I’ve been studying AI audio so that I can complete a couple of personal projects.
The first project is an audiobook containing 18 chapters that span 75 fascinating minutes. Your MondayMorningMemo on December 22nd will contain the following invitation:
The tribe encircling the campfire is about to listen to a group of old men tell “The Story of the Long Ago.” You can listen, too, if you like.
That invitation will be coming your way on December 22nd.
The other project that I will be launching in January or February is an ongoing weekly series called “The Great Writer Series.”
My goal is simple: I want to reawaken the world to the power of well-told stories. That’s it. I have no other agenda. I just want people to remember what great writing sounds like.
Today I’ve got 3 different samples for you. Each is about 2 minutes long. Click the hyperlinks if you want to hear my people read to you.
This first one is an obscure poem by Robert Frost called, “The Bearer of Evil Tidings.”
I have asked Amir Amani to read it.
The bearer of evil tidings,
When he was halfway there,
Remembered that evil tidings
Were a dangerous thing to bear.
So when he came to the parting
Where one road led to the throne
And one went off to the mountains
And into the wild unknown,
He took the one to the mountains.
He ran through the Vale of Cashmere,
He ran through the rhododendrons
Till he came to the land of Pamir.
And there in a precipice valley
A girl of his age he met
Took him home to her bower,
Or he might be running yet.
She taught him her tribe’s religion:
How ages and ages since
A princess en route to China
To marry a Persian prince
Had been found with child; and her army
Had come to a troubled halt.
And though a god was the father
And nobody else at fault,
It had seemed discreet to remain there
And neither go on nor back.
So they stayed and declared a village
There in the land of the Yak.
And the child that came of the princess
Established a royal line,
And his mandates were given heed to
Because he was born divine.
And that was why there were people
On one Himalayan shelf;
And the bearer of evil tidings
Decided to stay there himself.
At least he had this in common
With the race he chose to adopt:
They had both of them had their reasons
For stopping where they had stopped.
As for evil tidings,
Belshazzar’s overthrow,
Why hurry to tell Belshazzar
What soon enough he would know?
Amor Towles will be our second example. He has given us literary wonders like “A Gentleman in Moscow” and “The Lincoln Highway.” This excerpt is from page 302 of his novel, “Table for Two.”
Big Bob Bigelow will read it to us.
Eve could not pinpoint when her dislike for lists began, but it must have been around the time she was twelve. It was in the basement of St. Mary’s, where she and the rest of the sixth graders were charged with memorizing the Ten Commandments.
“Thou shalt not this.”
“Thou shalt not that.”
“And thou shalt not the other thing.”
Then there was the list painted on the sign at the country club pool to remind the children there would be…
“No Running.”
“No Diving.”
“No Splashing.”
But most important was her mother’s ever-expanding list of what a young lady should not do. Like put her elbows on the table, or speak with her mouth full, or slug her little sister, even when she deserved it.
Yep. In Indiana, a young girl had good reason to suspect that lists were the foot soldiers of tyranny crafted for the sole purpose of bridling the unbridled. A quashing, squashing, squelching of the human spirit by means of itemization.
This third example is controversial. Tom Robbins passed away earlier this year at the age of 92. People either love or hate his novels. I happen to love them. This excerpt is from “Skinny Legs and All.” Tom Robbins was my brand of crazy.
Wild Willie Washington reads for us.
This sentence is made of lead. (And a sentence of lead gives a reader an entirely different sensation from one made of magnesium).
This sentence is made of yak wool.
This sentence is made of sunlight and plums.
This sentence is made of ice.
This sentence is made from the blood of the poet.
This sentence was made in Japan.
This sentence glows in the dark.
This sentence was born with a caul.
This sentence has a crush on Norman Mailer.
This sentence is a wino and doesn’t care who knows it.
Like many italic sentences, this one has Mafia connections.
This sentence is a double Cancer with a Pisces rising.
This sentence lost its mind searching for the perfect paragraph.
This sentence refuses to be diagrammed.
This sentence ran off with an adverb clause.
This sentence is 100 percent organic: it will not retain a facsimile of freshness like those sentences of Homer, Shakespeare, and Goethe, which are loaded with preservatives.
This sentence leaks.
This sentence once spit in a book reviewer’s eye.
This sentence can do the funky chicken.
This sentence has seen too much and forgotten too little.
This sentence is called “Speedoo,” but its real name is Mr. Earl.
This sentence may be pregnant.
This sentence suffered a split infinitive – and survived.
If this sentence has been a snake you would have bitten it.
This sentence went to jail with Clifford Irving.
This sentence went to Woodstock.
And this little sentence went wee-wee-wee all the way home.
Roy H. Williams
Steve Wunker believes that business owners and CEOs who harness AI to transform their companies into super-high-performing organizations are like octopuses. They are functioning with nine brains, eight arms, three hearts. They adapt rapidly and possesses exceptional intelligence. Steve advises companies like Microsoft, Meta, Nike, and the World Bank, on innovation strategy. He sees the decentralized decision-making, lightning-fast problem-solving, and hyper-responsive behavior of the octopus as an ideal model for AI-empowered leadership. As Steve explains to roving reporter Rotbart, winning with AI doesn’t mean squeezing new tools into old systems. It requires leaders to rethink — even rewire — how their organizations operate, so they can swim with the intelligence and adaptability of the octopus. MondayMorningRadio.com!