PurpleCar

Funny happenstances make great tweets but there’s a dark side

Today on Twitter I came across another predictive text game where users were given a phrase to type into their text window (or other typed field) and then instructed to use the predictive text to finish the sentence. The phrase was originally written by the now-deleted account, @homohex. It was “I am [sexual orientation] and that’s why I [predictive text].” The user is meant to fill-in-the-blank with their sexual orientation and then use predictive text to complete the sentence. I saw the tweet from the account, @swheatpodcasts.

Indeed, quite a few responses seemed germane and poignant, especially to the people who posted them. Some examples below.

Predictive text can be revealing. No, your phone isn’t psychic, but it is learning your behavior. There are a few different ways predictive text works, but one of the more robust programs actually learns what words you personally use the most often. This means that sharing your predictive text result also shows the world what words you’ve been typing more often than others.

In the grand scheme of things (*waves at the world*) this little phenomenon isn’t all that revealing or dangerous. But I’m sensing users don’t get that their predictive text is not going to be the same as another person’s. These algorithms aren’t random word generators. And as we get more advanced tech, they will get quite personal.

I like to look at predictive word generators as being as revealing as a Freudian Slip, an accidental yet significant-to-the-subcontext spoken error. It is something said by mistake but lets what you’re really (or subconsciously) thinking “slip” out. Freudian slips can be embarrassing. Of course, most of the time mature adults ignore them, but one can step deep into some doo-doo if something slips out at the wrong time.

The real problem I see coming, if people keep up their magical “look how funny this is!” thinking about predictive text, is predatory marketing. These specific word tree algorithms will have a significant amount of personality data on each user. And any data that can be collected and sold will be, much to our detriment. This culture of treating predictive text like it is some kind of woo-woo prognostication device will only help the ignorance surrounding how very real and potentially exploitative data is being generated and primed for selling.

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Image by Thomas B. from Pixabay

A moratorium on meetings makes me mopey

Today at a nearby university a bunch of my good Philly friends in the tech and marketing (i.e. social media) industries gathered for a conference. I didn’t go.

There are quite a few yearly conferences and “unconferences” to choose from in Philly (our scene is on fire). I loved going to these meetings. I enjoyed seeing friends, hearing interesting lectures about the state of tech and taking in presentations on what the movers and shakers in the Philly scene were up to.

Eventually I realized, though, that I was splitting myself in two. I can’t keep my finger on the pulse of the tech industry AND learn fiction writing and publishing as well as I want to. While keeping tabs on social media is a good idea for my content creation work, I don’t need to stay abreast of *all* the new apps and happenings. I made the choice to drop all the tech conferences for a while.

I can’t seem to rid myself of all of it, though. I still have a GitHub account. I follow the r/sysadmin subreddit. I have all sorts of obscure techie-only type apps on my phone. I regularly read the tech websites and chat with techies online. Seeing myself as a “techie” is something I’ve done for 20 years.

It’s gotta go, though. Everything I’m learning about habits, distraction, focus, and productivity point to one key factor: how one sees oneself. Your self view, how you fill in this blank “I’m a _____________,” determines how your path winds through life. I miss the social aspect of the tech conferences and the bigger tech world, especially now that women are succeeding in their fight for inclusivity. And personally, I have a secret disgust? fear? dislike? of filling that blank with “fiction writer” or (if I’m lucky?) “novelist.” Seems like such a lame thing. Artists face a real bias, most importantly from themselves.

I hope everyone had fun at #BCPhilly today, and I hope you all are having an easier time filling in that blank than I am.

From “depressive anhedonia” to “pain management,” some helpful theories exist

When writing his book, Filling the Void: Emotion, Capitalism & Social Media, British professor Marcus Gilroy-Ware realized he had collected a lot of examples of people meeting death or injury while taking selfies. So many, in fact, that he stopped collecting them. He’d realized there was nothing special about them, and that there was no longer any separation between online and offline life.

Gilroy-Ware’s book is worthy of an in-depth review, but for time’s sake let’s turn to his theory about why we find ourselves spending hours scrolling through social media feeds, looking for nothing in particular and having no set point of when to stop. “Depressive hedonia” is the term he used to explain the phenomenon. “Anhedonia” means the inability to feel pleasure. “Hedonia” is feeling good and is the basis of the word “hedonism” (“an ethical doctrine taught by the ancient Epicureans and Cyrenaics and by the modern utilitarians that asserts that pleasure or happiness is the sole or chief good in life” -Merriam-Webster Unabridged).

Depressive hedonia would be the inability to pursue anything but pleasure. This describes the hours spent on Reddit’s meme boards, or the rage-addiction of engaging with American extremists on Facebook (yes, rage can be quite an endorphin hit).

I’ll go into Filling the Void in more detail at another time. I bring it up now because a new book is out that holds similar theories of “distraction.” Indistractible: How to Control Your Attention and Choose Your Life by Nir Eyal is a self-help-for-c-suiters type of book that presents data and info on why we scroll. One of Eyal’s major theories: “Time management is pain management.” Like Gilroy-Ware, Eyal proposes that we are turning to the social media feed (or our phones in general) in an effort to manage feelings of discomfort inside us.

I’ll also go into Indistractible in more detail later. For now I want to leave you with the thought that our, *your*, habit of scrolling, falling down the internet rabbit hole, swiping and swiping, and any other of our daily, hourly, minute-ly habits, are attempts at managing discomfort by a constant drive to find small tidbits of comfort in tiny sparks of curiosity, humor, sense of purpose, moral righteousness and so on. We’re seeking to rid ourselves of discomfort by seeking comfort – constantly.

How to break the cycle? Therapists would say this: Lean into the pain. The endless scrolling can’t bandage a damaged self. Address the discomfort first (both books offer advice here but Eyal’s book offers workbook exercises). Once the discomfort is managed, the scrolling will fade away.

Image by rawpixel from Pixabay

Hey y’all. I wrote some flash fic.

Yesterday I found a tiny crew of writers participating in the newish game of Flashtober, a fiction counterpart to Inktober. Here’s my entry for today’s prompts (which I’ll add at the bottom of the work so as not to distract).

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Mary’s Shame was feeling particularly fragile today, having fallen victim to an uptick in propaganda from Mary’s “self care” circles. It would pass, Shame knew; it always did. Each new attempt Mary made to rid herself of him eventually fell short and enough bits remained to build into a much stronger force. 

So when Mary ran into that fellow (call him Coffee Boy) with what Mary said were “kind eyes” and “rock-formation shoulders,” Shame felt the need to fire up his control panels. He sent through the standard start-up sequences: Self-doubt. Check. Fading confidence in fashion choices. Check. 

On cue, Mary looked down at her bright yellow loafers. When she bought them, they seemed “cheery” and “off the beaten path.” Shame snickered. She was such an easy mark. The creative ones always were. 

Coffee boy spotted Mary and worked his way over. Like a gift from Fate, he was jostled in the early-morning crowd and his hand grazed her Prime Shame Inducer Spot #2. Shame bellowed with laughter at his luck. He quickly cued up Painful Memory #63, that old standard, and let it roll. 

Mary’s Levels immediately went up. Heart rate. Face redness. But Shame furrowed his brow. He wan’t imagining it. #63 was definitely losing efficacy. It was probably that dastardly therapy group. 

Coffee Boy spurted some apology. Another stroke of luck! Perhaps Shame could salvage this. Mary’s head was down and her Levels were ticking up. Another memory would help. Shame scrolled through some more candidates. There were too many. He muted the sound so he could concentrate. He made a note to update his filing system. 

Suddenly Shame’s board lit up. Mary’s levels were dropping sharply. With shock, Shame saw Relief and Belonging were up early this morning and working together like the little ingrates they were. Shame turned up the volume. Coffee Boy was talking.

“… a thing. I have 5 older sisters! You OK?”

Shame made a fast move but Mary spoke before he could hit the Seize button on her vocal cords. His reaction times were failing. Dang that therapy. 

“Yes, actually,” Mary said with a laugh.
A laugh! Imagine!
“Thank you.”

“Let me get your coffee. Soy vanilla latte, right?”

Did he seriously just wink at her? 

“Decaf,” she said.
“You got it!”
Mary’s face bloomed into a wide, hapless grin.

Shame stretched to hit the “Hate My Smile” (HMS) button, but Joy and Delight must’ve hacked his controls. HMS was such a great algorithm. He wrote it over a decade ago with the “Goofy->Awkward->Ugly” sequence that came free in the Middle School suite. 

Mary’s endorphin levels were going up, her muscle tension and nervous stomach reaction were going down, and Shame knew he’d been bested. He pulled out his notebook and began scribbling. Time with Boys (TwB) always yielded such great material. Later he’d replay this for Mary, now labeled TwB Incident #1M4591.3C, as soon as all the positive gits took a break. He sent an email asking Doubt if he wanted in on this opportunity. 

When Mary and Coffee Boy sat down together at a tiny table in the big front window of the cafe (where she’d never sit otherwise), Shame knew it was over for now. His screens and panel went totally dark. He had no choice but to wait.

-End

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Today’s words were YELLOW FELLOW and BELLOW. Did you catch them? Hopefully not. The best flash fiction seamlessly incorporates the most unwieldy words.

I didn’t intend for this to come out like fan fic of the Pixar movie Inside Out (which I did not like for many, many reasons), but there it is. I wanted to write about shame because I’ve been cognizant of it in light of my participation in Inktober and Blogtober this month. I don’t feel a heck of a lot of shame in my blog postings or my (terrible!) drawings. Why does fiction writing fall into the “OMG NEVER SHARE IT EVER” category? I’ve been asking myself some tough questions about that. Some mixture of shame and attachment and hope and magical thinking poisons the pot, methinks. I treat my fiction writing unlike my drawing or my non-fiction blogging. It holds sway over … well, everything. Maybe.

I’m sick of that, though. And I’m sick of myself for allowing it. Flash fiction is a great way for a perfectionist to beat that exacting tendency into submission. You have only a little time (this wasn’t time-limited but my day is) and some odd restrictions (word count and weird words to incorporate). These requirements alone are great get-out-of-perfectionist-jail free cards. I’ll keep trying #flashtober. Maybe it too will work like #Inktober by helping me darken Shame’s control panels and letting the creative work flow.

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Image by Rachel Scott from Pixabay