Data Is Communication

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

7-40 Challenge | Round 4, Day 26

I had a conversation today that connected twenty years of my career to the thing everyone’s trying to figure out right now.

I work in data management. I’ve spent two decades as the person who sits between business teams and technical teams, translating what one side needs into language the other side understands. Business people don’t think in tables and queries. Technical people don’t think in revenue targets and customer experience. Somebody has to build the bridge. That’s been my job.

Today I realized that’s exactly what people need to learn to do with AI.

I learned this firsthand when I asked AI to edit my novel. I said “edit this” and got hallucinated rewrites. I said “read this, tell me what’s wrong, don’t touch anything” and got a sharp, tireless reader. Same tool. Same book. The only difference was how clearly I defined what I needed.

That’s not a technology problem. That’s a communication problem. And it’s the same communication problem I solve at my day job every single day.

The people getting great results aren’t smarter. They’re clearer. They define the problem before they ask for a solution. They tell the AI what they know, what they don’t know, and what good looks like. They argue when the output doesn’t match their intent.

They’re doing data architecture for their own thinking — organizing what they know so someone else can work with it. They just don’t know that’s what it’s called.

For twenty years I’ve been building the bridge between people who have information and people who need to use it. The tools on both sides changed today — one side is a person, the other side is a machine. But the problem is identical: get the meaning across, not just the words.

Data is communication. It always was. AI just made it urgent for everyone to learn how to say what they mean.

The Joining Tables Moment

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

7-40 Challenge | Round 4, Day 25

My freshman year of college, I convinced myself I couldn’t handle music theory. I had the brain for it. I just didn’t believe I did. So I enrolled in fundamentals instead — the kiddie pool — while my entire cohort moved ahead into the real coursework.

I never caught up. That one decision put me out of step with the people I was supposed to be learning alongside, and I eventually changed majors. Not because I lacked the ability. Because I chose the safe version and paid for it with a path I never fully chose to walk.

Years later, I was working a data job and feeling my way into being an analyst. I’d pull data out of our system, export it to Excel, and got crazy good at making spreadsheets do what I needed. I didn’t know there was a structured query language that could do everything I was doing — faster, better, and repeatable.

I was really good at Excel. And I was really scared of SQL.

Then one day, someone showed me how to join tables. How to connect two data sets with a single statement and pull exactly what I needed. A light went off. I looked at it and thought: get out of my way.

Not only did I understand what I was looking at — it supercharged my thinking about it. Everything I’d been doing by hand, I could now write in scripts that ran themselves. I went from scared to unstoppable in one afternoon. And I never went back.

Same person. Same pattern. Two different choices, two completely different outcomes.

Right now I’m standing at the edge of another piece of unmapped terrain — getting the things I’ve built in front of people. Promotion. Marketing. Asking strangers to care about what I’ve made. I haven’t walked it yet, and the absence of a map feels like proof that I can’t do it.

But that’s what SQL felt like too. And I know what it cost me the time I chose the kiddie pool instead.

Somewhere in the first few steps, there’s a join tables moment waiting. I just have to start walking to find it.

Shake the Dirt Off

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

7-40 Challenge | Round 4, Day 24

I checked my Apple Watch today. I’ve had it for about seven or eight years. It tracks how often you close all three rings — calories burned, movement, and exercise minutes. Since I’ve owned it, I’ve closed all three rings 1,750 times.

I thought I’d been dragging. Apparently I’ve been showing up a lot more than I was giving myself credit for.

John Maxwell tells a story about a donkey that falls down a well. The farmer decides the donkey’s old and the well needs filling anyway. He calls the neighbors over and they start shoveling dirt in.

A few loads later, the farmer looks down. The donkey isn’t buried. He’s been shaking every shovel of dirt off his back and stepping up on it. Shake, step up. Shake, step up. Until he walks right over the edge of the well.

Then the donkey came back and bit the farmer. The farmer got sepsis and died. Maxwell’s moral: if he hadn’t tried to cover his…, he would have lived.

The real point: failure is dirt, and dirt is something you can stand on.

The health I have today didn’t come from this year alone. It came from 1,750 days of closing the rings when I didn’t feel like it, when I wasn’t tracking a challenge, when nobody was watching. I’ve been shaking the dirt off and stepping up for years without realizing I was building ground under my feet.

I Told the AI to Edit My Book

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

7-40 Challenge | Round 4, Day 23

Earlier this year, I finished my first novel — 105,000 words of a YA superhero story set in the 1990s. It needed editing. I had Claude. I figured this would be straightforward.

I said, essentially: let’s edit this.

The AI started rewriting my story. Not editing — recreating. It changed plot points. It rearranged material. It put scenes out of order and stopped tracking what had happened in previous chapters. It was hallucinating its way through my manuscript, and the output was getting further from my story with every pass.

So I stopped and changed how I talked to it.

Instead of “edit this,” I said: read this chapter. Read the chapters before it. Tell me what works and what doesn’t. Point out the parts that are heavy, the parts that don’t explain enough, the parts that slow down. Do not make any edits. Just show me the problems.

And it worked.

The AI became a sharp, tireless reader who could point out structural issues I was too close to see. I made the decisions about what to change. I did the rewriting. But I had a partner who could read my 105,000 words without fatigue and tell me where the story was dragging, where a character’s arc was inconsistent, where I was telling the reader something the scene had already shown.

That manuscript lost nearly half its weight through editing. Every cut made it better. And the AI didn’t make a single one of those cuts — I did.

The difference between the first attempt and the second was entirely in how I defined the problem. “Edit this” is not a problem statement. It’s a wish. “Read this and tell me what’s wrong without touching it” is a problem statement with boundaries, criteria, and a clear role for each party.

The AI didn’t get smarter between attempt one and attempt two. I got clearer.

Away

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

7-40 Challenge | Round 4, Day 22

The Light Bearer went up on KDP today.

That’s two novels published in 2026. The first one took five months from manuscript to launch. This one took longer than I wanted — I missed my own deadline, pushed through more revisions than I planned for, and learned that editorial work doesn’t care about your timeline. It takes what it takes.

But it’s away. The story is out of my hands and into the world’s.

I wrote about Parkinson’s Law four days ago and made a public commitment to ship this book by Saturday. I missed it by a day. Not because the work wasn’t done — because I wasn’t honest about how much work was left. The two-hour edit I promised myself turned into weeks of revision that made the book significantly better than what I would have shipped if I’d rushed it.

Some deadlines deserve to be missed if the work gets better for it. This was one of them.