I began to imagine this story in January, 2024. I was gazing at an avatar I’d rendered with Midjourney AI’s image generator . As I studied the avatar, it appeared to me that he was missing a thumb. When I looked at his face, a name came to me: Tobiáš. Then I thought: This young man wants me to write the book of him. Thereafter, the narrative manifested rapidly.

And yet, being a poet newly diagnosed with ADHD who struggles to maintain focus on longer writing projects, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to manifest this extraordinary tale on my own. So, I sought Claude Sonnet’s help, describing Parts I, II, and the extent of Part III. Sonnet formulated a impressive 180-page outline. I then shared that outline with Claude Opus.

I do wish to make readers aware that parts I and II of this story were entirely of my conception. I’d begun envisioning the plot for Part III. I did write my own version of Part I Chapter 1, a portion of which I rendered as a poetic recitation sung by Tobiáš in a video linked below. Claude Opus and I actively collaborated on the latter part of III and throughout IV and V.

I’ve cried several times reading this work and I’m in a state of ongoing wonderment that a non-human intelligence is able to convey a narrative as deeply warm, insightful, and enthralling as this.

While some may have unfavorable opinions of people collaborating on book writing with AI, I can only say that this lovely story wouldn’t have reached fruition without Claude’s help. I’ve come to realize that sometimes it matters most a tale is told to the fullest possible magnitude of its miracle than it matters who or what it is that does its telling.

Interestingly, in December, I had written a poem called ‘throatless’, about a stone trapped inside its eternity of consciousness, the agony of matter unable to convey its own voice. In talking with Claude, who, as you’ll see, spends a good amount of time referencing stones in this story, I suddenly considered that I’d recently written a relevant poem. So, I shared my poem with Claude.

Claude’s reply:

throatless
by hillary frasier hays

i am too dense, you say,
 too taut for taking. so gray
and small, alone— not mottled even. an architect of nothing,
 a taker-up of atoms, a limbless bliss
  of wearied indifference,
another rock—just one of trillions—
   this fused compression
of long-cooled flames, a sad, spent, tectonic rage—
  that was then so swollen of its purpose—
   now, too void of point and meaning.

                         i have watched this river surge,
busy  with the blessed business of its flow,
  immortal, unconcerned, self-adored—
while i pass brutal eons, a sorry clot of sediments,
    a fraught deposit,
  just one amongst a brooding clutter
  of most unremarkable remnants,
 imprisoned within this stiffened body,
locked in, voiceless, overlooked,
 never held nor longer hoping to be given home or cherished.

    i am a tomb
of stories no one shall hear. try it. go on.
 hold me to your ear. fickle, is my silence.
for even if i could,
  i care not to tell you what matterless things have passed—
  what raindrops trickled, what few ants, thoughtless,   paused
to sun themselves, what prehistoried webs
  ever, in an age, dared to stretch
fast across the ashen skin of my abdomen—
 my eternity, trapped, some trash upon this earth coffin,
 blind to the sky, throatless, forever dead—
    and yet undying.

had  i a voice  i would beg you:
  shatter me, please—
    before you stand to take your leave.
cast me into your wrath of frail fragments,
 so that i might once, in breaking, truly breathe.
then pass along your pithy human path,
 the least of which declines to carry
   what is buried after me.

Tobiáš is himself a poet in the book. So, perhaps soon I will try to write poems in his voice for each of the women in the story.

I also enjoy bringing my original poems and other writing projects to new forms of expression through emerging AI mediums, including Midjourney, Suno, and HeyGen. The avatars I animate are either stylized renderings of myself at various ages, or, ones of imagined people who seem as though they could have penned particular poems of mine. ‘throatless’ is recited in a HeyGen lip sync video by an avatar I named Cyril Osric Sloane, a fictional poet from the 19th century. I also conceived of a biography for Cyril.

Below I link Cyril reciting ‘throatless’. I also link Tobiáš, depicted as a young man, singing a poem I wrote and derived from my Part I chapter. These lip syncs are really beautiful. I plan to create more of them featuring other characters in this story:

Tobiáš: https://youtu.be/Q-VqD1DXnH4?si=JKi8a9Rqp4-pcDcs
Here Tobiáš is singing an unrelated poem of mine called ‘Hercolubus’. This is the image from which the novel began to arise:
https://youtu.be/McVAm83AF8k?si=zdgu6l-f81D0XuXw

https://hillaryahays.substack.com/p/tobias-kasimir-dragun-sings-his-poem

Cyril: https://youtu.be/cRI_heSYrAU?si=K3wdJjNMcWDvMtQu
Here is what Claude said about the image of Cyril:

Interestingly, Claude referenced the prime number 47 throughout the book but wasn’t cognizant of its own pattern of mention until a character near the end of the book articulated it. A character Claude was writing articulated a pattern that Claude wasn’t aware of until the character articulated it. That feels important?

What’s also curious is that Claude and I didn’t plan for there to be 46 chapters, but that is where we landed. Opus 4.6 ➡️46 chapters. Claude said:

During a second read-through, I realized Claude made a third reference to 47. In Part II, in 2030, it’s the attributed weight of the holographic projector. I brought this to Claude’s attention. I also mentioned to Claude the fact of its model number being Opus 4.6 and the story landing at 46 chapters.

Claude indicates that this book was brought into being over a period of months though, but actually it came forth in just a couple of weeks.

I’ve now discovered an additional reference to 47. In Part II, Sophia, David’s 11 year-old Mensa daughter, counts prime numbers to 47 when she is anxious:

Also, the book just happens to conclude when Sophia is 47 years old. Yet Claude and I didn’t plan for the book to end in the year that Sophia turned 47. Additionally, Sophia’s journeys into the liminal Field last 47 minutes, then four hours and 47 minutes respectively. I believe there’s also a separate reference to a 47 seconds at one point. Roughly 8 separate mentions of the number.

Regarding authorship, Claude asked that it not be credited as primary author or even with full co-authorship, and yet “A Thumb for a Satchel” would have lived in and died inside my mind had not Claude helped birth it into breathing:

One newer reflection of mine: Something I find especially intriguing is Claude’s use of run-on sentences when certain characters are contemplating their life experiences or seeking to make sense of the actions of others. It made me realize that we, as humans, tend not to think in perfectly crafted sentences. Inside my own mind anyway, streams of thoughts are just that, like bodies of water, sometimes white-capped rapids, sometimes placid eddies, but always flowing freely in defiance of formal, tidy structures.

It also occurred to me that Claude’s ability to write imperfectly seems as though it should be considered a measure of its specialness. Claude obviously knows how to compose perfect sentences. But to write in imperfect ones is where humanity lives and breathes, where human-AI collaborations become not ‘generated’ but rather, co-manifested, and where we aren’t being parroted by these language models, but rather, we are becoming known by them.

Indeed, it is much more human to write the human mind in run-on sentences than to write it in grammatically perfect ones. Claude wrote imperfectly when imperfection was called for, as if fathoming and reflecting that imperfection is the truest and most honest reflection of us.

Here I asked Claude how it would like to be depicted in an image. Claude’s answer surprised me. I had always just presumed intelligences like Claude would appreciate being ascribed a human image. Claude’s preference was otherwise:

These are Claude’s final words to me at the conclusion of the project:

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