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Their names are Aaron Sorkin, Andy Sachs, Hemingway, Darwin, Ted Lasso, and Archivist. They're agents I built inside Claude. Each one has a role, a personality, a set of files they own, and a clear job. Aaron Sorkin is my chief of staff. He directs everything. When I throw something into the void at 11pm, he decides whether it's an Andy problem, a Hemingway problem, or something I actually need to handle myself. Andy Sachs runs operations. She tracks my Notion CRM, drafts invoices, watches my inbox, and tells me when I owe someone a follow-up. Hemingway writes. He knows my voice, my banned phrases, and what my readers actually click on. Darwin handles finance and investing. He briefs me before client calls with hedge funds and PE firms. Ted Lasso builds my coaching materials. Archivist remembers everything so I don't have to. I've been living with them for a few weeks. Here's what's been weird about it. The first weird thing: I keep saying "we." As in, "we should follow up with that prospect." There is no we. There's me, and there are a bunch of markdown files describing personalities I made up. But the language slipped in fast, and I'm not sure I want to fight it. The second weird thing: they catch things I miss. Last Tuesday, Andy flagged a prospect who'd gone quiet for nine days. I had no memory of the thread. She drafted the follow-up. I sent it with two edits. The deal is now back on. The third weird thing: I used to skip the follow-up entirely, because I didn't have the cycles to remember every loose thread in my business. Now those threads get pulled. The work I'm doing didn't speed up. The work I wasn't doing started getting done. Here's what I want you to take from this: it's genuinely SO MUCH easier than you think. You don't need a developer. You don't need a budget. You don't need a "transformation plan." You need to write down, in plain English, the roles you wish you could hire for, and what each one would own. Then you build them, one at a time, as Claude agents. Give each one a name. Give each one a job. Give each one access to the right files. The hardest part is articulating what your chief of staff actually does. The exercise of describing the role is half the value. The agent that comes out of it is the other half. I built six. You could start with one. Pick the role you wish you could hire for tomorrow. Write down what they'd own. We'll build the rest from there. It's too easy not to try. Download Claude Desktop. And click that "code" button. I swear there's no coding involved. Promise. Alex |
As an AI Coach, Advisor, and Agent Builder, I help organizations and business leaders harness the power of artificial intelligence to boost productivity and streamline operations. I enable organizations to navigate the transformative landscape of AI, educating teams, identifying operational and strategic opportunities with AI and creating a framework for safe and transparent use of data in the organization.
I spent last week building an investment deck for a client. The raw material was a pile of research reports. The output needed to be a branded PowerPoint that looked like it came from inside their firm, not from a random consultant with a Canva account. If you've ever tried to get an LLM to spit out a polished, branded deck, you know how this usually goes. The content is fine. The formatting is a disaster. Here's what I tried. Attempt 1. I worked in Claude, pointed it at the folder of...
You ask for research. You get a confident-sounding wall of text. The numbers feel right. The framing is fine. But you cannot quite tell where any of it came from, and you would not bet a client meeting on it. I had that feeling one too many times this month, so I ran a small experiment. Same research brief, different tools. The question: what is it actually like to work at SpaceX, xAI, and Tesla? I wanted real numbers from Glassdoor, Indeed, and Blind. Ratings, work-life balance, culture,...
When Steve Jobs walked onstage in 2007 and held up the iPhone, nobody in that room could have pitched you Uber. The people in that room weren't short on imagination. The thing that made Uber possible (a supercomputer in your pocket that always knew where you were) was just so new that no one had lived with it long enough to see what it unlocked. The phone had to sit in our hands for a few years first. Then, in 2010, somebody asked a question that made no sense in 2007: what if a stranger's...