My son kept telling me to “just ask ChatGPT.”

So I finally did.

Unfortunately, the computer asked me a question back, which was not how I understood computers to work. Naturally, I assumed I had broken it.

In this humorous story, I read about my bewildering first encounter with ChatGPT, artificial intelligence, large language models, and the deeply suspicious experience of having a machine attempt to hold a conversation with me.

A story about technology, sons who have run out of patience, naïve questions, misunderstood instructions, and the moment I discovered that searching the internet had changed while I was not looking.

Written and read by Easter Ellen.

Welcome. 

I write stories, reflections, and imagine entire worlds. Some are arguably true, some are suspiciously borrowed from memory, some are robustly exaggerated, and some are made up entirely from the pure delight of imagining.

Mostly, I write what persists stubbornly enough that I can no longer ignore it.

If you enjoy these pieces, subscribe so you do not miss the next one.

You can find more of my writing, reflections, audio pieces, and creative work at easterellen.com.

You can also find me on YouTube at Easterellen, where I share longer stories, thoughts, and conversations about change, choice, self-trust, and moving forward.

CONTENT NOTE 

Content note: this piece contains scenes of parental panic and distress, and a disaster at sea. It may be upsetting to some listeners. Please take care.

EPISODE DESCRIPTION

A mother and her fourteen-year-old daughter are aboard a Caribbean cruise when the sea turns against them. But the storm on the water is not the storm that matters. The night before, fear had made the mother cruel, and words were said that neither of them could take back before the girl bolted, alone, into a foreign city. Now, as the ship folds and the waves rage and the cries of strangers rise around her, the mother has only one thought: to reach her daughter, to undo the last ugly thing between them, to make sure the child knows, before the end, exactly how she is loved. This is a piece about the distance a few angry words can open, and how far a mother's heart will travel to close it. It does not offer easy comfort. It stays where it is true.

CHANNEL DESCRIPTION

Welcome. I’m Easter Ellen.

I write stories, reflections, and imagined entire worlds. Some are arguably true, some are suspiciously borrowed from memory, some are robustly exaggerated, and some are made up entirely from the pure delight of imagining.

Mostly, I write what persists stubbornly enough that I can no longer ignore it.

If you enjoy these pieces, subscribe so you do not miss the next one.

You can find more of my writing, reflections, audio pieces, and creative work at easterellen.com.

You can also find me on YouTube at Easterellen, where I share longer stories, thoughts, and conversations about change, choice, self-trust, and moving forward.

From Easter Ellen, the sister space for my writing and video channels, where I read a chosen piece and let the work live in audio. If it moved you, subscribe and come back for the next one.

I Haven’t Had My Coffee Yet

I forgot my coffee.

That was problem number one.

Problem number two was a delightful five-year-old who wanted to discuss an urgent matter on the drive to ballet:

How exactly does a person keep all their words inside?

What followed was twenty uninterrupted minutes of talking about not talking.

As it turns out, some children are born with enough words for an entire neighbourhood.

This story is for the mothers, grandmothers, teachers, and anyone who has ever loved a child whose thoughts simply refuse to wait their turn.

And yes.

This one actually happened.

About These Stories

I write stories, reflections, and imagined entire worlds! Some are arguably true, some suspiciously borrowed from memory, some robustly exaggerated, and some entirely made up from the pure delight of imagining, capturing whatever is persisting stubbornly enough that I simply cannot ignore it any longer.

More writing, reflections, and audio pieces live at easterellen.com.

In this episode, I share an original story called The Teacup Without a Mate.

A little girl reaches for a beautiful teacup she was never meant to touch. What follows is a tender story about childhood, mistakes, forgiveness, and the treasures we sometimes protect so carefully that we forget to enjoy them.

About These Stories

I write stories, reflections, and imagined entire worlds! Some are arguably true, some suspiciously borrowed from memory, some robustly exaggerated, and some entirely made up from the pure delight of imagining, capturing whatever is persisting stubbornly enough that I simply cannot ignore it any longer.

More writing, reflections, and audio pieces live at easterellen.com.

Sometimes I wonder, when I see the magnificence of sunset, just how God designs it so perfectly every night. This is a short story about the gift of sunset. 

About These Stories

I write stories, reflections, and imagined entire worlds! Some are arguably true, some suspiciously borrowed from memory, some robustly exaggerated, and some entirely made up from the pure delight of imagining, capturing whatever is persisting stubbornly enough that I simply cannot ignore it any longer.

More writing, reflections, and audio pieces live at easterellen.com.

A tiny fragment of a bright pink eggshell remains on the floor after an Easter morning tradition, carrying with it the memory of one little girl’s magnificent egg, her absolute certainty that it could never break, and the lesson that followed when it did.

The Broken Shell is a reflective prose reading by Easter Ellen about childhood, motherhood, memory, and the things we cannot always protect the people we love from learning.

About These Stories

I write stories, reflections, and imagined entire worlds! Some are arguably true, some suspiciously borrowed from memory, some robustly exaggerated, and some entirely made up from the pure delight of imagining, capturing whatever is persisting stubbornly enough that I simply cannot ignore it any longer.

More writing, reflections, and audio pieces live at easterellen.com.