In the book Art & Fear, David Bayles and Ted Orland explain, “while a hundred civilizations have prospered (sometimes for centuries) without computers or windmills or even the wheel, none have survived even a few generations without art.”
What is our next adventure? Where do we go from here? On one hand, nothing’s changed. Artists have always been exploited and sought reimbursement for their work, but those are really just characteristics of humans in general.
Things change. Adventures change. I cultivated a strong passion for fishing years ago, mostly because I needed something to do with my kids. When they were younger, we had an abundance of time together. I explored all sorts of areas with them, and fishing was a go-to activity throughout the summer. Where does that leave me now, when they’re either at college or busy with other activities and a dwindling interest in the activity? It’s an abrupt evolution in the adventure.
I don’t expect you to pay for writing that’s generated using AI. You could easily go into ChatGPT and type in a prompt that requests “an essay in the tone of Jesse McEntee” and see what pops out. You’ll get something that resembles my words, but it won’t be from my heart.
Today I’m writing from the 35 acres of mostly wooded land that I inhabit and manage for firewood and wildlife.
In about two weeks, deer season opens here in Vermont. I’m excited for it and spending a lot of time getting ready by scouting and shooting (lately, shooting my crossbow).1 After that, there will be rifle seasons, and then that will be followed by muzzleloader. In the past few years, I’ve been traveling to hunt in Pennsylvania, New York, and New Hampshire (and Alaska, though that’s not a regular occurrence).
I started writing essays in Next Adventure because I have a passion for the outdoors, going on adventures, and searching for meaning. As I’ve indicated before, the idea of going on an “adventure” each day was born with my children. From the time they could speak, we’d ask each other, “What’s our next adventure today?”
While the pull to stay home amidst the toddler chaos was strong, we continually found activities suitable for their age.
I aim to provide ideas and a dialogue, either between us or within you.
As I sit here in an office, I can hear all sorts of sounds: bugs, birds, and a dump truck’s dump gate slamming closed at the town garage. But I can also see things. I can see the leaves turning. They’re orange, they’re yellow, they’re brown. The stain is peeling off my woodshed, and I need to re-stain it. The archery target is full of holes, and it’s bleeding fuzz. I put a hay bale behind it, and next I’ll make a new target out of discarded clothing that neither fits my children anymore nor is suitable for donation. Soon cotton threads will litter the ground, snow will cover them, and they’ll melt into the ground by April’s thaw.
This time of year, all of the bees, hornets, and wasps are going crazy, panicking. They know the cold is coming.
In the past, I thought of myself as more of a scientist (albeit a social scientist). But as I lean away from the technical, I find myself closer to the artistic.
The reason is my preoccupation with meaning. As Bayles and Orland put it, “meaning of the world is made, not found.” We create our interpretations of the world, which then establishes the meaning du jour.
And that’s what I promise readers of Next Adventure: a continuous discussion of the search for meaning, often through a prism of adventure. I provide you with an honest interpretation of the world; the meaning of what we find is up for discussion.
We’ve entered a new chapter in the world of writing, and a lot of that is mimicked in other art forms. Catchy tunes or jingles aren’t new, and they continue to be made by artists in the TikTok era; singers create hooks for songs with this medium in mind. Just as essays like this one need to be shorter if I expect anyone to read them.2 I recently thumbed through my copy of Coming into the Country by John McPhee, and after reading a few random passages, wondered how it would have done in today’s market. Such ponderings are useless; we can’t go back in time, and every artist responds to the moment with the tools at their disposal and the market conditions they face.
Changing one’s work based on market demand or saleability isn’t new; it’s timeless, even for artists. It’s evolution.
With AI, we face new consequences, but evergreen challenges. The playing field remains level in the sense that AI is generally available to everyone. So having access to it doesn’t really provide any advantage. If I want to do some research, I can turn to AI, and it’ll help me research a topic. And that’s true for everyone; there’s no edge to gain.
Craft writing is different, though, from the art of writing. A craft uses a template and technique to recreate that which may or may not already exist. Honing that craft is doing it well, aiming for perfection (e.g., I carve wooden spoons, often striving to make a perfect version of a particular design; that’s predominantly craft). And I’d say AI is getting reasonably good at crafting AI-generated words. But we (humans) can identify it. AI-created articles and essays are everywhere. They’re smooth, but soulless. The clever headlines are a telltale sign, and when I read someone who once did not use AI but now does, it’s disappointing, but understandable. We’ve all tried it, but their voice is now diluted and will gradually be gone. As they say, “Use it or lose it.”
Art speaks to us differently. Words might be clunky, more basic. The struggle, hope, love, frustration, anger, and soul of art cannot be replicated by AI. Would I pay for an AI-authored book or article that synthesises some valuable data? Perhaps. But those are means of data and information transfer. There’s a template being followed.
A piece of art, on the other hand, by definition, is uniquely human.
Join the adventure
After injuring my shoulder in a mountain biking crash, I switched to a crossbow. My shoulder recovered. Then, Vermont made crossbows legal for everyone in archery, so I kept using it. PA is the same, and NY just changed its rule as well. There are too many deer in suburban areas of the East, and the crossbow is an attempt at a remedy. Note to the purists who eschew the crossbow: I generally use the best tool available to me in the circumstance (within reason). If that’s a crossbow, compound bow, rifle, or motor, I’ll use what I can to achieve my goal. If I hunt somewhere that doesn’t allow crossbows, then I’ll use a compound bow. If I want to hunt the deer where they only allow a spear, then that’s what I’d use.
Though if I desired the highest readership possible, I’d shorten this essay by half and adopt the punchy cadence of the Substack “growth” coaches.
Please keep this: "continuous discussion of the search for meaning, often through a prism of adventure." Why must we pander to the short attention span? Good writing keeps a reader engaged or the reader was never intended to be your reader.
“Art speaks to us differently.” That’s really the essence of it all! I have a thought piece on the purpose of art coming out Sunday and now I’m wishing I’d read this before writing it. I really like your perspective!