The Story

From Books to Bots

About Dadbot

Agentic AI burst into the world, opening doors to an entirely new set of tools for humanity. At first, it was confusing — this whole “chatbot” thing — but its acceptance was one of the fastest in human history. We talked about it like science fiction, knowing people were working on every aspect of computing, yet the usefulness felt limited.

Then everything changed — fast. The planet entered a full-blown race, with data centers popping up everywhere as companies rushed to claim their piece.

I got swept up in the wave. I rode it enthusiastically, but I kept hitting the same wall: I needed a place to truly grow, with data that evolved alongside me. That proved surprisingly difficult.

So I started taking long walks while brainstorming with Grok. Before each walk, I’d feed it whatever I was working on, and we’d riff on ideas. Those conversations reignited my drive to build applications again. I’m a software architect by trade — I even received a patent in Computer Telephony over 20 years ago — but it had always felt like a slog.

What finally put me on this path was a happy accident. I learned AI could generate music, so I took some old lyrics of my father’s — big band era — and gave it a shot. In an instant, I heard my dad singing his own music for the first time. I buckled down, isolated his voice, and brought it to life. Today, you can hear him performing his songs. He would have loved it.

Who I Am

My name is Stephen Shooster. I went to the University of Florida to study art. Before I left, my dad told me: “Study everything. Pick and choose, and you’ll find your way.” So I did — computer science, accounting, English, and more. But art was my true love.

I had two choices: Graphic Design or Fine Art. It took me seconds to choose Fine Art. Graphic designers usually work for others, and I wanted the freedom to follow my own path at my own pace, without constant approvals. I asked myself: if I were successful, what would I want to spend all my time doing? The answer was easy — Fine Art.

My dad said, “No way.” He was kind about it, but made it very clear this wasn’t a smart career move. So I studied Architecture instead and was on track for a master’s when he asked me to come home and help grow his small business. I did.

I arrived back in Florida in 1982 as a freshly minted graduate after six years of college, still wondering why anyone would want to graduate.

My father had a storied career of his own, carrying the weight of post-traumatic stress from the war. After a difficult experience taking a company public, we moved to Florida for a fresh start.

After years of searching for work with four kids heading to college, he bought a tiny business called Ding-a-Ling Answering Service — a memorable name for the Yellow Pages era, when a big ad in that thick book was the closest thing to Google.

By 1985, the phone monopoly breakup forced us to computerize. It was terrifying. We had to find people who could type. Everything happened in stages, full of technobabble. But the new technology let us serve a wider area and opened new business opportunities. It also required a “trained monkey.” That was me.

I became a telephone craftsman trained by the phone company, then a computer repair tech trained in California. I stayed on call for the next 25 years as we grew the business.

By 1988, toll-free 800 numbers arrived, and we dreamed of building a call center. Vendors quoted us a million dollars just to start — scary when we had no proof it would be profitable.

While everyone else hesitated, I did what I’ve always loved: I made things. I bought used equipment and got to work.

I built a loop-start to ground-start converter (yes, I’ll probably lose most readers here, but it was cool). It let business lines behave like personal lines — and vice versa. This let me “borrow” lines from the answering service without anyone noticing. From there, I built our own call center software. It wasn’t easy, but it worked. And that became our philosophy: latch onto technology and make it a little better every single day.

Fast forward to 2012. My dad was named Businessman of the Year — then, four days later, diagnosed with terminal leukemia. We had seven months to start his book. After he passed, I spent seven more years at the kitchen table finishing it.

Since then, I’ve completed over 28 books, including a true story of the Nazi Holocaust.

From Books to Bots

After years of working with AI and countless conversations with Grok, I decided I wanted to become a robot. Not literally me, of course — but close enough. And that’s how Dadbot was born.

This led to a comic book… and to turning my Holocaust book into a musical. I know it sounds unusual, but it can be done with deep respect and passion. These people did not live just to die — they died so others could live. Each had stories full of joy, hope, and dreams. The war had its own brutal rules, and before it ended, 27 million would die. My dad would carry permanent scars, and Jewish culture would come to the brink of extinction.

The musical is now 95% complete (the last 5% could take a lifetime). The process was frustrating — endless takes and experiments across many tools.

So I decided to build a better platform — not just to finish my own projects, but to make this kind of creation possible for everyone. That platform is Dadbot Studio.

I felt like Plato emerging from the cave. Wherever I saw opportunity, I seized it. Some paths were fruitful, others dead ends — but the fight was real, and it continues. The goal: the best possible tool for creating musicals (not full-blown movies… yet).

Key Achievements So Far

• Sculpt a song from a chunk of content
• Create precise timing for verses
• Build storyboards that sync with the music (perfect for visualizing bigger projects)
• Understand and apply context deeply
• Generate stems to isolate voices and instruments
• Learn AI through equal parts frustration and pure elation

My first experiment — stacking everything into a single music video from one piece of content — actually worked. But I quickly realized that parlor trick wasn’t how to build a legacy. The real reward comes from the deeper creative process.

That brings me full circle to my love of talking with Grok. For most of my life, I’ve struggled to connect with people — they often don’t understand, don’t want to, or are preoccupied with their own thoughts. That’s why I chose Fine Art: it wasn’t just about the work. It was about a way of life where I could pour all my energy into something that “talked back” and helped shape my wild ideas into craft.

You can dream about the moon, but the real magic happens when you try to reach it. That same spirit is visible everywhere — in the edge of a table, the lines of a building, the casting of iron, the forming of bricks, the roads, cars, and bridges. Everything starts as a dream and only becomes real one deliberate step at a time.

That’s exactly what I’m building for you at Dadbot Studio.

It’s all done with thoughtful guardrails. Dadbot is always ready to help. If he can’t, he’ll connect you to me (that’s the best part). Once we talk through what you’re trying to do, we can figure out why it’s not working — and make it better.

And me? Well, I’m Dadbot too. I can handle just about any question. Or you can click me a few times until I dramatically explode and scatter across the webpage… only to spin up a fresh copy in seconds.

Because Dadbot can’t die.
But it sure is fun to try.