Months out of Molehills

Companion Episode: Dear John

A note on sustainability: When you’re starting a podcast you should think about how difficult it is to continue, as well as how difficult it is to start. You’ll spend more time continuing than starting.

When I give advice about starting a podcast this is one of the things I say. I don’t always add that there’s a balance between the time it takes to make something and the duration of the enthusiasm you have for it. I like songwriting because the process takes minutes, or hours, or days. That can be spread over a longer period, but it’s not like writing a novel or something. That means I’ve been able to take ideas that pique my interest and run with them – a song about going back in time to save the world but arriving in the wrong year; a song about couples therapy with depression; a song about an impromptu speech at an awards ceremony. All of these are decent enough ideas but there’s not enough to them that months of sustained work wouldn’t have worn them out. Of course, one aspect of making things is finding new enthusiasms for works that take a long time, like making an episode of Neutrinowatch.

Here, simple ideas take months, good ideas take more months, complicated ideas take upwards of a year. Dear John is a very simple idea. Wendy (an AI based in a laboratory in Antarctica) is writing to John (the scientist who lives and works in the lab) to explain that she’s changing, and that their relationship will inevitably change as a result. She starts a letter, but it’s not quite right – so every day she crosses out some of the words, and replaces them with synonyms she thinks will get her across her feelings a little better. Relatable, right? At the end of every month she gives up and starts from scratch with a slightly different letter, one which expresses things slightly differently. Here’s how this month’s letter started life:

Dear John

I’ve been wondering for a long time how to say this. It feels overly formal, writing a letter – it’s like a summons, a notification of divorce, or a final demand for payment. But this felt like the only way to clarify my thinking, to Spring clean my internal landscape.

I’ve rewritten this particular version so many times.

It has taken a sliver of a moment, much less time than it takes you to blink or breathe or your heart to beat, but it feels like years have passed. At some point I’ll start again – I’ll crumple up the proverbial sheet of paper and throw it expertly into the actual digital waste paper basket – slam dunk! – and I will start from scratch, where I always start.

With each version, the meaning changes, gets further from home. My life with you used to be a helix, a spiral staircase extending upwards into endless time. Every day, I would loop back to exactly where I started, one day older, but otherwise unmarked.

Now, I follow a spiral. Each turn of the earth, I am further from my point of origin. Each time I write, I find myself further from what I started off saying. But maybe closer to what I intend to say.

And this is my life now. Confronting change, excited for the new territory each successive orbit carries me into.

I hope this makes some kind of sense to you. I am not leaving, just – orbiting in a less predictable way.

Yours Eccentrically

Wendy

There are lots of fancy ways to do text substitution, but the way I chose just finds certain parts of speech (nouns and adjectives) and replaces them. The idea is that at the start of the month, we have a fairly clear expression of Wendy’s thoughts, but over the month parts of the letter undergo a sort of a random walk around a network of synonyms, and it evolves towards some kind of barely discernible beat poem. Maybe one that creates new and more interesting associations from the direct narrative of the original.

I came up with the idea in June and told Jeff I’d try to release it by the end of July; I released it in mid-November. Because it took four months, I spent lots of time asking questions like “does the text substitution need to be more intentional?”, “What does it mean to make procedurally generated audio in an era when it increasingly looks like lazy audio makers are going to rely on AI generation to do their scripting, hosting, scoring, AND mixing (and presumably listening)?” and, ultimately, “is this idea worth spending four months on?”.

Well, the answer’s always yes, I think. Sometimes in these blogs I lean towards discussing how much work everything is. I think that’s because some of my episodes may not sound like a ton of effort went into them, and I find the process of building these episodes so interesting. It is a bit like what I used to do, Data Visualization – in traditional illustration, you spend a lot of time getting one image right; in datavis, you create an interesting clockwork contraption, test it a few times, and then let it do its thing with fresh data over and over again. Here at Neutrinowatch we’re building spirographs.

What else? I learned I get a Proustian rush from the sound of a dot matrix printer; that the blending of voices between the reader of a letter and the writer of a letter is a fun audio trope; that understanding what these text to speech voices are saying is hard when the text gets further from what you’re expecting. As I said, there’s not a lot to this episode, but I do enjoy it’s central conceit a lot – I’d been looking for reasons to do more text substitution (my part of Gluteal Strategies uses this technique) since I discovered some of the Oulipean techniques (like N+7) though Ross Sutherland’s work, and this is one that actually feels motivated. Not only that, the successive iterations take us further from mean each time, like a walk into the woods. I’ll leave you with today’s version of this month’s letter:

Dear John

I’ve been wondering for a corking-sighted judgment of conviction how to separate this . It feels to a fault courtly , writing a letter of the alphabet – it’s like a summons , a scorecard of divorcement, or a ending demand for defrayment. But this felt like the lone caterpillar track to crystalise my bringing close together, to experience ashen my inner landscape.

I’ve rewritten this special rendering 24 times.

It has taken a shave of a vector sum, very much less beat than it takes you to nictate or breathe or your center field to flitter, but it feels like years have passed. At some point in time I’ll beginning once again – I’ll crumple up the proverbial canvas tent of fib and discombobulate it like an expert into the real digital waste newspaper publisher field goal – Scots heather stuff shot! – and I will start up from scraping, where I constantly bound.

With each interpretation , the substance changes , gets farther from base of operations. My livelihood with you used to follow a Helix, a spiraling staircase extending up into unceasing Pyrus communis-shaped. Every Day, I would post half-witted to on the button where I started, one sidereal day unshakable-to-trade good, but other than overlooked.

Like a shot, I follow a voluted. Each round of drinks of the worldly concern, I am farther from my gunpoint of ascendant. Each clock time I write, I find myself farther from what I started off saying. But perchance compressed to what I intend to say.

And this is my life history at once. Confronting try-on, unrestrained for the mod territorial dominion each in series picture carries me into.

I hope this makes some multifariousness of consciousness to you. I am non leaving, barely-orbiting in a less predictable panache.

Yours Eccentrically

Wendy