Gary Ross

Her name was Miss Cronk, and she lived in a rental building atop the Avenue Road hill in Toronto. Mayfair Mansions, it was called, though her stifling apartment was hardly a mansion. It was a claustrophobic warren of newspapers piled close to the ceiling. Like the Great Pyramid of Giza, it defied easy comprehension of its…

Not long ago I learned, as so many writers have, that a book I published decades ago is among the 183,000 titles in one of the data sets used to train artificial intelligence systems and, by extension, the capacity of various programs to write whatever they’re prompted to write. Unlike many writers, however, I’m not bothered by this (unauthorized) use of Stung: The Incredible Obsession of Brian Molony…