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I built Show Hole to solve my family’s classic streaming problem: we spend too much time deciding what to watch, and the answer changes depending on who is actually on the couch. We each have different tastes, but the more interesting problem is that our tastes overlap differently in different combinations. I watch one kind of thing with my spouse, my spouse watches something different with our kid, and my kid and I have our own lane too. Most recommendation tools flatten that into one account profile, one watch history, or broad genre buckets, so they miss the real context of a household. Show Hole treats people and viewing contexts as first-class citizens. It recommends titles “in the vein of” something we liked, filters recommendations to the streaming services we actually subscribe to, avoids titles that the people present have already seen or vetoed, and explains why a recommendation fits tonight. Instead of relying mainly on genres such as comedy, drama, or sci-fi, Show Hole looks at more human taste signals: pacing, world building, humor, emotional weight, complexity, tone, and similar dimensions. It also learns from what we actually do after a recommendation: what we watch, skip, save for later, love, and drop. The result is a personal household recommender that understands “who is watching tonight?” as part of the question, instead of pretending one streaming profile can represent everyone. I designed the app using Claude design, then used those designs with Claude Code to build it. Step-by-step: 1. I identified the household viewing problem and accounted for the different combinations of people who might be watching together. 2. I designed Show Hole around people and viewing contexts instead of treating the household as one account profile, watch history, or set of broad genre preferences. 3. I had it recommend titles “in the vein of” something we liked, filter them to the streaming services we subscribe to, exclude titles already seen or vetoed by the people present, and explain why each recommendation fits that night. 4. I used taste signals such as pacing, world building, humor, emotional weight, complexity, tone, and similar dimensions instead of relying mainly on genres. 5. I made the recommender learn from what we watch, skip, save for later, love, and drop after receiving a recommendation. 6. I designed the app using Claude design and used those designs with Claude Code to build it.

I read the news every day, but it had become increasingly depressing and was making me miserable. What bothered me most was that it also felt inaccurate: although bad things are happening, there have been many positive developments over the past five years that rarely receive sustained coverage. Major news sites might publish an article or two about them, but those stories are quickly buried under negativity. I wanted a way to get only positive news stories in my feed each day. Keyword filters did not work: “record” and “breakthrough” also appear in stories about record wildfire seasons, while “war” can appear in “war ends.” Off-the-shelf sentiment analysis was not useful either. A happy press release about layoffs can be classified as positive, while a dry factual story about a disease being eliminated may be classified as neutral. So I trained a basic artificial version of my personality using a series of prompts about what I consider positive in the world. I connected it to Mistral through OpenRouter and gave it access to public RSS feeds from news sites I already trusted. This eventually became Rally News, which I published on Google Play. iOS has been more difficult. The app surfaces positive stories from more than 20 news sites in an endless scroll, giving me an alternative to my uncomfortable TikTok addiction. Because I made it public, I decided not to host article text: publishers keep their traffic and revenue, while the tool remains ethical. The system runs on a GitHub Actions cron job that pushes stories to a PHP and MySQL database. I built the app without coding experience for about $25 per month. Step-by-step: 1. I collected RSS feeds from established publishers I already trusted and stored the list as configuration. I started with about 10 feeds instead of a few hundred so I could realistically read the output. 2. I set up a scheduled GitHub Actions cron job to run a Python script that pulls new items from every feed. 3. I deduplicated incoming articles against the database using the URL and a normalized title. Syndicated stories frequently reappear under slightly different URLs, and I did not want to pay to evaluate the same article twice. 4. I wrote the filter prompt as a long persona document rather than a one-line instruction. It explains what I consider progress, what I consider a puff piece, and which cases should fail—for example, celebrity news is not good news, a company announcing an intention is not the same as taking action, and a local feel-good story without wider significance does not qualify. 5. I sent each new article to an LLM through OpenRouter and required JSON output containing a pass-or-fail decision and a short justification. 6. For the first few weeks, I read the justifications every day. Whenever I disagreed with the model, I added a new rule to the persona document. That review loop required nearly all of the actual work. 7. I wrote passing articles to MySQL with only the headline, source, link, and metadata, leaving the article body with the publisher. 8. I pointed the website and mobile app to the same database. 9. I added a second GitHub Actions job that assembles a daily newsletter from the same data through Brevo, allowing one evaluation pass to feed three surfaces.

I built a repeatable, human-directed AI workflow for turning an original emotion, memory, or story into a finished WazWorld song, complete with cover artwork and release content. It addresses one of the biggest problems with AI music: a simple prompt can produce something technically impressive but generic, overproduced, or disconnected from the creator’s real intention. The workflow begins with a human trigger—an experience, relationship, place, mood, or musical idea that I genuinely want to express. WazWorld generally moves between dark alternative/electronic music and California coastal country-rock. Step-by-step: 1. I create a detailed artistic brief describing the song’s emotional core, story, genre, energy, vocal character, instrumentation, arrangement, dynamics, and intended listener experience. 2. I work with ChatGPT to develop and challenge the concept, write and rewrite lyrics, remove clichés, and design the full arrangement. This includes the intro, verses, choruses, instrumental passages, transitions, musical peaks, and outro. ChatGPT also helps translate my direction into precise production language and exclusions that Suno can understand. 3. I generate versions in Suno, treating each result as a demo rather than a finished song. I evaluate the vocal delivery, lyrics, bass, guitars, synths, drums, tempo, arrangement, and emotional impact. Then I make targeted prompt changes and generate new versions. A song may go through dozens of iterations before it sounds the way I originally heard it in my head. 4. After selecting the final music, I use ChatGPT and AI image generation to develop cover artwork that matches the song’s emotional identity. I adapt the artwork for streaming, YouTube, Instagram, Stories, and Shorts, then create the metadata, descriptions, captions, and promotional material needed for release. 5. I distribute the finished music through services such as DistroKid and publish it across streaming and social platforms. The final result is not a one-click AI song. AI provides creative and production tools, but I direct every major decision—from the original emotion and lyrics to the arrangement, instrumentation, vocals, artwork, and release strategy. Someone can recreate this workflow by starting with a clear human idea, documenting the desired sound, generating multiple versions, evaluating each one like a producer, and iterating until the finished work communicates the original intention.

YouTube is one of the best free education platforms out there, but the problem is that it takes a ton of time to sit through long videos just to find the few ideas that actually matter. That's where Gemini has been really useful for me. Since it's built into Google, I can use it to quickly summarize a specific YouTube video, or even scan the last 5–10 videos from a creator to pull out the key takeaways. Instead of spending hours watching everything, I can quickly understand the main ideas, find the best nuggets, and decide what's worth digging into deeper. It's basically a shortcut for learning from long-form content without consuming every minute of it. Step-by-step: 1. I gave Gemini the URL of a specific YouTube video when I wanted a fast summary of one piece of content. 2. For a broader view, I asked it to scan the latest five to ten videos from the same creator. 3. I had it extract the main ideas and strongest takeaways from each video. 4. I compared the summaries to find recurring themes and the most useful nuggets. 5. I used that overview to decide which videos were worth watching in full.

I write murder mysteries, and like every author, I need an editor to help carry a story from the first raw idea to a finished, publishable script. The trouble is that good editors are rare. The insightful, reliable ones are expensive, and they are often slow. My first murder mystery took the better part of six months to edit. Even after all that time, I still found typos and clumsy sentences that should have been caught during the line edit and proofreading. That is not a criticism of editors; it is the reality of a manual, human-paced process that does not scale to the way I want to work. I do not use AI to write my stories. The voice, plot, and subtext are mine. But line editing and proofreading are different jobs, and that is where I started using AI. Basic paid ChatGPT got me part of the way, but it was not enough. In February, I switched to Claude, and it was a quantum leap: sharper suggestions, better reasoning, and output I could actually trust. I wanted more than a clever assistant. I wanted a process. Rather than wait for the perfect human editor—affordable, brilliant, and available precisely when I needed them—I built my own. My Claude Editor-in-Chief contains my entire editing workflow, along with a few innovations of my own. At its heart is a framework I developed: the Tension Coefficient (TC), ReaderGrip, and StoryDrift. These three lenses show whether a scene is pulling its weight, whether it keeps its grip on the reader, and whether the story is quietly wandering off course. Everything feeds into a dashboard, so I can see at a glance what is working and what needs fixing. The result is a workflow that turns editing from a six-month slog into something that takes a fraction of the time and, more importantly, produces a cleaner, tighter manuscript. I stopped waiting for help and built the editor I always wished I could hire. Step-by-step: 1. I kept the creative work—my story’s voice, plot, and subtext—in my own hands and used AI specifically for line editing and proofreading. 2. I started with basic paid ChatGPT, then switched to Claude in February after finding that it provided sharper suggestions, better reasoning, and output I could trust. 3. I built a Claude Editor-in-Chief around my full editing workflow instead of relying on Claude as a general-purpose assistant. 4. I added my Tension Coefficient (TC), ReaderGrip, and StoryDrift frameworks to evaluate whether scenes are effective, maintain reader engagement, and stay on course. 5. I connected those evaluations to a dashboard that shows what is working and what needs fixing. 6. I use the workflow to reduce editing time and produce a cleaner, tighter manuscript.

I keep a long wishlist on Audible, but whenever I want a new audiobook, I face the same question: does my library already offer it for free through Libby? Checking hundreds of titles manually feels like too much work, so I often spend a credit instead. I had Claude build a workflow that checks for me. It reads my Audible wishlist and cross-references every title against my library’s Libby catalog, sorting each one into three categories: borrow now, join the waitlist, or not available. The important part was learning to interpret Libby accurately. Badges and time estimates can make an audiobook look ready when it isn’t, and a pending hold can look like an active one. The reliable signal is the exact text on the button: “Borrow” means I can borrow it; anything else means I should wait or move on. Step-by-step: 1. I gave Claude a workflow to read my Audible wishlist. 2. I had it cross-reference every title against my library’s Libby catalog. 3. I had it sort each title into “borrow now,” “join the waitlist,” or “not available.” 4. I configured the workflow to interpret availability using the exact button text rather than relying on badges or time estimates. 5. Before spending an Audible credit, I check whether Libby already has the audiobook ready.

I built Bubble Grotto, a skill-based arcade game for mobile devices, using AI as a development partner. The concept is deliberately simple: start with a small bubble, grow it, navigate through a cave filled with hazards, and decide when to escape. The larger the bubble becomes, the greater the potential reward—but the harder it becomes to manoeuvre safely. The aim was to create the classic “one more go” experience: controls that can be understood almost immediately, with gameplay that becomes progressively harder to master. The interesting challenge was that building a game is very different from implementing a list of features. The code can work perfectly and the game can still be no fun. Timing, movement, difficulty, visual feedback, and risk versus reward all have to feel right when somebody actually plays it. Step-by-step: 1. I used AI to discuss how the core concept should work, including bubble growth, movement, hazards, progression, scoring and rewards, and the escape mechanic. 2. Rather than designing the entire game upfront, I used AI-assisted development to turn each mechanic into working code and get it onto a real device as quickly as possible. 3. Once a mechanic existed, I tested it myself. I checked whether movement was responsive, whether the bubble grew too quickly, whether obstacles were fair, whether escaping was too easy, and whether failure made me want another attempt or simply became frustrating. 4. I brought those observations back into the AI workflow, identified the relevant behavior or code, made targeted changes, and tested again. 5. Once the core loop felt enjoyable, I refined the interface, visual feedback, progression, and presentation instead of allowing cosmetic work to hide weak gameplay. This produced a development loop of: idea → mechanic → playable build → play-test → adjust → repeat The final result is Bubble Grotto, an arcade game with simple controls but increasingly demanding skill-based gameplay. Players grow their bubble while navigating hazards and must balance risk against reward by choosing the right moment to escape. One of the most useful things I learned is that AI can dramatically accelerate game development, but it cannot replace judgment about whether something is enjoyable. AI can help create a mechanic, investigate why it behaves incorrectly, and implement changes extremely quickly. The human still has to play the game and decide: is this actually fun? That combination allowed me to move rapidly from a simple game idea to a functioning mobile game while spending far more of my time experimenting with gameplay than wrestling with implementation.

I’m retired and in my early 70s. I never got into RPGs growing up, but I decided to try a tabletop RPG with my wife. The game I purchased included a rulebook and a PDF of the book. I wanted my wife and me to play as the player characters without either of us having to be the game master, so I tested whether AI could take on that role. I used ChatGPT to parse the PDF and walk us through the process. It helped us create our characters, Heisenberg and Felicity, and then started the game as the game master. We’ve only just started, but it seems like this is going to work well. The AI can keep secrets to itself, roll the dice when needed, and guide us through the adventure. Step-by-step: 1. I purchased a tabletop RPG that included a rulebook and a PDF of the book. 2. I used ChatGPT to parse the PDF and walk us through the process. 3. ChatGPT helped my wife and me create our player characters, Heisenberg and Felicity. 4. We had ChatGPT start the game as the game master so neither of us had to fill that role. 5. We began playing while ChatGPT kept secrets to itself, rolled the dice when needed, and guided us through the adventure.

“A good engineer knows when not to use AI.” I built a semi-automated workflow to summarize my live streams. With it, I can record and edit a stream in just one day of work. Not everyone has time to watch an entire stream, so creating a summary of the main moments is important for people who want to watch it later. Many tools create Shorts from videos by analyzing transcripts, but they are expensive and do not work well for visually heavy content such as gameplay. Gemini can analyze both video and audio and has a long context window, so I decided to use Google AI Studio to identify important moments. I also created scripts to automate parts of the video-editing process. Some of the scripts can be executed by an agent, and the prompts can be turned into Skills when using the API. Step-by-step: 1. I record the video with separate tracks for the microphone and background audio. I keep the microphone on the first track so the LLM does not identify only the background audio. 2. I compress and cut the video with `ffmpeg`, then extract the audio tracks. Google AI Studio has implicit video requirements: files must be under 400MB and under one hour long. The AI analyzes only one frame per second, so I can also lower the FPS to save space. I use the audio tracks later in the workflow. 3. I upload the processed videos to Google Drive, which makes them easier to use in Google AI Studio. 4. I use Gemini with temperature 1 and a high thinking level to select the important moments. I add the system prompt and specify which part of the video I am uploading: "The video is part X of the stream. Please make a structured script according to the system instructions." This helps Gemini understand what types of moments may appear in the video. The system prompt was created for gameplay presentations but can be adapted for other content. 5. I use Gemini Pro with temperature 1 and a high thinking level to find the timestamps for the selected moments. I keep timestamp generation separate from moment selection so Gemini has more thinking time for each task. Gemini Pro works better than Flash when handling time. I add the system prompt along with a copy of the response from the previous step. - As an extra check, after execution I continue the conversation with: "Check if the analysis was cut off too early (context truncation), ignoring that the video continued and generating false positives for timestamps. Check the last events especially." 6. I send the data to Blender. I create a JSON file containing the AI’s response and use a script to add the original video, the microphone track, and the background audio track. The script cuts and marks the important moments based on the JSON. Because it is not possible to send multiple audio tracks from a single video, I send the tracks separately. I also make sure to use the correct FPS, either 30 or 60. 7. I edit the video manually. The AI’s timestamps are not perfect, so I may add or remove sections, or correct a position that the AI identified incorrectly. I then render the video. 8. As an extra, I can automate standardized edits. For example, I use three different camera positions, so I add clips to three different tracks depending on the position I want. I use a script to change the position and scale of the clips on those tracks. 9. As another extra, I transcribe the audio. I mute the background audio and save only the microphone audio as an MP3, then use Whisper to transcribe it. I can use the transcript as YouTube subtitles or embed it directly into the video. I use Whisper-WebUI with Log probability Threshold -0.5, No Speech Threshold 0.5, Patience 2, and Hotwords `\u003cmy name and terms in other languages I usually use\u003e`. I use an LLM to translate the transcript into other languages. 10. Finally, I create tags and titles. I upload the transcript to Google Drive and use it in Google AI Studio with a system prompt to generate tags and titles for the video. I also use the assistant in Google AI Studio to analyze and summarize my channel for use in LLMs. This helps me choose better titles and tags.

I set up an AI assistant to run my entire writing business on autopilot. Every morning, it pulls RSS feeds from more than 30 AI and writing sources, deduplicates them against the previous day’s digest, curates the top items, and sends me a single Telegram message with numbered, linked items before I wake up. At 11 a.m. each day, it generates an original writing craft post. The topic comes from a rotation pool of more than 15 categories, and the assistant avoids anything used in the last 30 days. It also creates accompanying artwork in a rotating fine-art style, then cross-posts the content to Facebook, X, and my blog, including the featured-image upload to WordPress. Each week, it compiles and sends an email newsletter to my subscriber list through Brevo. It pulls from a curated candidates file that I approve before the newsletter goes out. Behind the scenes, the assistant manages a fleet of five servers, including servers for my wife, daughter, and two business colleagues. It handles daily backups, monitors costs across providers, and reminds me when context windows are becoming expensive. The key insight wasn’t the automation; it was the partnership model. My assistant has a persona file (`SOUL.md`) that defines how it communicates, a memory file (`MEMORY.md`) with everything it needs to know about my life and business, and a playbook of behavioral rules built from real mistakes over time. It pushes back on bad ideas, flags risks before executing, and has genuine opinions about craft and content. That shift—from “tool you talk to” to “colleague who has your back”—is what I wrote my book about. *Harnessing the Machine* is the field guide I wish I’d had when I started. It isn’t a tutorial, because the technology changes weekly; it’s a guide to building a working relationship with something that remembers yesterday. The tech stack is OpenClaw, GLM-5.2 as the primary model, DeepSeek V4 Pro as the fallback, and AWS Lightsail. The total monthly cost is under $30. The real cost was calibrating the assistant: teaching it what I care about, what “good” looks like, and when to ask versus when to act. That’s the part most people skip, and it’s why most “AI automation” posts feel like demos rather than relationships. Tools used: OpenClaw, GLM-5.2, DeepSeek, Telegram, WordPress, Brevo Step-by-step: 1. I configured OpenClaw with a persona file (`SOUL.md`), a memory file (`MEMORY.md`), and a behavioral playbook built from real mistakes. 2. I connected it to RSS feeds from more than 30 AI and writing sources and had it deduplicate, curate, and send a numbered Telegram digest each morning. 3. I created a rotation pool of more than 15 writing categories and instructed it to avoid topics used in the previous 30 days. 4. I scheduled it to generate a daily writing craft post, create artwork in a rotating fine-art style, and cross-post the result to Facebook, X, and my WordPress blog with a featured image. 5. I set up a weekly Brevo newsletter that pulls from a curated candidates file I approve before sending. 6. I connected the assistant to five servers, including servers for my wife, daughter, and two business colleagues, and had it manage daily backups, provider costs, and expensive context windows. 7. I configured GLM-5.2 as the primary model, DeepSeek V4 Pro as the fallback, and AWS Lightsail as the hosting environment. 8. I calibrated the assistant by teaching it my standards, what “good” looks like, and when to ask for approval versus acting on its own.

I’m sharing “The Architects of Reality,” a short film created as part of an experiment with a multi-agent AI workflow for long-form content creation. Off-the-shelf AI video platforms are brilliant for short clips, but as the duration increases, the challenges compound: character inconsistency, narrative drift, visual discontinuity, and expensive iterations when the output doesn’t match the creative vision. Instead of asking one AI to make a film, I created an AI film crew. Specialised agents and sub-agents take on roles including Director, DOP, Cameraman, VFX Supervisor, Sound Engineer, VO Artist, and Audio Mixer to support the filmmaking process. Creative review and approval are built into every stage, so individual elements can be regenerated before expensive final rendering. This helps optimise tokens, budget, and creative control. It’s been a fun journey building these agents—and even more fascinating to watch the output improve in capability and efficiency as they learn every day. Step-by-step: 1. I set up a multi-agent AI workflow for long-form content creation. 2. I assigned specialised filmmaking roles to agents and sub-agents, including Director, DOP, Cameraman, VFX Supervisor, Sound Engineer, VO Artist, and Audio Mixer. 3. I built creative review and approval into every stage of the process. 4. I regenerate individual elements when they do not match the creative vision, before moving to expensive final rendering. 5. I use the workflow to optimise tokens, budget, and creative control while producing the short film “The Architects of Reality.” 6. I observe how the output’s capabilities and efficiencies improve as the agents learn every day.

I spent twenty years producing documentary and nonfiction films, all of it the expensive way: crews, schedules, financing, and commissioners saying no. I'm proud of much of that work, and I still think about the films that never got made because the money wasn't there. Generative video pulled me in, but not for the reason people assume. It wasn't the speed or the cost. It was the fact that I could finally finish something without asking anyone for permission. No green light from a major platform. Nobody deciding that a story was too small to deserve a crew. A year later, I could produce this way. It turned out to be a different job rather than the same job with new tools. Then I ran into a problem I hadn't considered: how do you show the work? A finished shot doesn't prove much anymore. A client can look at a beautiful frame and have no way to tell whether it took three weeks or three minutes. If I'm honest, neither would I in their position. The thing every portfolio is built to display had stopped being evidence. I'm not a developer. I produce films. The site is bilingual, has seven sections, includes a case study for each film, plays video on hover, and has a comparison slider that works with a thumb as well as a mouse. I built all of it. I'd wanted this exact site for about fifteen years and had never managed to explain it properly to anyone I paid to make it. This time, I stopped explaining and built it myself. The middle of the page has a slider that you drag between the storyboard panel and the final shot. A basic before-and-after would prove nothing; you can fake that by generating twice. The storyboard is the proof because the framing, eyeline, and decision about what stays outside the frame all existed on paper before any model was asked to generate anything. You drag the handle and watch the intention survive. The rest of the site came from the same place. Video only plays on hover and is silent until you click for sound. Most video portfolios are unreadable because fifteen things start moving at once. The sections are organized by register rather than by client: epic, brand, animation, and lifestyle. A wall of logos answers who has hired you, which nobody is actually wondering. What they want to know is whether you can change tone. Nothing is cropped to fit the grid. A 5:33 film sits in 16:9 next to a 2:42 film in scope, and the layout is lopsided because of it. I nearly made them uniform because it looked tidier, then realized I was about to reformat my own films so a webpage would look neat. Anyone who cuts for a living spots that immediately. Concepts are labeled as concepts. Experiments have their own section instead of being scattered among the client work and hoping nobody asks which is which. Step-by-step: 1. I started from what my client couldn't verify: the craft behind a shot. 2. I found the artifact that proves it. It's usually the ugly thing nobody publishes: the storyboard, the reference sheet, or the version before the good version. 3. I put that artifact next to the finished piece inside one interaction, so nobody has to search for the proof. 4. I made playback deliberate. Video plays on hover, and sound requires a click. 5. I sorted the work by the question being asked rather than by the credentials I wanted to lead with. 6. I didn't reformat the work to fit the layout. I let the grid be uneven. 7. I labeled everything honestly: client, concept, or experiment. One word each can pay for the credibility of the whole page. 8. I wrote a brief for each section as a document first. Arguing with a paragraph is free; arguing with a built page is not. 9. I built the site with an AI coding tool. This was the least interesting step, even though it's the one everyone writes about. If your work can be mistaken for a lucky prompt, stop trying to prove it with the finished piece. The site is at www.termopilas.tv if you want to drag the handle yourself.

I work with long talking-head videos for my online course and Instagram. Turning them into vertical shorts used to take hours per video: finding the best moments, cropping to 9:16, adding captions, or paying for clipping subscriptions. I built a video-clipping agent as a Claude skill that runs entirely on free, open-source tools. Step-by-step: 1. I drop a long video—either talking-head footage or an already-produced 16:9 video—into a folder and invoke my "clipper" skill in Claude. 2. Claude transcribes the video locally with faster-whisper using word-level timestamps, so no API key is needed. ElevenLabs Scribe is an optional upgrade for tricky audio. Before transcription, the workflow cleans the audio with declipping and normalization because clipped microphone peaks can make Whisper skip words or hallucinate. 3. The skill scores every candidate moment against a rubric: hook strength (30 points), whether it can stand alone (25), emotional charge (20), rhythm (15), and ending (10). Only segments scoring 70 or higher survive, so I do not publish a weak clip simply because it exists. 4. Claude cuts the selected moments with word-level precision and reframes them to 9:16 in one of two modes: face-tracking crop for raw footage, or "pad" mode, which centers the full 16:9 video over a blurred background. The latter lets me repurpose already-edited videos without chopping off centered graphics or captions. 5. ffmpeg masters everything to a fixed specification: 1080x1920, 24fps, H.264 CRF18, and audio normalized to -14 LUFS. The files are ready for Instagram, TikTok, and Shorts. 6. I review the scored shortlist and publish the winners. What used to take hours—or require a monthly subscription—now takes minutes and costs zero. The scoring rubric also makes the agent explain why each clip deserves to exist instead of simply cutting wherever the waveform looks loud.

I produce cinematic AI video. What ruins a sequence is almost never image quality; it is drift. The face, jacket, and light change between shots, so what should read as one scene becomes a gallery of near misses. Most people fight this by regenerating until something matches. I built the opposite: a set of chained Claude skills that locks a character once and never lets the model improvise again. The lesson that started it cost me 72 credits in one unusable shot. I fed a finished POV frame as an image reference to “set the world” for a motorcycle sequence. The model treated it as a strong identity reference, cloned the entire cockpit from that frame, and ignored the bike I was describing in the prompt. Image references are read as identity, not atmosphere. That misunderstanding is why most people’s characters mutate. Step-by-step: 1. I lock the character before generating anything. I fill nine layers in order: identity and facial structure, skin realism, wardrobe and materials, emotional energy, environment, lighting scheme, camera language, vertical 9:16 framing, and a fixed block of negative instructions. A generic prompt returns a generic face. This is direction, not a portrait. 2. I shoot a character sheet: a neutral, multi-view image of the locked character on white. That sheet—not a pretty hero frame—is what I reuse as a reference from then on. 3. I expand coverage instead of reinventing the scene. One locked scene becomes a full shot list with hero angles, macro inserts, and establishing shots. The subject, wardrobe, weather, and lighting never change between prompts. Only the camera, focal length, framing, and distance change. Every prompt restates the entire world from scratch because the generator has no memory between images. Consistency comes from redundancy, not from the model remembering. 4. I time the story before animating. I create a 3x3 board with nine beats over fifteen seconds, with each panel showing its timecode, shot title, and action. The rule is strict: the character, wardrobe, world, and light stay identical across all nine panels; only the story advances. The emotional scale rises toward panel nine. 5. I generate with reference discipline. I pass the object or vehicle in a clean exterior shot as the only image reference, then describe the world, framing, and interior in text, repeating that description word for word across shots. I chain consecutive shots by feeding the last frame of one as the start image of the next. The joins are invisible. 6. I review the board against the renders, keep the shots that hold, and regenerate only the ones that drift. The result is that I stopped paying the regeneration tax. Shots are budgeted, not gambled, and a fifteen-second sequence holds together because it was blocked like a real scene—with coverage and continuity—before a single frame existed. The nine-layer character build and the coverage framework are adapted from two AI video courses plus twenty years of production. I learned the reference discipline in step five the expensive way.

Ten days ago, I posted about keeping a `HANDOFF.md` so an AI film project doesn't lose the decisions it has already made. This is the other half, and it turned out to be the expensive one: the decisions that haven't been made yet. Credit where it belongs: Tony Ojeda posted a spec-generator agent that sits between an idea and implementation. The rule I borrowed is his: the agent inspects what already exists before proposing anything. I applied it to film production instead of code. I pointed an agent at my production documents for a short film I hadn't started generating and asked it to identify what was still undecided, what each item affected, and what would break if it were decided late. It came back with ten open decisions. One of them was worth the whole exercise. My environment description is locked verbatim across all 40 shots so the world stays identical. The film is called *The Thaw*. Whether the ice visibly melts during the film is written down nowhere. If I decide that in week three, all 40 keyframes get regenerated at once. I would have found out around shot 12. The counterintuitive part is who writes the list: not me. Asking the person who already has the whole film in their head what's missing gets you very little, because they have all of it—and that's exactly why they can't see the hole. The list has to come from something that only knows what's written down. Step-by-step: 1. I put the open questions in section 0 of the handoff, above everything else, so it's the first thing read and the first thing emptied. 2. I have the agent write that list, not me. It reads every existing document for the project and returns only what it cannot know from them. 3. I have it return three things for each item: what's undecided, which shots it affects, and what breaks if it's decided late. The third column sets the priority. 4. I have it sort by what costs the most to change afterward, not by what's easiest to answer. 5. I keep one hard rule: while an open question affects a shot, that shot doesn't get generated. The question gets decided, or deferred in writing with the cost of being wrong stated. 6. Every answered item leaves section 0 through one of two doors: into the closed canon or into the rejected list. Nothing is simply deleted. 7. I ask specifically about the things that go missing every time: the rule of the world; the physical scale of anything impossible, such as whether the character can touch or climb it; any object appearing in more than one shot; screen direction; how it ends; who speaks and in what voice; and the delivery format. 8. When it finds nothing real, it says so. A list padded to look thorough is worse than an empty one. The version I'd used for a year ran at the end of a session and recorded what got decided. Running it at the start, focused on what hasn't been decided, is the same document pointed the other way—and it's the direction that saves money.

Nano Banana Pro has been a step change both for staying true to prompts and also being able to take its own creative liberties. The ability to talk through prompt brainstorming, image edits, and even providing context directly from our newsletter has made for some highly personalized new creative paths. Step-by-step: 1. I gave Nano Banana Pro the newsletter context and the creative goal for the image. 2. I used conversation to brainstorm several possible prompt directions before generating. 3. I created initial images and evaluated both prompt fidelity and the model’s useful creative choices. 4. I described the edits I wanted and kept the relevant newsletter context in the conversation. 5. I iterated toward a more personalized final creative rather than restarting from a generic prompt.

Sometimes a story needs a simple locator map to show where something happened or where something can be found—such as a business facility, a car accident, or the best place to see a sunset. I've worked in media for a long time and understand the power of maps to tell stories. But media cost-cutting and consolidation have reduced the number of available graphic departments, so creating a map is often the last task a reporter or editor wants to take on. I used Perplexity for initial research, Claude Code and Codex to build a web app, and Perplexity and ChatGPT for post-work such as SEO best practices. Step-by-step: 1. I used Perplexity's Deep Research mode to conduct a competitive market analysis. I asked it to analyze the field I was considering entering, identify competitors and growth rates, and explicitly break out feature sets. 2. I revised the research with my own idea and asked Perplexity to run the competitive landscape against it. I also provided desired outcomes, including intended audiences and where competitors were reaching them. I added the constraint, "Do it without syncophancy," so it would stop telling me how good my potential product was. 3. I hand-drew the initial screens and functions I wanted, then used the `/office-hours` skill in the Gstack bundle, available on GitHub, to play devil's advocate, sharpen the ideas, and challenge my assumptions. 4. I wrote a long prompt describing the product, starting broadly with the concept and audience and then narrowing to specific features and benefits. For example, I specified that it should export in 16:9 and 9:16 formats so maps would be ready for mobile vertical presentation. 5. I specified the hosting environment and that the product should be a web app. I also required a planning phase followed by construction phases. I pasted the prompt into Claude Code with this final line: "Use /grill-me to ask me questions to clarify intent." After 147 questions, it started the build. 6. This was in the pre-Fable days, so I specified that Opus 4.8 should act as an orchestrator while less expensive agents, particularly in Codex, handled the actual coding. 7. I used separate phases for technical work such as wiring in mapping providers and getting the UX to work correctly. Other phases included wiring in payment and subscriptions and making sure a subscription triggered an email campaign with instructions. 8. I dedicated an entire phase to building admin tools so I could manage the marketing language on the landing page and publish blog entries. 9. After each phase, I had the Opus/Codex combination perform an adversarial code-review-and-fix cycle. I then ran the `/ai-regression-testing` skill from the ECC repository on GitHub to catch issues the code review missed. 10. After every third phase, I prompted Claude Code: "Act as a senior QA engineer and go through the entire codebase looking for inconsistencies, functions that are in the wrong place, code that is overkill and security vulnerabilities." 11. When I had a product I thought was ready for testing, I prompted Claude Code, again using the Opus/Codex combination: "Act as a senior security engineer. Run this against OWASP standards. Find problems and suggest fixes. Harden this product overall." 12. As I neared the end, I asked Perplexity Deep Research and ChatGPT (Sol/High) to find SEO solutions for the product.

For a recent video, I needed to animate a visual representation of this ancient board game. Doing that manually in After Effects would've taken a few hours, so instead I described the rules of the game to Claude and asked it to generate an interactive SVG animation. After a few rounds of tweaking, I was able to screen-record the result, and it worked great for the video. Step-by-step: 1. I described the ancient board game’s rules and the visual sequence the audience needed to understand. 2. I asked Claude to generate an interactive SVG animation that demonstrated the game. 3. I reviewed the first version and gave feedback on the motion and clarity. 4. I repeated the prompt-and-tweak loop until the sequence worked for the video. 5. I screen-recorded the finished SVG animation and used the recording in the edit.

My first media job was as a fact-checker at a major magazine. Those jobs have already mostly vanished before AI arrived, but now I use ChatGPT 5.4 Thinking as a last-pass fact-checker on my newsletters before I hit send. I'll ask it to identify inconsistencies, isolate the assertions that most need verification, and check key numbers, quotes, and factual claims against original or primary sources. In other words, it does not replace reporting, but it is remarkably good at stress-testing a draft before publication — essentially fact-checking my fact-checking. Step-by-step: 1. I pasted the nearly finished newsletter draft into ChatGPT 5.4 Thinking. 2. I asked it to identify inconsistencies and isolate the assertions most in need of verification. 3. I had it check key numbers, quotes, and factual claims against original or primary sources. 4. I reviewed the proposed corrections and followed the source trail rather than accepting changes blindly. 5. I used the result as a final stress test of my own reporting and fact-checking before publishing.

Post-production for each of my podcast episodes used to be a significant task, even when an episode was audio-only. I’ve now built a workflow with Claude and Descript to automate the production process. I clean up the original recording in Descript, export the transcript to Claude, and run a single command to generate the remaining assets. This includes show notes for Hello Audio, opening and closing scripts written in my voice using anti-AI files to avoid a robotic tone, audio clips and audiograms for social platforms through a custom Claude skill, teaser posts for each audiogram on LinkedIn, and launch-day posts for LinkedIn and Substack, where my audience is. I’m sure there’s a way to streamline the workflow further to include distribution of the posts, audiograms, and episodes. It’s a work in progress 😀 Step-by-step: 1. I clean up the original podcast recording in Descript. 2. I export the transcript from Descript to Claude. 3. I run a single command in Claude to produce show notes for Hello Audio. 4. I generate opening and closing scripts for each episode using my voice and anti-AI files to avoid a robotic tone. 5. I use a custom Claude skill to automate the production of audio clips and audiograms for social platforms. 6. I create teaser posts for each audiogram on LinkedIn. 7. I prepare the main LinkedIn and Substack posts for each episode’s launch day. 8. I’m continuing to look for a way to streamline distribution of the posts, audiograms, and episodes.