
What my mother said when I showed her.
She hadn't read the newsletter. I gave her a printed copy. Here's what happened.
For the people you love. AI projects for curious adults — bedtime stories, custom songs, letters we've been meaning to write, and whatnot. Free. No technical skills.
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She hadn't read the newsletter. I gave her a printed copy. Here's what happened.

The third tutorial. Voice memo in, letter out. About thirty minutes.

Nine short stories from your replies. Names changed. Details real.

A hospital room, a song, and what happened on the last morning.

Two months in. Here are three things I thought I knew that I don't anymore.

A small disaster, and what it taught me about how AI renders things too literally.

I waited. I listened. Then I made one small specific thing.

She's seven. She made me a four-page book about a whale that goes to space. The AI had nothing to do with it.

The second how-to. The project people lose their minds over.

A song with thirty-one specific things in it, and what happened when she played it.

A short reflection at the end of the first month, and what I think this is for.

Sometimes the AI conversation is happening in places the AI conversation never thinks about.

A small thing on my fridge that no AI in the world could have made.

A small story about restraint, and the moment I closed the laptop.

The first proper how-to in this newsletter. The project that started everything.

A five-minute conversation I've now had with about thirty people. Worth writing down.

Where the tool stops, and where you take over.

A tech insider, marking the calendar on a thing he got wrong two years ago.

The part of the AI story nobody is reporting is the part she's already living.

Most days I'm just a guy. AI shows up in the boring useful corners, and that's fine.