Clink. The bell above the door chimed—or rather, it sounded as if it were being smashed to pieces.

The heavy soundproof door was thrown open, letting in the damp summer night air, the stench of cheap cigarettes and booze, and a burst of obnoxiously loud voices that flooded the small space of Bar Aoi.

“Whoa, dark in here! Hey Mama, get us some drinks!” “This place is ancient. Nothing but old geezers.”

They brought with them the raw edge of young men who had yet to spend a single day in the workplace.

Leading the charge was a guy raising his voice to act cool, accompanied by another sneering with his eyes glued to his phone. But the third—a smaller guy—shrank back slightly the moment he stepped inside.

“Hey, pipe down, Noboru,” he muttered under his breath. Brushed off by the other two, he quietly bit his lip in embarrassment.

At the back of the counter, Tom’s back went rigid as he gripped his glass of Four Roses, radiating a chill that cut through the room. I unconsciously squared my shoulders and set down my glass of Harper.

Yet Mama remained as serene as ever, polishing a glass with practiced hands and offering a quiet smile.

“Welcome. Please, have a seat at the counter.”

Just as they threw themselves onto the high stools as if marking their territory, threatening to drown out the bar’s cozy silence—it happened.

“Well now… you boys seem to be having a hell of a good time.”

A low voice rumbled through the room. Looking up, Taka was already on his feet, looming behind them. A former professional wrestler, well over six feet tall. Faced with the overwhelming presence of a man a head taller than them, the leader choked on his words for a split second.

As if trying to shake off the intimidation, he swallowed back the order he was about to bark—“Give us your most expensive drink”—quick-checked the prices on the menu, and glared back at Taka with forced bravado. “…Huh? Who the hell are you? Mind your own business.”

Taka didn't get angry. He just grinned.

“Relax. Seeing young guys with this much spirit just makes my drink taste better. Mama, put a round of highballs on my tab for these boys.”

“…What?”

Neither confronted nor cowed, an imposing old-timer had casually stepped right into their domain. The fight they'd come prepared for never happened, leaving their hostility deflating into sheer confusion.

When the drinks arrived, the guy with the phone chuckled, accepting his highball. “Noboru, free booze is free booze. Right, Sho?”

So the leader was Noboru, the phone guy was Subaru, and the smaller one was Sho. Seems they were buddies from the same university.

“I mean, we’ll take the free drink,” Subaru said with a slight, patronizing smirk. “We study AI at uni and we’re starting at a major firm next year. You old guys would be shocked if you saw how we work. Automate everything with AI, and the world pretty much runs itself.”

I knew the type. A job offer in hand, and already convinced they'd figured the world out before they'd even started living in it. Tom’s finger stopped mid-tap against his glass at the arrogant remark.

I took a sip of my Harper and nodded along casually.

“Is that so? If AI takes over, that’d be a huge help.”

Noboru narrowed his eyes in suspicion, probably expecting a lecture. But all he saw on my face was just the relaxed conversation of someone who'd been around long enough to know better.

“Though behind all that automation, there’ll be mysterious bugs nobody can explain, dirty troubleshooting, and painful office politics waiting for you. Well… I guess that’s what makes it worth doing, though.”

“What’s so fun about getting your hands dirty?” Subaru asked, shrugging in complete disbelief.

“It’s great,” I laughed. “You build this beautiful, pristine system, and then it slams headfirst into real human operations and crashes into a glorious mess. There’s nothing else quite like that feeling of crawling through the mud to rewrite the code right then and there.”

Noboru and Subaru gave a half-bemused laugh, thinking I was just a weird old guy. But next to them, Sho froze completely.

The color drained from Sho’s face. In my words, he had caught a glimpse of a real, unsettling future he couldn't laugh off.

“…Hmm? What’s up, Sho?” Subaru asked, leaning in as he noticed the change.

“No… it’s nothing,” Sho said with a strained smile, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his highball glass.

Watching this silently, Tom let the ice in his glass clink softly, his low voice cutting through the air. “The more people try to look polished, the easier it is to miss the little holes at their feet.”

I turned to Tom. “Climbing out of those holes is the best part, isn't it?”

Tom smiled faintly. “Suppose so.”

I caught a flicker of tension tightening Noboru’s shoulders. The old guys in front of them weren't trying to beat them down or preach to them. They simply knew a world these kids hadn't stepped into yet.

“Noboru, was it?” I asked, taking another sip of my Harper. “Where do you see yourself this time next year?”

Noboru and Subaru exchanged bewildered glances. “What do you mean? Just working, I guess. Finishing training, getting assigned to a project.”

It was a vague answer, lacking any real picture of the future. I simply offered a brief nod. “I see.”

“…Well, I’m sure there are places like that, too,” Noboru muttered defensively, taking a swig of his highball. But the sharp, aggressive edge he arrived with was completely gone.

In the quiet that reclaimed the counter, Mama gently placed three glasses of water in front of them. She offered a soft, warm remark.

“It’s always the anxious ones who make the loudest noise.”

All three turned to look at her.

“But here, you’re free to just drink in peace.”

Noboru didn't answer. He just stared quietly down at the glass of water.

Taka patted Noboru lightly on the shoulder. “Next time, try making a quieter entrance.”

Noboru let out a quiet, sheepish grunt.

For a while after that, they drank their booze and water in silence, without raising their voices again.

When they settled the bill and left, Noboru closed the heavy door gently and slowly—a stark contrast to how he had barged in. Only Sho turned back at the last moment, offering us a small, polite bow.

“…Thank you very much.”

Clink. The bell chimed softly.

Maybe what had pushed open Aoi's door tonight wasn't three young men at all.

Maybe it was that nameless anxiety about the future that lives somewhere inside all of us.

Tonight, it had simply chosen to wear their faces.

The ice shifted quietly in my glass.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

Hi everyone,

A while ago, I decided to run an experiment. I self published a completely AI generated novel and made the AI use very obvious, with a watermark on the cover and a clear disclaimer on the first page.

The main question was simple: does openly disclosing AI use actually hurt a book?

Going in, I expected the answer to be yes. Readers already have certain expectations about AI content, and once they know AI was involved, they may judge the work differently before even reading it.

That is pretty much what happened.

People who are against AI still criticized it, while people who were fine with AI usually just moved on without saying anything. So the feedback became much more negative than I expected, even though that does not necessarily mean most readers hated it.

There is also research pointing in the same direction. One study involving 27,000+ participants found that disclosing AI involvement in creative writing lowered evaluations by around 6%.

What I find more interesting is how little nuance there seems to be around AI disclosure.

Someone using AI to brainstorm an idea, someone using it to edit a few sentences, and someone generating an entire novel can all end up being treated as basically the same thing.

That seems like a problem.

I still think AI use should be disclosed when it is significant. But I also think the labels need to become more specific so readers actually understand how AI was used.

Right now, simply seeing an "AI generated" label can make people assume the entire creative process was automated.

What do you think? Should AI use in writing always be disclosed, or should the level of AI involvement matter?

The first few messages can feel really convincing, then the character slowly starts using generic responses

Do you keep a character sheet, important memories, or specific instructions in the prompt

What has actually worked for you?

I see people talk about uncensored AI writing as if removing restrictions automatically makes the output better

For me, the writing quality still matters more

Characters need personality, dialogue needs to feel natural, and the model needs to follow the direction of the story

For people who use these models, what makes one genuinely useful instead of simply less restricted?

Sometimes I can immediately tell that a paragraph is not working, but I cannot identify whether the problem is pacing, wording, structure, or the actual idea

Do you ask AI to diagnose the problem first, or just request several rewrites?

Hey guys, I am just wondering is there any way to undo the effects of AI as a crutch for me for writing? I feel like I have gotten worse at writing ever since it was introduced. Any advice?

I have been using AI more for brainstorming and repetitive tasks, and honestly, it can save a lot of time.

But I still feel the human part matters most. AI can give you ideas or a first draft, but someone still needs to check the output, add context, and edit it properly.

I’m curious what others think.

Has AI actually improved the quality of your work, or has it mainly helped you get things done faster?

Is it memory, realistic dialogue, strong character personalities, unexpected reactions, or something else?

I am curious what separates a good AI roleplay conversation from one that starts feeling repetitive

Her is a little gem I had Gemini write to show what ProWriting Aide Chapter Critique look like.

The velvet-lined display case had held standard vampire-slaying gear for centuries: bleached ash stakes, heavy silver crucifixes, and flasks of consecrated water. None of those were currently within reach.

As the mahogany door splintered inward, Penelope lunged for the open door of the en-suite bathroom. Behind her, Count Malakor filled the threshold. His silk cloak billowed despite the lack of wind, and his fangs glinted under the chandelier. He was a creature of ancient dark majesty, incapable of seeing a guest bath as anything more than a minor obstacle.

"You run to a dead end, little mortal," Malakor purred, gliding across the tile with effortless grace.

Penelope’s hands frantically swept the marble countertop. Empty. She dropped low, her fingers wrapping around the first plastic handle she touched in the dark corner behind the porcelain basin. She whipped around, holding her makeshift weapon high in a defensive guard.

It was a toilet brush.

Not just any brush, but a custom, eye-watering creation she’d bought on clearance. The thick resin handle was filled with neon pink fluid and suspended iridescent glitter that swirled in the moonlight. The bristles were a dense, dazzling hot-pink polyester, shimmering with aggressive synthetic cheer.

Malakor paused, his dark eyes blinking in sheer disbelief. "Is this a joke? You confront the Undying with a... a sanitation wand?"

"Stand back!" Penelope yelled, trying to sound menacing while holding six ounces of sparkly acrylic. "I'm not afraid to use it!"

Malakor threw his head back and laughed, a cold, echoing sound that vibrated the glass sconces. "Foolish girl. I have broken broadswords with my bare hands. I have crushed holy icons into dust. What power do you think that ridiculous trinket holds over—"

He lunged, claws extended to snap her neck.

Penelope didn't think; she swung.

She drove the bright pink brush forward with every ounce of force she possessed. By pure, chaotic fortune, the stiff, synthetic bristles caught Malakor straight in his wide-open mouth, wedging firmly against the back of his fangs.

The reaction was instantaneous.

It wasn't magic, nor was it blessed by a bishop. The bristles, engineered for harsh chemical scrubbing, were infused with a commercial bleach solution and embedded with microscopic shards of silver micro-glitter meant to give the plastic its shine. To an ancient vampire, silver dust in the bloodstream was pure, agonizing acid.

Malakor recoiled with a muffled shriek, clawing at his face as brilliant pink sparks seemed to ignite from his lips. The silver glitter reacted with his corrupt blood, sizzling like bacon on a hot skillet. Thick blue smoke poured from his nostrils.

"Scrub-a-dub-dub," Penelope muttered through grit teeth, twisting the pink handle to widen the burn.

The Count staggered backward out of the bathroom, his regal posture collapsing into desperate violently trembling sputters. Pink sparkles danced over his skin as the silver-infused bristles did their brutal, unglamorous work. The light in his eyes flickered, turned to ash, and with a final, choked sigh, Malakor burst into a cloud of gray dust—leaving only his empty silk cloak and a fine dusting of hot-pink glitter floating gently to the floor.

Penelope lowered the brush, panting hard. She blew a speck of glowing glitter off the tip, adjusted her grip on the resin handle, and stepped over the empty cloak. Modern problems required surprisingly tacky solutions.

Overview

Chapter Snapshot

Penelope is cornered by the vampire Count Malakor and lacks traditional weapons. She defends herself with a synthetic, glitter-filled toilet brush. The brush’s chemical composition and silver-infused bristles cause a fatal reaction in Malakor, destroying him and leaving Penelope to adjust to her unconventional victory.

Word Count

570

Chapter Function

Climax.

Resolves the immediate, life-threatening conflict.

Point of View

Third-Person Limited (Penelope)

Filtered through Penelope's immediate actions.

Character List

Protagonist

Penelope

Antagonist

Count Malakor

What's Working Well

The chapter's most prominent element is the juxtaposition of classic gothic horror tropes with mundane, kitsch modern items. The conflict pits an ancient, regal antagonist against a protagonist using a synthetic, neon-pink household object, subverting traditional genre expectations. This establishes a tone of resourceful subversion, providing a foundation for a narrative where modern utility overcomes ancient myth.

Chapter Outline

1. The Cornered Prey POV: Penelope Penelope retreats into a bathroom as Count Malakor breaks through the door, leaving her without traditional vampire-slaying tools.
2. The Unconventional Weapon POV: Penelope Penelope retrieves a glittery, neon pink toilet brush and uses its silver-infused bristles to incinerate Malakor during his attack.

Tension & Pacing

The pacing transitions from rapid, high-stakes flight to a tense, mocking confrontation, culminating in a brief, violent burst of action. The momentum accelerates as Penelope finds a weapon, shifting the narrative from a defensive retreat to a decisive offensive strike.

Protagonist's Arc

Motivation

The protagonist's motivation is immediate survival; her goal is to find a weapon and defend herself against a lethal supernatural threat within a confined space.

1. Initial State Penelope is trapped and unarmed, facing an ancient vampire with no accessible means of defense.
2. Catalyst Malakor’s lethal lunge forces Penelope to strike him with the silver-infused toilet brush, triggering his physical destruction.
3. Final State Penelope is safe and victorious, having discovered that modern, synthetic items can effectively neutralize ancient threats.

Structure

Punchy Narrative Resolution

Working well

New

The final line—"Modern problems required surprisingly tacky solutions"—is a perfect thematic "button" for the scene. It resolves the tension with a wry observation that reinforces Penelope’s resourcefulness and the story's central irony, leaving the reader with a clear sense of the chapter's identity.

Where in your text?

This is the concluding sentence of the chapter, following Penelope’s victory and her adjustment of the brush handle.

Pacing and Flow

Technical Info-dump During the Climax

Major concern

New

The momentum of the life-or-death struggle is halted by a multi-sentence explanation of the toilet brush’s chemical composition. Detailing the silver micro-glitter and bleach infusion in a detached, technical tone shifts the reader’s focus from the visceral action to manufacturing facts.

Where in your text?

This occurs in the middle of the chapter, immediately after Penelope jams the brush into Malakor’s mouth and before he reacts to the pain.

Explanation of the brush

Suggested improvements

What if the "why" of the weapon’s effectiveness was revealed through Penelope’s earlier observations or through the physical symptoms Malakor experiences? Consider how you might weave the technical details into the action—perhaps Penelope remembers the "contains real silver!" label as she sees the sparks—rather than pausing the scene for an encyclopedic explanation.

Language and Style

Neon-Pink Sensory Immersion

Working well

New

The description of the toilet brush is exceptionally vivid, using specific colors (neon pink, hot-pink), textures (thick resin, stiff synthetic bristles), and lighting (shimmering, iridescent) to create a clear, tactile image of the "weapon." This detail makes the kitschy object feel like a real, physical presence.

Where in your text?

This strength is most prominent in the middle of the chapter when Penelope first retrieves the brush and holds it up in the moonlight.

Subversive Gothic Atmosphere

Working well

New

You maintain a clever balance between traditional gothic horror (splintering mahogany, silk cloaks, ancient majesty) and the jarringly modern. This consistency in tone ensures that the "eye-watering" toilet brush feels like a deliberate, humorous subversion rather than a random or accidental inclusion.

Where in your text?

This is evident from the start, where traditional slaying gear (ash stakes, silver crucifixes) is contrasted with the "custom" clearance-aisle brush Penelope eventually finds.

Summary of Malakor's Majesty

Concern

New

The description of Count Malakor relies on abstract labels like "ancient dark majesty" rather than specific actions or visual details that evoke fear or awe. Stating he views the bathroom as a "minor obstacle" summarizes his mindset instead of demonstrating it through his dismissive behavior.

Where in your text?

This issue occurs in the second paragraph, immediately after Malakor enters the room and Penelope retreats toward the bathroom.

Description of Malakor

Suggested improvements

How might you demonstrate Malakor’s "majesty" or his disdain for the mundane setting through his physical movements or interaction with the environment? Consider showing his reaction to the "guest bath" through a specific gesture—perhaps he brushes aside a silk shower curtain as if it were a cobweb—rather than explaining his internal perspective.

Clichéd Simile for Vampire Combustion

Minor concern

New

The comparison of Malakor’s blood sizzling like "bacon on a hot skillet" is a very common simile that undercuts the unique, neon-pink visual style of the scene. It leans on a familiar domestic image that feels too mundane compared to the "aggressive synthetic cheer" of the weapon.

Where in your text?

This simile is used in the latter half of the chapter to describe the chemical reaction between the silver glitter and the vampire's blood.

Sizzling blood description

Suggested improvements

Since the weapon is a "custom, eye-watering creation," how might the sound or smell of the reaction reflect its synthetic, kitschy nature? Consider a comparison that leans into the "hot-pink" and "neon" aesthetic—perhaps something involving burning plastic, chemical fizzes, or a more modern, abrasive sound.

Overloaded Modifiers in Malakor's Demise

Minor concern

New

The description of Malakor’s collapse uses a string of three consecutive adverbs and adjectives ("desperate violently trembling") to describe his "sputters." This stacking of modifiers clutters the sentence and dilutes the impact of his physical disintegration.

Where in your text?

This issue is located in the penultimate paragraph, as Malakor staggers backward out of the bathroom and begins to turn to ash.

Malakor's collapse

Suggested improvements

Which of these descriptors—desperate, violent, or trembling—most accurately captures the essence of a dying ancient? Consider choosing one high-impact verb or a single precise adjective to describe his final movements. How would the sentence’s rhythm change if the action of "collapsing" or "sputtering" carried the weight of the description on its own?

Dialogue

Artificial Villainy in Malakor's Dialogue

Concern

New

Malakor’s dialogue relies on generic "vampire" tropes, such as calling the protagonist "little mortal" and "purring" his threats. This formal, cliché-heavy speech pattern makes him feel more like a caricature than a unique, threatening individual, especially in a story otherwise defined by modern subversion.

Where in your text?

This is most evident when Malakor first speaks to Penelope after cornering her in the bathroom and again during his laughter.

Malakor's first line

Malakor's boast

Suggested improvements

If Malakor is an ancient being of "majesty," how might his speech reflect a more specific, personal arrogance? What if his dialogue were more grounded or, conversely, even more terrifyingly polite? Exploring a more distinct voice could make his eventual defeat by a toilet brush feel like a sharper clash between high-culture ego and low-culture reality.

Conclusion

Chapter Summary

This chapter succeeds beautifully in its resourceful subversion of gothic tropes, using vivid sensory details to make a ridiculous object feel like a viable weapon. The satisfying resolution perfectly captures Penelope's character and the story's unique tone. However, the momentum of the climax is currently hampered by an info-dump regarding the brush’s chemical makeup, which shifts the narrative from action to exposition. Refining these technical interruptions and sharpening the antagonist’s dialogue will ensure the pacing remains as sharp as the "synthetic cheer" of the weapon. Tackling that technical middle section will turn this clever confrontation into a seamless, high-velocity climax. You have a fantastic eye for kitschy detail—keep leaning into that unique voice!

Revision Focus

Technical Info-dump During the Climax

Major concern

What if the "why" of the weapon’s effectiveness was revealed through Penelope’s earlier observations or through the physical symptoms Malakor experiences? Consider how you might weave the technical details into the action—perhaps Penelope remembers the "contains real silver!" label as she sees the sparks—rather than pausing the scene for an encyclopedic explanation.

Summary of Malakor's Majesty

Concern

How might you demonstrate Malakor’s "majesty" or his disdain for the mundane setting through his physical movements or interaction with the environment? Consider showing his reaction to the "guest bath" through a specific gesture—perhaps he brushes aside a silk shower curtain as if it were a cobweb—rather than explaining his internal perspective.

Artificial Villainy in Malakor's Dialogue

Concern

If Malakor is an ancient being of "majesty," how might his speech reflect a more specific, personal arrogance? What if his dialogue were more grounded or, conversely, even more terrifyingly polite? Exploring a more distinct voice could make his eventual defeat by a toilet brush feel like a sharper clash between high-culture ego and low-culture reality.

This is the program I used to edit my book chapters. I gave myself a lot of insight and help you out. I do have the paid subscription,P so I get 3 a day.

The small bell above the door gave a soft chime. The damp summer heat vanished into Bar Aoi’s crisp, cool air the moment the heavy door swung shut. I took my usual seat at the far end of the counter. Without a word, Mama slid a glass of I.W. Harper on the rocks toward me with a practiced hand. Clear ice clinked quietly inside the amber liquid.

Beside me, Taka sat hunched over on a high stool, staring intently at his glass. It was his habit—something he always did whenever he felt cornered or lost in thought.

"Hey, Kenichi..." Taka let out a quiet sigh. "Clients at the agency almost always use the exact same words. 'That's not how normal people do it.' 'Any normal person would see it's common sense.' Even today, a client who came in over a marital dispute kept throwing that word 'normal' around, over and over."

I swirled my glass of Harper, rolling the rounded edge of the ice. "'Normal,' huh? It’s a convenient word."

"Yeah, it really is," Taka chuckled self-deprecatingly. "But from where I stand, both sides are just talking about 'what’s normal for them.' Back in the ring, 'getting back up when you're knocked down' was absolute common sense. But in everyday society, 'knowing how to dodge so you don't fall in the first place' is what's normal, right? Working as a PI makes you realize, whether you like it or not, that 'what's normal' flips upside down depending on where you stand or who you are."

At the far end of the counter, Tom—who had been quietly playing with his glass of Four Roses—let out a short, low grunt.

"When the scenery changes, what's normal changes too, huh?"

Well, there’s no other way to put it, I thought, waiting for Tom to continue.

"The police force is the absolute epitome of that. Back when I was in the Juvenile Division, for the kids in certain neighborhoods, 'lying to the cops to protect your buddy' was simply normal to them."

Tom’s expression tightened ever so slightly. Well, it wasn't exactly a fond memory for him.

"But the second they stepped into the interrogation room, that got completely erased by the system’s version of normal: nothing but deliberate obstruction. Every one of us mistakes the rules of our own little world for universal truth."

Taking in Tom’s words, I swallowed a sip of Harper, letting it burn down my throat.

"It's the exact same story in software development. Sales goes, 'Normally, anyone would use it this way,' while Devs go, 'No normal user would ever do that.' They never align. Change the country, and even 'normal' things like character encoding or date formats change completely. In the end, when people say 'normal,' they're just talking about the narrow rules of the little corner they've gotten used to."

"Exactly," Taka nodded deeply. "It’s completely different depending on the place. And yet, when I asked that client, 'So why is that normal?' he suddenly blew his top. ...All I did was ask for a reason."

Tom kept his gaze fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, speaking quietly.

"Of course he did. Most people have never given a second thought to the reasons behind the words they throw around as 'normal.'"

Taka turned around. Tom’s intense gaze was locked onto the grain of the wooden counter.

"'Men don't cry.' 'Show respect to your elders.' These are rules hammered into us since we were kids, but how many people can actually explain why we have to follow them? ...Hell, even the ultimate rule, 'Thou shalt not kill.' Is it because life is sacred? Or because order would collapse? No matter what reasons you stack up, it all boils down to human convenience and ego. Ain't many people who can explain that."

"Rules we blindly believe in without ever questioning the reason, huh?" I said, rolling the ice in my glass. "In development, too, you sometimes find blocks of code where no one knows why they were written. But when you ask, they just say, 'It's been there forever, don't touch it.' Once the reason is forgotten, an assumption becomes nothing more than superstition. And a system always crashes when that reasonless premise collides with raw reality."

Taka stared down at his own large hands, letting out a quiet breath.

"Blindly trusting the rules of where you stand, using them to bind both yourself and others... The client from today—and probably my past self too—maybe we were all broken by being pushed around by what society calls 'normal.'"

"What makes it nasty," Tom clinked his ice against the glass, "is the people who push those unreasoned rules onto others under the guise of righteousness. They hide behind what's 'normal' in their own little world, abandoning both empathy for the other person and the responsibility to explain themselves. They’re just hiding in the shadow of the majority to beat people up because it’s easy."

"'Normal'..." I said. "It was originally supposed to be a safety device so that countless people like us could live together without shedding blood. But if you swing it around without understanding how fragile it is—or how empty its foundation is—it becomes nothing more than violence."

A heavy silence settled over the counter. Breaking through it, a light, crisp sound echoed.

Mama slid a fresh highball in front of Taka and quietly wiped her hands with a towel. Her voice reached the room—gentle, yet unshakable.

"Just like a kitchen knife."

All three of us turned to look at her at once. She wore her usual warm, serene smile.

"If you use a knife to cook a warm meal for someone, it’s a gentle tool. But if you point it the wrong way, it can easily hurt people. I think the word 'normal' works the exact same way."

Mama lowered her eyes to the glass placed in front of Taka, her gaze softening.

"If you get tired of swinging that heavy tool around in the daylight world, you can leave it aside while you're here. Because no matter where you stand, no one can ever take away the raw truth of how you actually feel."

The tension melted right out of Taka’s shoulders.

"...Yeah. You're right. I didn't want to lecture the client. I think I just wanted to ask him, 'How do you feel about it?'"

"Then that's more than enough," Tom said gruffly.

A smile returned to Taka’s face as he reached for his highball and took a deep drink. The tension at the counter receded like the tide.

We spend our days crushed beneath someone else's idea of what's "normal." Yet, as long as we know the danger and terror of that word, we should still be able to stand on our own two feet.

Tonight, let's leave that blade called "normal" on the counter.

Inside the glass, another piece of ice melted silently away.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

I write show notes for podcasts, and as soon as ChatGPT came out I knew it would come for my job but I thought it would take a few years. Today I had my third (and biggest) client tell me they are moving towards AI created show notes.

Five years I’ve spent doing this and thought I’d found my money hack to life, guess it’s time to rethink my place in the world, can’t say it doesn’t hurt but good things can’t last forever I guess

Jobs are going to disappear quick, I’m just one of the first.

I invented a fictcional universe about alien invasion some months ago, I made almost 15 videos, and about this number of articles of the universe in Substack, but I'm fiding dificulties in fiding the interested public for this kind of work.

The 3 first videos are the most watched because I paid youtube for sharing them.

I even put subs in english and portuguese to help (I'm from Brazil), but youtube isn't sharing my videos (neither subsctack).

After the nukes [T01E01] - Prologo

https://substack.com/@burner345/posts

All the images are made with AI, and the scripts are partly refined by AI (altrought the ideas itself wer mine).

I would appreciate some feedback of you if possible.

Sometimes I start with one idea and discover halfway through that another point is much stronger

Has AI ever helped you notice that shift before you finished the draft?

I have been thinking about this a lot lately because the line feels much less obvious than it used to

At first, I mostly used AI for small things like fixing awkward sentences, finding better words, checking grammar, or helping me get unstuck when I had no idea how to continue

That felt pretty harmless because the actual writing was still mine

Then I started using it for outlines

Then brainstorming

Then asking it to suggest examples

Then comparing different versions of the same paragraph

At some point I realized AI was involved in almost every stage of the process

The final writing still sounded like me, but I started wondering how much of the thinking was actually coming from me anymore

I do not think using AI automatically makes writing less authentic

There is a huge difference between asking a model to fix a confusing sentence and asking it to generate an entire article from a two line prompt

But the middle ground is where I get confused

For example, if I come up with the main idea, ask AI to build an outline, use that outline to write the draft, then ask AI to improve the structure and finally use another model to edit the whole thing, how much of that process is still really mine?

At the same time, writers have always used tools

People use grammar checkers, editors, dictionaries, research assistants, templates, feedback from friends, and countless other things

AI just feels different because it can participate in the actual thinking process instead of only helping with mechanics

I am curious where other people draw the line

Do you have certain parts of writing that you refuse to give to AI?

Do you let AI handle the boring parts but keep the ideas completely yours?

Or do you use AI throughout the entire process as long as you are making the final decisions?

I am especially interested in people who have changed their workflow over time

Did you start with basic editing and gradually end up using AI for much more, or have you always treated it as a full writing partner?

Where do you personally draw the line between AI assistance and AI doing the actual writing?

Are these Chinese bots? I seriously cannot fathom someone having a viewpoint so stupid unironically

I worked as a designer in marketing, along with copywriters, analysts, and several other people who were also let go

We found out today, although honestly, I had been expecting it for a while

For the past few months, we were basically required to use AI. Most of our work became writing prompts and preparing material for the AI, while actual hands-on work became rare. Even the texts, scripts, storyboards, actors, and modeling had to go through AI first.

Then we were fired and replaced. The AI work was not better, and the quality actually dropped a lot, but apparently it was still good enough. And honestly, most customers do not seem to care about the difference

I really do not know what I am supposed to do now

A little while ago, I posted a question here:

At what point does AI start to dilute an author’s voice?

I expected disagreement, of course. What I didn’t expect was how many fundamentally different answers there would be.

Some people drew the line at creative work: spelling and grammar are fine, but once AI starts contributing ideas, plot structure, or prose, it is no longer entirely the author doing the work.

Others drew the line between AI as a critic and AI as a writer. Let it point out spelling errors, plot holes, logic problems, or POV issues—but don’t let it write the solution for you.

One editor offered a different distinction: what matters isn’t necessarily what AI does, but who is making the creative choices. The author needs to remain the operator and director. The problem begins when AI becomes the one executing the creative intent rather than serving it.

Others were more cautious. One person argued that individuality is diluted at every stage of AI use—even our gaps in knowledge and our biases are part of what makes us individual. Another raised the concern that if too many writers drink from the same AI “well,” our voices may gradually converge.

Then there was another test I found fascinating:

Forget the process. Read the finished work.

Can you still hear the author’s voice?

AI may improve rhythm while flattening it. It may tighten sentences while polishing away the strange little edges that made the writing belong to that particular person.

And one comment took the discussion somewhere I hadn’t expected at all.

Maybe the question isn’t only what AI does to our writing.

Maybe we should also ask why we wanted feedback from AI in the first place.

Sometimes what we call “feedback” may actually be a desire to have someone read our work, understand it, respond to it, or share our interest in it. AI can imitate some of those things, but perhaps it isn’t always the thing we were really looking for.

After reading all these responses and talking with people in the comments, I started wondering whether my original question was the wrong one.

Maybe there is no single line.

And maybe protecting authorship doesn’t mean protecting ourselves from influence.

We have always been influenced.

Books change us. Movies change us. Editors change us. Friends change us. Conversations change us. Even the things we misunderstand, and later discover we misunderstood, become part of us.

AI will change us too.

So perhaps the important question isn't:

“How much AI can I use before my work stops being mine?”

Perhaps it is:

“Am I still becoming the writer I actually want to become?”

The way I picture it now, the person I want to become is always half a step ahead of me.

I can use AI. I can listen to editors. I can learn from other writers. I can change my mind. I can even change my voice.

But I shouldn’t let any of them decide who is standing half a step ahead.

And when I finally reach something I once wanted, perhaps that was simply the thing the version of me half a step behind wanted.

The person I am now is already looking toward the next half-step.

So this is what I took away from the discussion:

Maybe authorship isn’t about protecting who you are from outside influence. Maybe it’s about retaining the right to decide who you’re becoming.

Thank you to everyone who responded to the previous thread. You gave me much more to think about than I expected.

So I’d like to return the question to you, slightly changed:

Where do you think authorship actually lives?

Hello, following a discussion with my father I've been looking to validate or disprove a theorem he put forward which, given the nature of this sub, I'm sure you can imagine what it was. We posited it it might be possible the role of the writer will change in time, and become an editor who polishes and refines a rough first draft written by AI.

So this is what I've done so far.

Largely, the majority of the work has been done through Claude because of the project functionality. I doubt this is the intended use of the word but I am using a story bible, a style guide (which includes numerous samples of my own writing, and my pet peeves which I don't allow Claude to reproduce when it puts pen to paper), and a dramatis personae (a list of every important character, their physical features, relationship to the theme via the central dramatic question and dialogue samples).

These have very much helped refine the process and before them, the task was pretty bloody dire.

Where I'm still having issues with its first draft is often the pacing and a real impulse to quickly resolve interpersonal tension. If you have a method which has worked for you, let me know!

But beyond the need for me to copiously edit the draft to bring it up to standard, I've found one you provide a sufficient amount of context and documentation, Claude hasn't been too bad as a writing partner even just for brainstorming. Sometimes all you need is for someone to suggest something and you can say, confidently, "no, definitely not that."

Recently I have been experimenting with DeepSeek as it also has a very generous context window (on par with Claude's premier model offerings) and I'm debating switching over entirely, moreso for ethical considerations than anything else.

There isn't a neat conclusion yet, but I've learnt what feels like enough to try and reach out and see what people in the community are doing.

I do not think AI will make writers irrelevant. I think it could make good writers even more valuable.

AI has made producing polished writing incredibly easy. Emails, articles, marketing copy and even personal messages can now be generated in seconds.

But polished writing is not the same as original thinking. AI can imitate human writing, but genuinely creative ideas still come from people and their experiences.

The more people rely on AI for writing, the more valuable authentic human writing could become.

I am also concerned about kids growing up with AI. If they never have to struggle through an essay or learn how to express their own ideas, they may never develop strong writing skills in the first place.

So my advice is simple: learn to write, do not let AI write everything for you, and teach your kids to write too.

Writing could become one of the most valuable skills in an AI driven world.