Attempting to do difficult things is undoubtedly good for the soul. Even if we don’t accomplish what we originally set out to achieve we end up stretching beyond previously conceived limits, evolving, and growing in ways we might have never imagined.
Over the past week I decided to attempt something difficult—a new novel. This one has been stewing for quite some time but I've been hesitant to jump into the project. With winter on our doorstep I decided finally to take those first few steps.
The plot sketch was started over the weekend and I can tell you this will be unlike anything I’ve written in the past. This story will require building an entire world. In its purest sense this story will be about establishing boundaries, conscious evolution, and realizing in nearly every situation it's imperative to remember that we have choices.
The working title of this new book is, "Portraits of the Hearthhold." Without revealing too much, the plot will center around a movement: communities of people around the world who decide they wish to separate themselves and their communities from the influence of artificial intelligence, algorithms, and the assistance of humanoid robots.
“Do the difficult things while they are easy and do the great things while they are small. A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.” Lao Tzu
A little about the not-so-distant world the Hearthhold was born into:
In the near future, humanoid robots and embedded AI will handle most labor, logistics, education, healthcare, and even much of creative content production. Cities are clean, efficient, and increasingly optional. A small but growing number of people make the decision to opt out, forming scattered off-grid communities known as hearthholds.
Hearthholds aren’t religious enclaves. These are groups of people who have simply made the decision to refuse to outsource the mundane, imperfect, embodied parts of life: growing food by hand, cooking together, making music without generative tools, telling their stories face-to-face, repairing things, and raising their children without AI tutors or algorithms. Above all they vow to preserve the knowledge and self-sufficiency of these old ways. They keep libraries of paper books, analog instruments, handwritten letters, and seasonal festivals. Technology is used sparingly and deliberately, never as a mediator of daily human contact. The name “hearthhold” comes from the shared fire or stove that remains the center of each settlement.
While working on the plot sketch I decided a good way to flesh out the mission of the Hearthhold communities would be to draft their constitution. Following is the preamble, the rest of the constitution is a work in progress:
PREAMBLE
We form hearthholds to keep certain human capacities alive by practicing them together. We choose to grow, make, cook, repair, teach, remember, become more in harmony with the environment, and decide by hand and in person. We do this not from hatred of technology and machines or of those who live among them, but from the conviction that some forms of skill, attention, and relationship diminish when they are no longer required. This constitution sets the terms by which we try to live that conviction without turning it into a new orthodoxy.
I’m giving myself eight months to finish the draft of Portraits of the Hearthhold. Hopefully it’ll be done before my birthday in June of next year. As a result of this you’ll, likely, be seeing less of me around here for a while. Just to be clear this isn't goodbye. I'll still try to log in to use my voting power and comment as much as I can despite the frequency (or infrequency) of my future blog posting.
It's so important to remember that we have choices. Everything in life begins with a decision. There's an expansive and wonderful world out there that is ripe with opportunities for those who are willing to take that first step.
Take care of yourselves and I wish you all a wonderful week.
All for now. Make this a wonderful day.
(Gif sourced from Giphy.com)