

His words resonated deeply with Y/N. She had always been a racer, someone who thrived under pressure, someone who could tune out the noise and focus on the task at hand. Now, she had to apply that same mentality to wrestling—only this time, she wasn’t racing against the clock. She was performing for an audience. Every move needed to tell a story. Every moment needed to be intentional.

Seth Rollins, on the other hand, brought a different kind of energy to their training sessions. Known for his incredible stamina and high-flying style, Seth pushed Y/N to her physical limits. He designed grueling drills that tested her agility, her conditioning, and her ability to think on her feet. “You’re going to get tired,” Seth warned her after a particularly brutal training session. “But the crowd doesn’t care. They want to see you perform—you have to make them believe that you can keep going forever, even when you’re running on fumes.”

The physical toll of the training was immense. Y/N’s body ached, her muscles burned with exhaustion, and there were times when she wanted to quit. But she didn’t. She pushed through, just as she had on the racetrack, because she knew that wrestling was no different from racing in one key way: it required every ounce of her heart and soul.

Under Cody and Seth’s combined mentorship, Y/N’s wrestling skills evolved rapidly. She learned the technical basics—lockups, grapples, strikes—and began to understand how to structure a match in a way that captivated the audience from start to finish. Wrestling wasn’t just about being the strongest or the fastest. It was about creating moments, telling a story with each move, and drawing the crowd into that story.

As Y/N’s body grew stronger, her mind grew sharper. The ring became her new track, and each session became another opportunity to push herself further, to break through barriers she didn’t even know existed.

With each passing day, Y/N felt herself stepping deeper into this new life, this new world of wrestling. The persona, the moves, the physicality—it all came together in a way that felt both terrifying and exhilarating. It was a path full of uncertainty, but for the first time in a long while, Y/N wasn’t afraid. She was ready to embrace her new identity, to face the challenge head-on.

And as the final lesson of the day came to an end, she stood in the center of the ring, drenched in sweat, but full of purpose. This was only the beginning. The crowd hadn’t yet seen what she could do, but soon, they would.

—

When I met Becky Lynch, it felt like meeting someone who already understood the depths of my struggle, the weight of my journey. In so many ways, she embodied everything I wanted to become—resilient, unapologetic, and undeniably real. She wasn’t just a legend in the ring, she was a fighter in life, and that was exactly what I needed.

I remember the first time we sat down together. It was over coffee in a small, quiet corner of a local café, far from the chaos of the gym and the constant grind. Becky was leaning back in her chair, sipping her drink like she had all the time in the world, but I could see the fire in her eyes, the sharpness that came from having fought for everything she had.

"Your story is your strength," Becky told me, her voice calm but powerful. "You’ve been through hell, and you’re still standing. Use that. Let it fuel you."

The words hit me like a lightning bolt. She was right, of course. I had spent so much time running from the weight of my past—my racing career, the pressure, the burnout—but I never stopped to realize that all of it had shaped me into who I was today. The struggles, the failures, the moments when I thought I’d lost myself, they weren’t weaknesses. They were the foundation of my strength.

Becky helped me see that. She wasn’t interested in the technical side of wrestling in our early conversations. Instead, she gave me something more precious: her perspective on life. The battles I’d fought off the track, the choices I’d made, the moments when I thought about giving up—these weren’t just parts of my past. They were the very thing that could make me stand out in the ring. Wrestling wasn’t about fitting into a mold, it was about breaking it.

She taught me how to use my own experiences as a weapon. We worked together on promos, diving into the depths of my past. My motorsport background, my struggles with burnout, and the pivotal decision to leave it all behind. I hadn’t just walked away from racing—I’d stepped into the unknown, and that was my story to tell. It wasn’t the story of a champion who followed the script. It was the story of a woman who had fought, fallen, and risen again, carving her own path in the process.

“You can’t hide behind a gimmick,” Becky said one day while we were crafting a promo. “The fans will see through it. You have to be who you are. If you embrace that, they’ll follow you anywhere.”

It wasn’t just the moves that I had to master. It was learning to connect with my audience on a personal level, to make them feel what I had felt. The rawness of it all—my decision to walk away from my family’s legacy, the guilt, the fear, the hope for something better—it became my fuel. And every time I stepped in front of a camera, I carried that with me.

—

Learning from the best meant I had to confront not just my technical limitations but my understanding of what wrestling truly was. It wasn’t just physical. Wrestling was performance, psychology, and the kind of storytelling that left people on the edge of their seats. And no one understood that better than Booker T.

Booker was a master of showmanship. When we first started working together, he broke down everything I thought I knew about wrestling. “You don’t just wrestle with your body,” he said during one of our early training sessions. “You wrestle with your mind. Get in your opponent’s head. Get in the crowd’s head. Make them believe in every single thing you do.”

It wasn’t enough to simply execute the moves—I had to sell them. Every punch, every suplex, every slam had to make the crowd feel it. It was about timing, psychology, and, most importantly, presence.

“You need to make people care,” Booker said as we rehearsed a sequence. "It’s not about the biggest move or the loudest hit. It's about what you make people believe. The moment you step through that curtain, you’re not just a wrestler. You’re a storyteller.”

I’d always been able to perform—racing required the same kind of mental discipline and the ability to create an atmosphere, to build tension and excitement. But wrestling was different. Every action had a consequence, and every moment was charged with meaning. Booker’s words stuck with me, and each time I practiced, I worked on pulling the crowd in, making them part of the story.

While Booker taught me to control the mental aspect of the match, Naomi helped me bring my in-ring style to life. Naomi had this incredible energy, a vibrant, acrobatic flair that lit up the room every time she entered. I was drawn to her dynamic style, how she blended strength with grace. I wanted to capture that same fluidity in my own wrestling. Racing had always been about precision, control, and bursts of speed, and I could apply that same mindset to wrestling.

Naomi worked with me to choreograph sequences that played to my strengths. Together, we created dynamic moves that combined my athletic background with the rhythm of wrestling—quick, fluid transitions, sudden bursts of power, and sharp, controlled movements. She taught me to not just perform the moves but to feel them. To flow through the ring with intention.

“It’s about rhythm, Y/N,” Naomi said as we practiced a series of flips and transitions. “When you’re in the ring, you’ve got to move like you’re dancing, but the dance is all about who’s watching. If you’re not connecting with them, all the flips and spins in the world won’t matter.”

I could feel the rhythm in my body, the way the moves started to make sense. There was power in every swing of the arm, every twist, every step. I wasn’t just moving through the motions. I was creating something.

—

Working alone in the ring had always been the goal, but as I trained more and more, I realized that there was a whole new dimension to wrestling I hadn’t considered before: tag team dynamics. When I began training with Jey and Jimmy Uso, and their father Rikishi, I quickly understood that tag team wrestling was its own art form.

“Tag wrestling isn’t just about you,” Jey said during our first session together. “It’s about trust. You’re only as good as your partner makes you look.”

At first, the idea of tag team wrestling seemed simple. You and your partner take turns fighting, right? But it was so much more than that. Jey and Jimmy taught me how to communicate nonverbally during a match, how to read the subtle signals from a partner across the ring, how to move as one unit, anticipating each other’s next move. The timing, the synchronization—it had to be perfect. Every moment of the match was a shared experience.

“And when you’re in that ring, it’s not just two people wrestling,” Jimmy added, grinning. “It’s four people telling one story. The chemistry between you and your partner is everything.”

Working with the Usos changed my whole perspective on wrestling. It wasn’t just about executing moves or telling my own story—it was about creating a narrative that flowed between the four of us. It was teamwork, trust, and understanding the rhythm of a tag team match. The crowd didn’t just see a solo performance—they saw a collaboration, a blend of personalities, and a battle of wills.

Rikishi, ever the wise patriarch, took me aside after one of our training sessions. His lessons went beyond the ring. “Wrestling’s about respect,” he said, his voice low but full of wisdom. “It’s not just about what you do in the ring. It’s about honoring the history of the sport, the legends that paved the way for you.”

His words stuck with me. I started to see wrestling in a new light—not as just a career, but as part of a legacy, a long tradition that I was now a part of. It wasn’t just about my story—it was about respecting the past while building something new.

As I continued to train and evolve, the lessons I learned from Becky, Booker, Naomi, the Usos, and Rikishi became the foundation of everything I was becoming. I wasn’t just learning how to wrestle—I was learning how to be a storyteller, a performer, and a partner in every sense of the word. It wasn’t just about my next match or my next promo. It was about the journey—the long, hard path that had led me here—and the one that stretched out before me.

—

The first time I met Stephanie McMahon, I was overwhelmed with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. Stephanie wasn’t just a wrestling executive or a promoter; she was a force of nature in the industry—one of the few who had successfully navigated the power dynamics of the business while still maintaining her identity as a McMahon. She was wrestling royalty, and to be in her presence felt like standing in front of a living legend.

When she extended her hand to greet me, there was no air of superiority. She wasn’t trying to intimidate me, but instead, she carried an unspoken confidence that immediately made me feel like I had a place at the table.

“Y/N,” she said, her voice smooth yet firm, “I’ve been hearing a lot about you. I have to say, I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far.”

It was one of those moments where everything slows down, where you’re painfully aware of how much is at stake. I was sitting across from someone who had seen it all—the highs, the lows, the twists and turns of the wrestling world. And somehow, I was about to get a peek behind the curtain.

But Stephanie wasn’t here to talk about my moves or my promos. She wasn’t going to teach me how to deliver a punch or sell a finishing move. She was here to show me how to navigate the most important part of this journey—the business side.

“Wrestling is a platform,” Stephanie said, leaning forward slightly, her eyes locking with mine. “How you use it will define your career. Stay true to yourself, but always think strategically. Protect your brand, and don’t be afraid to speak up for what you believe in.”

Those words stuck with me. In all my years of racing, I had always focused on performance—on being the best, on crossing the finish line first. But this was different. Wrestling wasn’t just about being great in the ring; it was about positioning myself for success in a world that operated on politics, media, and partnerships. I wasn’t just an athlete; I was a brand.

---

Stephanie’s mentorship wasn’t about teaching me how to wrestle—it was about teaching me how to thrive in an industry that didn’t just reward talent; it rewarded visibility, strategy, and timing. As she walked me through the intricacies of the business, I realized how much I had to learn.

“You need to think beyond the ring,” Stephanie continued. “It’s about building relationships with promoters, negotiating contracts, and understanding the market. Your value isn’t just in what you do when the lights are on—it’s in the image you project, the story you tell outside the ring, and how you build your legacy.”

I listened intently, absorbing every word. Stephanie explained how she had built the WWE brand alongside her family and how her role in the company evolved over time. She shared lessons about the importance of timing—how to capitalize on a moment when the crowd’s energy was at its peak, how to create buzz and make people care, not just in the ring but in every aspect of the industry.

“I didn’t just get here because I was good at my job,” she said with a sharp, knowing look. “I got here because I knew how to position myself. You have to protect your brand, and you need to make sure people understand your worth. Don’t let anyone define your value except for you.”

---

I couldn’t help but think about my own journey—how I had spent years racing to live up to a family legacy, how I had felt the weight of expectations bearing down on me. Now, in this new chapter, I had the chance to create a legacy of my own. But that legacy wasn’t just going to be built on what I could do in the ring. It was about creating a persona that resonated with fans, and more importantly, protecting that persona in an industry where everything could change in an instant.

“Be careful with your image,” Stephanie warned, her voice steady. “One wrong move, one bad decision, and it can follow you. You need to stay true to yourself, but also know when to play the game. There will be times when you have to stand up for what you believe in. Don’t be afraid to speak up.”

Her words felt like a reality check. I had been so focused on my physical training and my promos that I hadn’t fully grasped the scope of what it meant to navigate the wrestling industry with intention. Being in the spotlight wasn’t just about shining in the ring; it was about controlling your narrative, managing your public image, and making sure that the story being told about you was the one you wanted people to hear.

It was a lot to digest, but it was exactly what I needed. My journey was no longer just about racing on tracks or learning wrestling moves—it was about becoming a multifaceted performer, a businesswoman who understood the value of her image, her story, and her voice.

---

I left my meeting with Stephanie feeling like I had just been handed the keys to a new world. Her advice had empowered me to think strategically, to protect my brand, and to own every decision I made. It was a different kind of confidence—the kind that came from understanding that I had control over not just my career but my legacy.

From that point on, I made it my mission to not only improve my wrestling but to learn everything I could about the business. I started studying the careers of some of the most successful wrestlers—how they built their brands, how they managed their public image, how they navigated the politics of the industry. I realized that wrestling wasn’t just a performance—it was a brand-building machine, a world of partnerships, sponsorships, and media opportunities that required a different kind of mindset.

I wasn’t just learning how to wrestle anymore. I was learning how to survive—and thrive—in an industry where the stakes were higher than I could have ever imagined.

Stephanie’s lessons became a touchstone for me as I moved forward. I learned how to position myself, how to use every platform available to me to create my brand. It wasn’t about being a carbon copy of anyone else. I didn’t want to be anyone but myself—authentic, bold, and unapologetic.

There were moments when I doubted myself, when I questioned if I was doing the right thing, but the lessons from Stephanie always rang in my ears: Stay true to yourself. Think strategically. Protect your brand.

I started seeing the industry differently. Wrestling wasn’t just about athleticism and performance; it was about crafting a story that would live long after the final bell rang. And my story was just beginning.

As I continued my journey through the world of wrestling, I kept one thing at the forefront of my mind: I was not just a wrestler—I was a brand, a story, and a force to be reckoned with.

And with the guidance of people like Stephanie McMahon, I knew I had everything I needed to make my mark. The ring was mine to conquer, but it was the industry that I was truly ready to take on.

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35 @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @same1995, @hinamesgigantica, @fadingcloudballoon-blog, @laptime-deleted, @anamiad00msday

Series Taglist: ----

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rigelmejo · 23 days ago

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A long time ago, maybe a decade ago at this point, I looked up "how to learn to read in a language." The suggestions I ended up finding, I ended up shaping a lot of my future study plans off of - at least as a beginner.

These tips boiled down to:

Read a Grammar Guide Summary to have a generalized overview of what grammar you will see, what it means, and what grammar points you may need to look up again when reading to learn more about. (I always read these through, in a few weeks, and did not memorize. Then referenced them again when reading if I needed to figure out a particular grammar point, or found a more in depth grammar reference to use to look up stuff in depth when reading).

Look up a pronunciation guide, either a website with audio or youtube videos with audio, and listen through. (This also took a few weeks, not memorizing just going through, to get an idea of sounds in the language and things I may want to look up again later. This is also useful for making sure your mental reading 'voice' for the language is something in the range of the actual language's sounds. I neglected doing this for French until 2 years in, and then I had to do damage control and look up a bunch of pronunciation guides and listening materials to make my mental reading 'voice' something closer to actual French)

Study ~3000 common words, in sentence examples if possible, with audio if possible. (I studied anywhere from 1000 words for French in a word list with sentences I read online, to 3000 words for Japanese in memrise/anki, and the article I read with the highest suggestion was to learn the most ~9000 common words to be able to read any novel. Like with the grammar guide summary, I'd read through these words and initially 'cram study' 1000 at a time - prioritizing new study and ignoring reviews if I didn't have time, then go practice reading for a couple months to review and understand those words better in the context of what I was reading, then 'cram study' another 1000 words and instead of doing reviews I'd go back to reading, then cram study another X words if I found myself needing to 'vaguely recognize' a lot of words to understand the next thing I was interested in reading. Eventually I reached a point where bulk studying words was not useful for me, and at that point I just looked up unknown words as I read that I wanted to learn - and kept looking them up until I remembered them. And that's currently what I still do.)

Look up Graded Readers, and start reading. (I intensively read - looked up words I didn't know, or forgot the meaning of. And I extensively read - forces you to understand what you can remember, and improves reading speed).

At the point one can read some things in the language, just keep reading. (I would continue intensively reading - looking up unknown words and grammar points - if I ever wanted to learn a bunch of words 'faster' or tackle a reading material that was significantly harder than what I could handle, or I extensively read - no looking things up - stuff I could understand the main idea of. Eventually, what I could extensively read increased, and it keeps increasing as long as I keep reading things.)

It just so happens that if you follow most beginner textbooks in a class they also teach ~2000-3000 words, and many basic grammar points. Or if you use Assimil or Teach Yourself books. Or an anki deck full of common words in sentences. Or Glossika. Or The Nature Method textbooks. Sometimes beginner materials won't teach you ALL the grammar points you might want to get familiar with, so you can just look up 'grammar guide summary' online or find a good reference book or website and read for an overview on the rest of the grammar for that language. Sometimes a beginner textbook teaches a miniscule amount of words (rare, but it happens) and looking up a word list online, or an anki deck, will provide you with enough common words to start trying to read. My point with all this is: it's fairly easy to either find these resources free, or take a beginner class/material and study the information in it, needed to give you the foundation to begin reading. Once you have a 'vague familiarity' with some words and grammar, you can just start reading. You can just read, and look up words again and grammar again over and over until you remember it, and it will work. You can start reading Graded Readers as early as you're ready to try (Or even harder stuff, although the effort will be less intense if you start with easier reading material lol).

I started trying to read French within a few months of starting a French Beginner 1 class in college, because I could find a common words list and grammar guide summary online and I'd finished reading them, and wanted to try reading the news and wikipedia and some Graded Reader novels I'd found from the thrift store. So I started, and looked up words and grammar points when they were important to understanding the main idea, and I kept looking things up and kept reading. And in 6 months I could read a lot more. In 1 year I could read a lot more, and was only extensively reading at that point. I did pretty much the same strategy to learn to read Chinese (and Heavenlypath.notion.site's Comprehensive Reading Guide is quite similar to what I did, and would work well, and the same strategies could be applied to learning to read any language - I often link it because it's clearer than anything I can write, and it's a good 'learn to read' guide, like the ones I relied on so much when I was trying to figure out how to learn to read French).

#reading #rant #article #reading skills #how to learn to read a language #study plan #how to read in a language #learning to read

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mariacallous · 9 days ago

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On a 5K screen in Kirkland, Washington, four terminals blur with activity as artificial intelligence generates thousands of lines of code. Steve Yegge, a veteran software engineer who previously worked at Google and AWS, sits back to watch.

“This one is running some tests, that one is coming up with a plan. I am now coding on four different projects at once, although really I’m just burning tokens,” Yegge says, referring to the cost of generating chunks of text with a large language model (LLM).

Learning to code has long been seen as the ticket to a lucrative, secure career in tech. Now, the release of advanced coding models from firms like OpenAI, Anthropic, and Google threatens to upend that notion entirely. X and Bluesky are brimming with talk of companies downsizing their developer teams—or even eliminating them altogether.

When ChatGPT debuted in late 2022, AI models were capable of autocompleting small portions of code—a helpful, if modest step forward that served to speed up software development. As models advanced and gained “agentic” skills that allow them to use software programs, manipulate files, and access online services, engineers and non-engineers alike started using the tools to build entire apps and websites. Andrej Karpathy, a prominent AI researcher, coined the term “vibe coding” in February, to describe the process of developing software by prompting an AI model with text.

The rapid progress has led to speculation—and even panic—among developers, who fear that most development work could soon be automated away, in what would amount to a job apocalypse for engineers.

“We are not far from a world—I think we’ll be there in three to six months—where AI is writing 90 percent of the code,” Dario Amodei, CEO of Anthropic, said at a Council on Foreign Relations event in March. “And then in 12 months, we may be in a world where AI is writing essentially all of the code,” he added.

But many experts warn that even the best models have a way to go before they can reliably automate a lot of coding work. While future advancements might unleash AI that can code just as well as a human, until then relying too much on AI could result in a glut of buggy and hackable code, as well as a shortage of developers with the knowledge and skills needed to write good software.

David Autor, an economist at MIT who studies how AI affects employment, says it’s possible that software development work will be automated—similar to how transcription and translation jobs are quickly being replaced by AI. He notes, however, that advanced software engineering is much more complex and will be harder to automate than routine coding.

Autor adds that the picture may be complicated by the “elasticity” of demand for software engineering—the extent to which the market might accommodate additional engineering jobs.

“If demand for software were like demand for colonoscopies, no improvement in speed or reduction in costs would create a mad rush for the proctologist's office,” Autor says. “But if demand for software is like demand for taxi services, then we may see an Uber effect on coding: more people writing more code at lower prices, and lower wages.”

Yegge’s experience shows that perspectives are evolving. A prolific blogger as well as coder, Yegge was previously doubtful that AI would help produce much code. Today, he has been vibe-pilled, writing a book called Vibe Coding with another experienced developer, Gene Kim, that lays out the potential and the pitfalls of the approach. Yegge became convinced that AI would revolutionize software development last December, and he has led a push to develop AI coding tools at his company, Sourcegraph.

“This is how all programming will be conducted by the end of this year,” Yegge predicts. “And if you're not doing it, you're just walking in a race.”

The Vibe-Coding Divide

Today, coding message boards are full of examples of mobile apps, commercial websites, and even multiplayer games all apparently vibe-coded into being. Experienced coders, like Yegge, can give AI tools instructions and then watch AI bring complex ideas to life.

Several AI-coding startups, including Cursor and Windsurf have ridden a wave of interest in the approach. (OpenAI is widely rumored to be in talks to acquire Windsurf).

At the same time, the obvious limitations of generative AI, including the way models confabulate and become confused, has led many seasoned programmers to see AI-assisted coding—and especially gung-ho, no-hands vibe coding—as a potentially dangerous new fad.

Martin Casado, a computer scientist and general partner at Andreessen Horowitz who sits on the board of Cursor, says the idea that AI will replace human coders is overstated. “AI is great at doing dazzling things, but not good at doing specific things,” he said.

Still, Casado has been stunned by the pace of recent progress. “I had no idea it would get this good this quick,” he says. “This is the most dramatic shift in the art of computer science since assembly was supplanted by higher-level languages.”

Ken Thompson, vice president of engineering at Anaconda, a company that provides open source code for software development, says AI adoption tends to follow a generational divide, with younger developers diving in and older ones showing more caution. For all the hype, he says many developers still do not trust AI tools because their output is unpredictable, and will vary from one day to the next, even when given the same prompt. “The nondeterministic nature of AI is too risky, too dangerous,” he explains.

Both Casado and Thompson see the vibe-coding shift as less about replacement than abstraction, mimicking the way that new languages like Python build on top of lower-level languages like C, making it easier and faster to write code. New languages have typically broadened the appeal of programming and increased the number of practitioners. AI could similarly increase the number of people capable of producing working code.

Bad Vibes

Paradoxically, the vibe-coding boom suggests that a solid grasp of coding remains as important as ever. Those dabbling in the field often report running into problems, including introducing unforeseen security issues, creating features that only simulate real functionality, accidentally running up high bills using AI tools, and ending up with broken code and no idea how to fix it.

“AI [tools] will do everything for you—including fuck up,” Yegge says. “You need to watch them carefully, like toddlers.”

The fact that AI can produce results that range from remarkably impressive to shockingly problematic may explain why developers seem so divided about the technology. WIRED surveyed programmers in March to ask how they felt about AI coding, and found that the proportion who were enthusiastic about AI tools (36 percent) was mirrored by the portion who felt skeptical (38 percent).

“Undoubtedly AI will change the way code is produced,” says Daniel Jackson, a computer scientist at MIT who is currently exploring how to integrate AI into large-scale software development. “But it wouldn't surprise me if we were in for disappointment—that the hype will pass.”

Jackson cautions that AI models are fundamentally different from the compilers that turn code written in a high-level language into a lower-level language that is more efficient for machines to use, because they don’t always follow instructions. Sometimes an AI model may take an instruction and execute better than the developer—other times it might do the task much worse.

Jackson adds that vibe coding falls down when anyone is building serious software. “There are almost no applications in which ‘mostly works’ is good enough,” he says. “As soon as you care about a piece of software, you care that it works right.”

Many software projects are complex, and changes to one section of code can cause problems elsewhere in the system. Experienced programmers are good at understanding the bigger picture, Jackson says, but “large language models can't reason their way around those kinds of dependencies.”

Jackson believes that software development might evolve with more modular codebases and fewer dependencies to accommodate AI blind spots. He expects that AI may replace some developers but will also force many more to rethink their approach and focus more on project design.

Too much reliance on AI may be “a bit of an impending disaster,” Jackson adds, because “not only will we have masses of broken code, full of security vulnerabilities, but we'll have a new generation of programmers incapable of dealing with those vulnerabilities.”

Learn to Code

Even firms that have already integrated coding tools into their software development process say the technology remains far too unreliable for wider use.

Christine Yen, CEO at Honeycomb, a company that provides technology for monitoring the performance of large software systems, says that projects that are simple or formulaic, like building component libraries, are more amenable to using AI. Even so, she says the developers at her company who use AI in their work have only increased their productivity by about 50 percent.

Yen adds that for anything requiring good judgement, where performance is important, or where the resulting code touches sensitive systems or data, “AI just frankly isn't good enough yet to be additive.”

“The hard part about building software systems isn't just writing a lot of code,” she says. “Engineers are still going to be necessary, at least today, for owning that curation, judgment, guidance and direction.”

Others suggest that a shift in the workforce is coming. “We are not seeing less demand for developers,” says Liad Elidan, CEO of Milestone, a company that helps firms measure the impact of generative AI projects. “We are seeing less demand for average or low-performing developers.”

“If I'm building a product, I could have needed 50 engineers and now maybe I only need 20 or 30,” says Naveen Rao, VP of AI at Databricks, a company that helps large businesses build their own AI systems. “That is absolutely real.”

Rao says, however, that learning to code should remain a valuable skill for some time. “It’s like saying ‘Don't teach your kid to learn math,’” he says. Understanding how to get the most out of computers is likely to remain extremely valuable, he adds.

Yegge and Kim, the veteran coders, believe that most developers can adapt to the coming wave. In their book on vibe coding, the pair recommend new strategies for software development including modular code bases, constant testing, and plenty of experimentation. Yegge says that using AI to write software is evolving into its own—slightly risky—art form. “It’s about how to do this without destroying your hard disk and draining your bank account,” he says.

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redflagshipwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Reassembly 8

masterpost

“Are we done for the night?” Something cracked when Kon stretched with his fingers interlocked over his head. Peter glanced over and deliberately decided not to comment on the flexible arch of the other guy’s back.

“Uh…” Peter wiped gunk out of his eye and checked the study plan he’d written out. “Yeah, I think we got through enough. I need to finish this book tonight, though.” He brandished the classic novel about a giant squid that was a metaphor for the inevitability of death.

“Blegh.” Kon stuck his tongue out. Like, weirdly out. People here sure were flexible and strong and big and handsome, Peter thought, happy for Kon but kinda bemused about it. Maybe he didn’t need to feel any kind of guilt about not being Spiderman here. Home needed him. Clearly, people in this world were like, built better.

‘...Does it bother me that I might not be special here?’ Peter wondered a little uneasily. ‘Kon can fly. I can’t fly. I don’t think everyone here is as fit as he is, but still.’

Oof. No. He didn’t think that was part of what made him want to leave, but the thought made him feel kinda guilty anyway. He started cleaning up his notebooks and ground the rest of the crystals out of his eyelashes with the side of his fist.

“You staying for dinner?” Kon asked, too casual. He rolled his neck and stood up.

Peter hesitated. Did Kon want him to stay but was too shy to ask, or had he overstayed his welcome?

“I got the stuff for chili and cornbread. Do you know how to make that?” Kon’s already formidable blue eyes threatened a full transformation into a puppy pout.

Ah. That was the face of a man who wanted chili.

“Yeah, we can follow that recipe,” Peter assured him. He shoved all his stuff into his bag, taking care to keep the angle so that Kon shouldn’t be able to see inside and notice that he carried all the clothes he owned with him. “Are we talking like, Tex-Mex?”

Kon kinda bobbed up into the air for a moment. “...Sure,” he obviously lied.

Peter nodded serenely. Aight. Kon didn’t know what Tex-Mex was. “Show me the recipe you want?” he said instead. “Did you find one for cornbread too?”

“Nah, I got a box.” Kon zipped to the kitchen at inhuman speed and tossed a little blue box back and forth between his hands.

Peter managed a smile. “Hell yeah.” He shoved his bag under the table, out of the way. Then he followed his friend into the kitchen and took a moment to be grateful at how much things had improved.

He had a friend. He had a plan. He now had oatmeal and like, wasn’t fully subsisting off of stolen hotel breakfasts and whatever meals Kon hosted him for. He had spent another ten dollars on portable food and it was like night and day for how hard things felt. Peter felt smarter again. His mood was more manageable and stable. He’d found another small website job too, so he was in the process of making a little more money. Things just seemed better even though his material circumstances weren’t really improved yet. He was still homeless and had made no progress towards getting home but it uh, felt more like his problems were solvable, if that made sense?

‘Almost like starvation is bad for you, buddy. Shouldn’t need Dr. Stark’s degrees to figure that out.’

He choked down inappropriate laughter and washed his hands before investigating the vegetables that Kon had sourced for this meal.

They were about halfway through the chance to study for the university placement test. Things were going alright. Honestly, Peter thought that he and Kon were going to smash past the benchmarks they needed to get free rides to Gotham University. He would stop putting hours towards studies if it wasn't the most normal he ever felt in this place. It was a lot better than sneaking into hotel buffets or gym showers or walking the streets for hours until he could go to sleep unnoticed.

‘Besides, it’s being a good friend to Kon. He wants to do well on this test so badly and he doesn’t trust himself.’

Peter tossed an onion overhand at Kon and started washing peppers. A split second later the pungent smell burst through the room. Peter’s lip curled up but he didn’t let it slow him down as he cut open and deseeded peppers.

It was great that he was going to have a substantial dinner tonight, actually. It was a big night for him. Peter drifted off mentally as he cut vegetables, lost in his plans.

It was the big heist night. Well. If this counted as a heist? He was going to go do some paperwork and then print copies.

Hmm. No, okay, that was the wrong category of crime. Peter felt his lips twist into a frown. It was a B and E, but that wasn’t as fun to say as heist.

Whatever. The important part was that he was going to break into the social security office and make himself a social security number. He felt pretty nervous about it. He had the vague sense that there were probably better ways to get a social security number. Like, he knew that identity theft was a genre of crime that existed, and also that sometimes people used dead people’s social security numbers.

But he had no idea how to do it. When your toolkit is climbing up walls and doing data entry, then… that’s how you should solve your problems, right? Right?

Probably.

That’s what he was going with!

They finished their meal prep and left the soup to bubble while the bread baked. They killed time with an episode of a bizarrely terrible teen drama that Kon felt undying loyalty for. Peter kept his mouth shut and said only polite things about the production quality of Wendy the Werewolf slayer or whatever it was.

“I liked the bisexual lighting,” Peter offered.

Kon stopped and blinked at him. “The what?”

“The pink, blue, purple lighting?” He furrowed his brow. “When they were running through the woods at twilight.”

“...I mostly noticed the guitar then.” Kon made a pffft sound and resettled further into the sofa cushions somehow. “I want popcorn,” he said thoughtfully.

Peter snorted and got up. “I think dinner is probably ready. I’ll check on it.”

It was, so he served it up. They both had monster appetites so Peter didn’t even feel self-conscious about going back for seconds and thirds. They cleared the pan of cornbread and scraped the pot clean while a second episode ran. Peter honestly put more attention on his food than the plot of a group fight prompted by Wendy seeing her boyfriend at the wrong moment when he got a surprise kiss from her rival on the cheerleading team. Personally, Peter thought Wendy should be more concerned about her narrative foil Wanda, who was obviously a fake friend.

The screen paused. Peter paused in his quest to get the last dregs of chili and watched with curiosity as Kon dug out ice cream and offered Peter a chocolate bar.

“Oh heck yes,” Peter said reverentially. He tore the package open with his teeth. “Thanks, man.” He abandoned the last droplets of real food and sank his teeth into the dessert.

“Thank Lex,” Kon said, in that weirdly slightly tense voice he got whenever he said things like that.

Peter waited a moment, internally debating. It wasn’t his business. Except it was, because Kon was his friend. He ventured, “You don’t have to credit Lex if it makes you feel bad, you know?”

“Huh?” Kon blinked at him, eyes suddenly so intense that it felt like Peter was being X-rayed.

Peter shrugged and broke eye contact. “Lex is your parent, right?” he checked, not totally certain he had a handle on Kon’s personal life. The guy dodged questions left and right. “And has conditions on it?” He remembered that bit. Indignation made his voice get a little louder and strident. “You don’t actually owe your parents anything. It’s their responsibility to take care of you. If they don’t treat you right, you can just get out as soon as possible and you don’t have to feel bad that they fed you. You’re not an adult.”

Kon ran his tongue along his teeth and then took a big suck on his ice cream to avoid answering.

Ah, shit. He didn’t want things to be awkward. He needed a joke to break the tension fast. Peter remembered Kon’s earlier joke and threw out, “You’re like two years old, Kon, no one should expect you to be independent.”

Kon snorted ice cream out his nose and then keened in unhappy surprise. Chocolate splattered onto Peter’s face.

Peter snorted too, too surprised to be disgusted. “Ew!” He choked out.

Kon shot him a look that said ‘don’t you dare’ but Peter started laughing anyway. “Choco nose,” he managed between cackles.

“I’m divorcing you,” Kon said sulkily, and floated off the sofa. He resettled down on the lone chair and pouted at maximum power. “You can’t laugh at me when I hurt myself with ice cream.”

Peter had been winding down but that set him off again. “Div-divorce,” he gasped. He bent over to put his face on his hands and tried to cover his mouth with his hands to maybe muffle the laughter. “Did we have a pre-nup?”

“No, because I used to trust you!” Kon wailed, and then he was laughing too.

Peter felt pretty good about his life when he slung his bag over his shoulder and waved goodnight to Kon. He jogged down the 18 flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator out of Kon’s building, humming to himself. He immediately turned to his one-time location instead of towards the library.

Weirdly, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up like he was being watched. He tensed. He extended his senses out to pinpoint the feeling. Someone on the streets? Someone watching from a window?

‘I don't hear anyone. I just feel paranoid because I'm on my way to commit a paperwork crime.’

Peter hunched his shoulders up towards his ears and tried to ignore it. There was no one here.

It seemed risky to bring all his personal belongings along to the scene of a crime. So the first thing that Peter did after arriving was scope out a nearby building where he could ditch his bag. Once he had stashed it out of sight he set out figuring out how to get inside without setting off their security system.

This building was clearly a little better-funded than the office of vital statistics had been. Peter spidered around identifying the cameras and what they covered. There was just no way to approach any of the doors without getting caught on film. Good for them. He climbed up the adjoining building and leapt across to cling to the right building. Then he hunted down a good window and forced it open with a guilty grimace. He hurt his fingers a little, grinding them into the crevice to get enough grip to force the frame to bust right through the mechanism of the poor lock. The sad thing fell off and landed inside with a quiet thump.

Peter waited a bit to see if anyone had heard that or if any super high-tech alarm would start to wail.

Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

“It is a government building,” Peter muttered to himself, and sheepishly slunk inside to start his errand. He waited to let his eyes adjust to the near total darkness inside. It was a good thing that he was spidery, honestly, because turning on a light would have been a really bad idea.

He had to boot up a computer and then search around for whatever program they used. It took forever to find it by running everything he didn't recognize and then clicking around inside. The dull light of the computer screen sent a faint flutter of anxiety through his body but come on, it wasn't that bright. He hunched over it to block the light with his body.

Luckily it wasn't actually that hard to figure out the form when he found it. It was just, uh.

“Forgery,” Peter said under his breath, aghast when he realized that there was a name for someone doing this. Yikes. He was doing another crime that he'd forgotten about. Doing his paperwork was a separate crime from the B&E, huh.

Well. Gotta do what ya gotta do. He was a person and he deserved the benefits of personhood to navigate society.

‘Still feels like I'm being watched. No way do they have cameras good enough for that, though. I need to just do this and get out of here.’

He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering unease. Jeeze. He really wasn't cut out for crime.

He wrote his actual parents’ names on the form, his real birthday on the adjusted year, and went with the hospital he'd picked out earlier for his place of birth. “I hope this is all I need to do to actually register…” Peter fidgeted and hit print. He got himself two copies and carefully tucked them away in two different pockets, struck by a weird paranoia.

He double-checked his work. He looked up himself in their database and confirmed that the record for Peter Parker was there, with the newly issued number. He swallowed down nerves and shut down the computer. He left out the same window as before. He skittered over to where he'd left his bag and he made direct eye contact with a friggin ninja.

‘Heck.’

#red reassembly #peter parker #dc marvel crossover

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