Click to see the fifty books we featured this year! |
While my business (ICYMI, Lone Star Literary Life) is taking a break, so am I! I'm getting rested and catching up (okay, I'll NEVER catch up) on my reading. Be back soon!
Click to see the fifty books we featured this year! |
While my business (ICYMI, Lone Star Literary Life) is taking a break, so am I! I'm getting rested and catching up (okay, I'll NEVER catch up) on my reading. Be back soon!
Devotionals
from a Soulless Machine: A Journey of Faith through Artificial Intelligence takes
the reader along as these two laypersons explore how A.I. interprets God’s
message and the basic tenets of Christianity.
The co-authors prompted ChatGPT to develop a devotional of 500 words or
less along with a related prayer on more than a hundred biblical verses,
including some of the most-recognized verses as well as some of the most
obscure or vile passages never covered in Sunday school lessons.
In the end the exercise provided the authors with some reassurances about how artificial intelligence can support religious growth as well as raising questions about the technology’s long-term implications for the religious experience. Devotionals from a Soulless Machine: A Journey of Faith through Artificial Intelligence provides an eye-opening look into the majesty of Christian convictions, even in the age of algorithms and chatbots.
Authors
Preston Lewis and Harriet Kocher Lewis prompted ChatGPT to develop jokes on
themes like knock-knock, yo mama, three fellows enter a bar and the reason the
chicken crossed the road. Then they
moved on to more contemporary issues like politics, politicians and gender
identify, challenging ChatGPT to find humor in modern culture. Finally, the authors seek from ChatGPT
observations on contemporary culture in the style of several American humorists
and more recent comedians.
In the
process, the authors not only touched on the history of classic comedic memes
but also discover biases in the resulting AI output. Are the jokes sensitive? Absolutely!
Are they politically correct?
Without a doubt! Are the jokes
funny? The reader will decide.
12/13/23 | Series Spotlight | |
12/13/23 | BONUS Stop | |
12/14/23 | Review Jokes | |
12/15/23 | Review Devotionals | |
12/16/23 | Review Jokes | |
12/17/23 | Review Devotionals | |
12/18/23 | Review Jokes | |
12/19/23 | Review Devotionals | |
12/20/23 | Review Jokes | |
12/21/23 | Review Devotionals | |
12/21/23 | Review Jokes |
Note from the author: The
below excerpt details how books will always be important to humanity and to the
survival of civilization, even if that is on an invisible moral level with the
inheritance of passing knowledge down to future generations.
The scene takes place in the basements of the Korporation’s mega-city-like headquarters. The Korporation has built its foundations upon the Korporate Library, which is located deep underground and was once the New York City Public Library.
= = =
“I
remember,” Conquergood whispers into the limitless virtual holo-sky. “I do
remember.”
He
drops his gaze from off the digital ceiling and in a state of fervid alacrity
Conquergood recasts the first library he had ever been in.
“Fifth
Avenue,” he says to himself, spinning inward in the silent erudition of
self-discovery.
In his
mind’s eye, still hovering high above the compass imprinted upon the library
floor, he witnesses the entrance to the Fifth Avenue Library: a staircase with
a prostrate stone lion on one side and a stone vase on the other.
Mentally,
Conquergood moves through four towering columns into the effulgent New York
City Public Library. His vision catches sight of a similar sign which now hangs
on the entrance to the Korporate Library. And it is the name — John Milton —
which halts the memory.
“Yes,
I do remember Paradise Lost and a
great many others.” Conquergood struggles into the depths of his eternal soul.
“But that can’t be. That’s impossible. That was so very long ago.” How long? He does not remember.
Uncomprehending,
he struggles with the memory as his frantic mind races with meta-calculations.
In his memory, he continues seeing rows of long wooden tables with entrenched
readers intent on unlocking secrets away from the pages before them, before the
time of the World Wide Web and the virtual environments, separating humanity
from the natural world of touch and taste and smell. Chandeliers of such
exorbitant sunshine reflecting its clean light upon a white floor and its brown
walkway in between rows of tables. Buttresses lining the walls, windows giving
ease to the artificial glow from above. And Conquergood is seeing it all — as
clear as any memory from five minutes ago.
Conquergood
remains embodied in both libraries, being two places at once, propagating
between both worlds, the real and the recollection. He welcomes the exotic
sensations the journey carries, admiring his own awe of what libraries had
been, before the Era of Digitization conquered them; the rules of being
forbidden to speak above a whisper cascade back onto his memories, as well as
the mustiness of age and wisdom being on free display, and he remembers how
these holy sites often went un-used and became under-valued over the
generations.
Conquergood
can now recall how he had behaved on his first visit to the library. As a small
boy he had been nervous with polite reverence, uncertain of which way to turn,
of which aisle to discover, and which row to select from, of which bookshelf to
choose from, of which book he should pull from its everlasting hearth, of which
pages he should read from in order to breathe in its fiery passions to fill a
dulled boy’s heart, igniting a mind to inspire upon ‘a life beyond life.’ The
books had held lives of their own back then. But now he also knows that these
books had made up a whole body, as though each book was a cell in a living
organism in a state of repetitive meditation and waiting for the hand to pluck
them from the tree which bears endless fruit. Feeling overwhelmed, Conquergood
reluctantly leaves his memory-vision.
After
selecting several more books, Conquergood glides down on the hover-slide and
locates one of two old-fashioned Georgian style leather armchairs next to a
small table and banker’s lamp with bronze base and an amber mica shade. Above
the two chairs is an oil painting, “Still-Life of Books, 1628” by Jan Davidsz,
and Conquergood sees in the painting a violin placed on a wooden desk among
scattered manuscripts.
Starting
from the beginning of the first book he chose, and savoring each morsel of each
word on his lips — as a dehydrated man does in a desert when an oasis can be
found just in time to save his life — Conquergood finishes the book in under
three hours.
Each
phoneme grasps and wets his tongue in unexpected new language and cognizance.
He finishes the book, places it down on the side stand, and in a fit of bedlam
and clarity, juxtaposed with his soul, says aloud,
“I’m
the ghost that’s always around, but nowhere to be found. Why is that?”
Out of
the decades of change and virtual globalization, Conquergood can hear the
author’s voice echoing concrete certitude from the page:
“Without the library, you have no civilization.”
Photo credit: Thor |
Excerpt
from The Edge of Too Late
by Jan
Sikes
As
they neared the docking area, the towering lighthouse came into view.
She
pointed. “I love that they have it illuminated at night, even though it’s not
really necessary anymore.”
“It’s
visible from a long way off. I can only imagine how beneficial it was for ships
back in its day to keep them from running aground on the rocks.” He removed his
arm from her shoulders.
“True.”
She laced her fingers through his. “When I read up on the history of this area,
I came across a story about a ship called the Zenobia that broke apart
in 1876 during a rare hurricane and almost sank. It was miraculously recovered.
Somehow, I have to think the lighthouse may have played a part in that disaster
being averted.”
“I’m
sure it did.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s move to the bow for
the approach.” He put a hand on the small of her back to steady her as the
waves rocked the schooner. They joined two other couples already at the vantage
point. He widened his stance and wrapped his arms around her. The light floral
scent from her shampoo tickled his nostrils. God, how he loved this woman.
If
she turned him down tomorrow…
His
stomach clenched. He wouldn’t think about it.
When
she stiffened against him, he followed her gaze to the top of the lighthouse.
“What is it, Angi?”
“Did
you see that?” she whispered.
“See
what?”
“It’s
that same woman I saw when we first arrived. She’s out on the widow’s walk.”
Brandon
peered through the increasing darkness, not seeing any figure.
“Perhaps
it’s only a shadow.”
“I
don’t think so. There were no shadows in the daytime when I first saw her.” She
rubbed her arms. “Look, I’ve got goosebumps. I think it’s a restless spirit.”
While
he wanted to believe her, as hard as he stared, he saw nothing but soft
illumination from the light piercing through the inky darkness.
She
let out a soft gasp followed by a shriek. “Oh, my God! She jumped.”
Brandon’s
skin prickled, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
***
Angi
shuddered as the figure plummeted toward the ocean. Why could no one else see
it? The couples around them stared, then looked away as if embarrassed for her.
Brandon
tightened his grip.
It
stung that he didn’t believe her. For a brief instant, she thought about the
woman in the dining room. Her husband didn’t believe her either. Did Bran think
she was hallucinating? Was she?
Captain
Duke poked his head out of the wheelhouse. “Everything okay out here?”
Angi
pointed. “Sir, I just saw a woman jump from the lighthouse into the ocean.” She
fought to stop trembling.
“Oh,
matey. You’ve seen Viv.”
“Viv?”
Angi turned out of Brandon’s arms to face the captain. “She’s real?”
“Well,
she was a hundred years ago. Some say Vivian O’Shea committed suicide, but
other accounts state she was swept off the widow’s walk by a ferocious gale
while watching for the return of her lover’s ship during a massive storm.”
Angi
gripped Brandon’s arm, so hard her nails dug into his flesh. But she couldn’t
let go. “That’s one of the ghosts I read about. But I swear I saw her.”
“You
and lots of others,” Captain Duke rubbed a hand across his forehead.
“So,
you don’t think I’m crazy?”
He
laughed. “Not crazy at all.” He swept a dramatic arm around the group. “Anyone
else see Viv?”
No
one replied, but there were hushed whispers.
“Well,
I’ve seen her lots of times, always around this same spot and especially close
to a full moon.” He nodded toward Angi. “So, you’re not crazy at all. Maybe
gifted, but not crazy.” He ducked back into the wheelhouse to navigate the boat
toward the dock.
Brandon
hugged her tight. “See. You’re not imagining things. The ghost is real. I wish
I could see it.” He rubbed small circles on her back. “Like Captain Duke said,
you have a gift.”
“Or
curse,” she mumbled into his shirt.