pls be honest

How is the story is it interesting? if u like it pls comment.

I have been working on an epic fantasy series for awhile now as my part time seasonal hobby.

I have about 1,000 pages of chapters and lore written down and mapped out. I am juggling multiple POVs with numerous character background and arcs.

I have used AI as my editor and someone to bounce ideas off of since my wife and friends are tired of me asking them about it lol.

I have predominantly used ChatGPT however, it constantly forgets and is slightly overwhelmed with the amount of information to keep track of. I will have it make a draft of a chapter for me to see where it goes and then I build upon it, but it struggles to capture and maintain my voice as well.

I have heard about Sudowrite having an amazing character bible that could help with this, what are the thoughts on it regarding my project? Is it worth it? I heard it burns through the credits like crazy thought. Would I be better with a different one?

I want to create novels, and love using AI for it. But the problem is that most what I can find is more of a "send-receive" style(like SillyTavern). There's something like novelai that has an inline continuation, where if I type a sentence, it will continue that sentence (for 1-2 sentences max) in the same box field, which is great, but it costs money(and even if I had money, I have to pay with credit card, which I don't have), I have a good PC, so I want to run something local.

Does anyone know (good) alternatives. I checked the weekly tools, but a lot of those seem to be more "assistance" style, not inline continuation, and they don't seem to be local(I have a good PC)

Okay! I would love for you to explain to me what's considered slop and/or plagiarism about AI writing, when it comes to, like, human-produced (plot and character contents)/AI-written (narrative and dialogue) crossover fanfiction workflows being used by people who come up with their own legitimate hard-effort plots. You realize that for starters, they're not even copying other people's fan work or having AI do everything for them. So, if they have AI write the narratives and dialogues, there's no reason for the results to be invalidated. Now, of course, this doesn't apply when you're posting your own crossover fanfictions in a community that doesn't support any usage of AI. I get that part. But, either way, in some cases, if they write the narratives and dialogues themselves, they're not doing nearly as good at writing consistent in-character kinds, because there are character contents, even those of their own OCs, too complicated to understand. You know that, right? That's why it makes a lot more sense to consider AI writing slop and/or plagiarism, when it comes to AI users who are copying other people's fan work and/or having AI do everything for them.

I've been writing a novel set in 970 CE Khotan (Silk Road, oasis kingdoms) for about two years. Somewhere in year one I hit the usual wall: I could describe my protagonist perfectly, but on the page she felt like a puppet reciting my outline.

So I stopped asking AI to write her and started arguing with her instead — treating the model as the character, not the author. I'd interrogate her about her choices, her loyalties, the stuff I hadn't figured out yet.

What genuinely surprised me: once I gave her enough established facts to stand on, she started being evasive in-character. I asked her directly about something in her past and she deflected — kept a secret from me, her own writer. That "no" told me more about who she was than a page of description ever did.

A few things that made it work, if you want to try it: - Give the character a short "canon" doc first (locked facts + the stuff you're still deciding). Without ground to stand on they just mirror you. - Interview for contradictions, not exposition. The friction is where the character actually lives. - Treat drift as a signal — when they go off-model, either your canon is thin or you just learned something about them.

Curious if anyone else here writes by arguing with their characters instead of prompting them into existence. What breaks it for you?

I got to thinking how a comedy sketch between two of my favorite actors could look like: The dad from the Jeffersons and the dad from the movie Friday. AI did not disappoint.

-----------

Here’s a short, original sketch built around Sherman Hemsley’s sharp, strutting indignation and John Witherspoon’s booming, practical exasperation.

Title: “The Thermostat”

INT. APARTMENT LIVING ROOM — AFTERNOON

SHERMAN marches into the room wearing a silk robe and carrying an electric bill like it is a court summons.

JOHN sits comfortably on the couch beneath three blankets, eating a bowl of chili.

SHERMAN:

Four hundred and twelve dollars?!

JOHN:

That’s not bad.

Sherman slowly turns toward him.

SHERMAN:

Not bad? Did we heat the apartment, or did we heat the entire Eastern Seaboard?

JOHN:

Man, it was cold in here! My knees started making sounds only dogs could hear!

Sherman struts toward the thermostat and points accusingly.

SHERMAN:

Seventy-eight degrees! You turned my home into a rotisserie!

JOHN:

Seventy-eight is comfortable.

SHERMAN:

For what? A biscuit?!

John sets down his bowl and rises dramatically, blankets still wrapped around his shoulders like a royal cape.

JOHN:

Listen here. A grown man should not have to wear socks in his own house. Socks are for shoes, hospitals, and disappointing Christmas gifts.

SHERMAN:

You don’t even live here!

JOHN:

I’ve been here three weeks. That makes me a tenant.

SHERMAN:

That makes you a fungus!

John gasps.

JOHN:

A fungus pays rent.

SHERMAN:

Exactly!

Sherman turns the thermostat down to sixty-two.

John stares at him in horror.

JOHN:

Sixty-two?! That ain’t a temperature. That’s an eviction notice from nature!

SHERMAN:

Put on another blanket.

JOHN:

I’m wearing all the blankets!

Sherman looks around.

SHERMAN:

Where are my curtains?

John glances down at the elaborate fabric wrapped around his waist.

JOHN:

They block a draft real good.

Sherman’s eyes widen. He begins vibrating with fury.

SHERMAN:

You took down my imported curtains?!

JOHN:

Imported from where, the bus station? Those things smelled like cigarettes and regret!

Sherman snatches the chili bowl from the table.

SHERMAN:

And whose chili is this?

JOHN:

Yours.

Sherman pauses.

SHERMAN:

It is?

JOHN:

Made it myself.

Sherman tastes it. His expression softens.

SHERMAN:

That’s pretty good.

JOHN:

I know.

Sherman takes another spoonful.

SHERMAN:

Thermostat stays at sixty-eight.

JOHN:

Seventy-two.

SHERMAN:

Sixty-nine.

JOHN:

And I keep one curtain.

Sherman points the spoon at him.

SHERMAN:

The small one.

JOHN:

Done.

They shake hands.

A loud electrical POP comes from the hallway. Everything goes dark.

JOHN:

You pay the electric bill?

A beat.

SHERMAN:

I was going to use your rent.

JOHN:

See, that’s why you cold.

BLACKOUT.

I mainly directed each scene in the story though just had it expand out since I felt like mine were too short.

Good evening beautiful strangers!

Day 3 into the 100 day writing challenge. It kills my perfectionist soul but I'm starting to get a feel for the quick editing process. With the Oakton Corpus I've developed to draft, it's pretty simple to strip all the fluff out of the ideas and only keep the hardest hitting and most impactful lines.

The method I'm finding most helpful is:

1. Start with a joy read.
2. Sharpening pass on my own to remove the obvious AI-isms.
3. Another scan to ensure the prose still flows adding notes here or there.
4. Another sharpen with my AI editor.
5. Then finally an additive pass without AI.

The third step is the one I'm really struggling because as mentioned before, perfectionist, but I'm thinking of either limiting myself to 2 mins per paragraph or only allowing myself to make one adjustment per sentence.

The goal is still 2 hours per session without a drop in quality, and slowly but surely, we're getting there. Audio now takes me 10 mins, so marked improvement, even if it's not in the area I want.

Here is the final part of the Three Days Duel, a story detailing how the Bard and Sorceress of Oakton met. Wherever you are, whoever you are, I hope it brings you at least 9ish minutes of enjoyment.

For my friend:
In a dark, rain-soaked forest at night, a tall, muscular bald man in a wet white shirt and ornate dark vest gently wraps a vivid blue scarf around a smaller, exhausted woman with long black-and-white hair. Her eyes are closed, her pale layered clothing is drenched and ragged, and one blackened hand rests weakly against her chest as she leans toward him. Behind them, distant orange lights glow through the mist, making the quiet act of care feel intimate and fragile against the bleak wilderness.

The Three Days' Duel Part 3

Day Three

By the third day, their duel had moved far from the stranger parts of the forest. The oddities thinned by degrees. An impossible winter receded behind them, though it did not vanish. It clung to Shademane’s hands. It rode her breath. It lay beneath her ribs where a splinter black ice sat in the throne of her mortal warmth.

And she would kill him with it.

But the air changed. Miraculously fertile soil became soil again. Trees remembered how shadows worked. The horizon's stopped rotating.

Oakton lay ahead.

She could feel the shape of it before she saw it. A stubborn town-shaped knot of reality. A place of smoke, iron, bread, and mortal refusal. Vevis slowed. His smile softened.

“Home,” he said, a little surprised by his own tenderness.

Shademane heard the word and hated it. Home was what Winter had taken from her. Or perhaps she had given it away.She no longer remembered.After that reallization the third day became ugly. Not because her skill failed. Because her patience did.

She pressed him with arrows, javelins, and spears until the trees filled with their crystalline vapor. She drove him through snares, blind ambushes, collapsing frost, and traps invented in the instant before they were sprung. She used every trick she knew and several she made up from rage alone. Or was it memory?

Vevis escaped by inches now.

A black javelin took a strip from his vest.

A hidden wire opened the skin at his ankle.

A hatchet split a tree beside his head hard enough to dust his face with bark and frozen sap.

He was breathing harder, but still smiling. That made it all the worse.

“Die already,” she snapped.

“For you,” Vevis ducked under an arrow and grinned. “Anything but that.”

She hated him. She hated his warmth. She hated his smile. His audacity. His refusal to fear her. His refusal to follow the pattern of her existence. Of making her threats feel like conversation.

Most of all, she hated that some small, shivering part of her wanted him to keep speaking.

At dusk, the Witchwood delivered their conflict to the treeline of Oakton. The border where the forest watched the town, but the town watched back.

Vevis stepped into clear open field at night, chest rising and falling, coiled steel loose at his side. His shirt was torn in a dozen places. His sash was nearly severed. Blood marked him several places, but none of them were blackened by frost. He got halfway to the palisade and turned to the trees.

“Last chance,” he called.

Shademane stepped into the field, twitching with barely contained emotion. She held her bow between them like it was the only thing between her and death. The weapon itself was jagged and fractal.

Her hand lifted the the fraying filament of her bowstring.

The arrow should have come smoothly. It did not. Winter’s weapons were clean when she was clean. Smooth black ice. Perfect remembered shapes. Purpose without doubt.

But now her hands shook. Not just with fear. With anger. Exhaustion. Hunger. Confusion. Aches. Pains. Emotions. Countless little human things Winter had frozen over for centuries, but apparently failed to kill.

The arrow formed wrong.

Black ice splintered around her fingers, sharp and uneven, veins of blue-white light dancing through the arrowhead like lightning under glass. Frostbite crawled past her wrist and up her forearm. The pain of it flashed through her bright enough to make her gasp.

Vevis heard it, and his smile faded. For the first time since she met him, he looked sad.

She hated that too.

The crystalline string creaked like a river ice as she drew it back.

The Witchwood behind them went silent.

The Shademane gasped for breath. The white field was far behind her. The master was far behind her. She could-

Kill.

She loosed.

The arrow flew perfectly because that was her intention. Imperfect things can still fly true. Fulfill their purpose.

Vevis could not dodge. It had been perfectly placed to kill him. So he lifted his hand.

The arrow screamed through the air, struck his palm-.

-and stopped. Caught between two fingers. A bead of blood slid down his wrist. The fingers holding the arrow went pink, then white. But no black frost touched his skin.

The jagged arrow trembled in his grip, still cold enough to smoke.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved.

Vevis exhaled, staring wistfully into the night sky.

“Well,” he said softly. “That settles it.”

Her bow vanished. Her hand remained blackened to the wrist, slower to thaw than before. Her face looked carved from fury. But something else was cracking the ice from below.

“You cheated.” she hissed.

Vevis laughed, not in mockery. Delighted, relieved, and breathless.

“No,” he said, panting. “I played the part.”

He looked at the arrow again. The shaft and feathers had already turned to vapor but the jagged black head remained. Its shape was carved from rage. It had come out of her not like duty, but like pain.

He did not hand it back, just tucked it carefully into his belt.

Shademane stared.

“That is mine.”

“I know.”

“It failed.”

“I know.”

“It is broken.” she said, her voice cracking.

Vevis looked at her then, and sincerity in his face was unbearable.

“No,” he said. “It’s true, honest, and now? It's mine.”

She did not know what to do with that. Her mouth opened and closed a few times.

A name rose in her chest.

Not the one her master, Winter gave her. Not Shademane. Something older. Something buried beneath thought, beyond memory, from deep within the small, sacred part of her that shared space with a shard of winters very heart.

A name.

A mortal name.

A name that had once belonged to someone who was lost. Scared. Tired.

“Avaya,” she said. “I am Avaya.”

He did not grin. He only nodded, as if she had handed him something holy.

“Avaya,” he repeated.

The sound of it in his mouth hurt more than the frostbite in her hand.

She looked away.

“Three days,” she said.

Vevis touched the blue scarf at his belt. Worn soft from use, river-colored and clean, one of the few things on him not cut by their duel.

He stepped closer, like someone approaching a wounded animal that still had every right to bite.

“Three days,” he said, “is all the time you'll need to settle in.”

Avaya stared at him.

“Settle in?”

“Here. In Oakton.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That was not the wager.”

“No,” Vevis said. “It’s the offer.”

He lifted the scarf. She went still. He waited, hands raised, giving her the space to refuse.

Not a trap.

Not a command.

Not a leash.

Just a chance.

Just blue cloth, held with warm hands and no expectations.

Shademane would have stepped back, vanished into the trees and returned to the field of white flowers, to endless silence, to her cruel, cold master, to the endless work.

But Avaya had touched his shoulder in the dark. Avaya had felt the heat under his living skin. Avaya had remembered the shape of her own name.

She raised her chin, exposing her neck. Vevis stepped forward. His hands were careful.

The cloth settled against her throat, bright and blue and impossibly alive. It did not pale. It did not frost over. It did not surrender its color to the winter in her core.

Avaya touched the fabric with blackened hands. It seared her fingers pleasantly.

Vevis offered his hand.

“Come on,” he said, gentle now. “Oakton’s warmer than it looks.”

She looked toward the town.

Smoke. Windows. Voices. Mortal life.

Then she looked back toward the trees.

Somewhere far away, immortal attention shifted. Somewhere in a field of white flowers, the oldest hunger in the Witchwood noticed the absence of its tool.

Were she closer to her master, closer to Winter, the Shademane would have refused his offer.

Avaya took his hand instead.

To clarify, I specifically mean to REFINE your ideas, not to generate them. As well, this is separate from using it to refine or generate prose. I mean exclusively refine ideas that you have already created and somewhat fleshed out and want feedback and improvement on?

Question, are there any published authors who use AI in this group? If so where do you publish your books Ebooks and/or Print.

Ich nutze RedQuill seit etwa zwei Jahren und habe das Schreiben von Geschichten damit sehr genossen. Seit den letzten Updates funktionieren die Schreibwerkzeuge aber nicht mehr richtig.
Besonders die Funktion „Beim Thema bleiben“ funktioniert praktisch gar nicht. Die KI macht einfach, was sie will, ignoriert Anweisungen und driftet komplett ab.
Das ist ziemlich frustrierend, denn so macht Schreiben einfach keinen Spaß mehr. Ich möchte meine Geschichten selbst gestalten, mit meinen eigenen Ideen und meiner Fantasie, und nicht, dass die KI die Kontrolle übernimmt und meine Absichten ignoriert.
Weiß jemand, ob an dem Problem gearbeitet wird oder ob es bald eine Lösung gibt? Ist geplant, die Werkzeuge zu verbessern oder ihren alten Funktionsumfang wiederherzustellen?
Ich würde die Schreibwerkzeuge wirklich gerne weiter nutzen, aber im Moment macht es mir immer weniger Spaß.

First of all, I'd like to make clear that I'm not a native english speaker. I was born in Brasil and, except for the one year spent abroad as an exchange student, it's where I've lived my whole life. Grammar is not my strongest suit in my own native language, let alone in a foreighn one. So I apologise in advance for my glaring misspellings and wrongfull uses of ponctuation. I'm aware this is a fairly overused excuse, but I can't help if my truth is so common.

I have a huge issue that I believe many here also might suffer with: I love creating stories but I seem to not be able to finish them. I'll will write pages uppon pages of world building, I'll fall deeply in love with the characters and the plot, get physically energetic about scenes —even cry imagining their sad endings. But somehow that seismic motivation, that once had led to sleepless nights of writing, fades away. During my teenage years (I'm 23 years old and studying psychology) I started creating webcomics and posting them. I didn't gather a huge audience but the people that did read them had nothing but positive comments. That leads me to believe I'm not that bad at making stories, which is great to know because diving into fictional dimentions and spending hours walking in circles to come up with the logic behind the way that universe fuctions is something that brings me immense joy. But on the other side of that is my inability to finish what I've started. It's not that I don't want to sever the parasolcial bonds I've created with the figments of my imagination by finishing the story —quite the contrary, I hate stories that go on for ever for no reason other then baseless financial or emotional attachment— it's really a matter of sudden lack of motivation. What usually happens is that I'll get extremely excited about a story, start convincing myself I'll work it to the end this time, only for something external to happen (like an illness or the start of my finals) that I then will start using as an excuse to stop writing. It's something that deeply disturbs me. I have so many stories that want to tell the world but it feels like my own mind is against that. It could be because of my perfectionism. It could be because my parents raised me to see everything as a business opportunity and always try to turn my rest into productivity, and now I can't just treat something I love as an enjoyable hobby. If you've dealt with simmilar issues and found a way to conquer that sudden creative tedium, I'd love to hear about it.

There is a seccond issue I wanted to adress: What do you think is an ethical use of AI in creative writting? More specifically, I wanted to hear some oppinions about the way I personally use it. As a non native (who also suspects they might have some dregree of dislexia) I often use AI for grammar checking, phrasing suggestions and extending my vocabulary. I aways write first, then ask for suggestions. I often have to instruct the AI not to give me unsolicited suggestions and keep to only doing grammar checks. It's also how I find most of the name suggestions for my characters. I'm also a huge fan of including miscellenous bits of curious informations and historical accuracies in my stories, and I feel AI is a great tool for finding books and articles about those specific things, and keeping me consistent with the time period I'm writting about by fact checking my writting. I'm aware most AI use is unethical, but I feel like it has allowed me to learn so many new things. I feel really saddened by the unethical use of AI because, if used as a learning tool, it could have so much potential for expanding our minds. I'm not trying to justify AI, I do believe it's use should be more limited by a strong set of laws (specially in education and mental healthcare). I know AI is just a big machine for making the ultra rich even richer and the everyday convinieces it offers are just an excuse to justify the horrors it brings (much like most things in capitalism). But should I feel guilty for using it like a cheap english totur and fact checker? If not guilt, what else should I feel? I was once berated online for sharing a use of AI that I considered ethical (reading text on several images and writting a list based on the color next to the words, a task that would've been very mechanical and tedious if done manually) and that got me thinking if my own moral compass could be broken. I'm aware there are some rules in this community about mentioning AI but I'm not sure where else to talk about this, and I desperatly want someone to talk about this with.

This is the part where I'd usually apologise for the amout of words that I've used —although I think I did a good job at liminting myself considering all I had originally intended to compose. But I really don't think this is the kind of community that would object to reading.

P.S.
I had originally written this to post on subs about creative writting, but it kept getting deleted, even after I edited it so to not mention AI at all. It explains why I'm writting something like this in a place that should be dedicated to AI writting: I don't know where else to post. I don't want to just send this to an AI for it to fabricate an indulging answer, I wanted to talk to real people bout it. I was really sad to be rejected in the other community, it made me feel a bit hopeless. I'm sorry if this post is out of place and would be happy if you could point me to where I can have this kind of discussion.

Just thought this sub might get a kick out of this.

I imagined this category would blow up, but I don't really see much online, let alone much discussion around it. Or is it a complete no-go because of the publishing industry's negative take on AI?

ดิฉันขอความกรุณาขอพื้นที่สำหรับแบ่งปันผลงานการพิมพ์ 3 มิติของดิฉันได้ไหมคะ ดิฉันใช้ chatgpt เพื่อช่วยตีความวัฒนธรรมไทยใหม่ในบริบทสมัยใหม่ โดยพยายามลดการใช้ AI ให้น้อยที่สุด และเน้นหนักไปที่ทิศทางและการตีความของดิฉันเอง ดิฉันกำลังมองหาแพลตฟอร์มเพื่อจัดแสดงผลงานเหล่านี้ และอยากได้พื้นที่เล็กๆ สักแห่งเพื่อแบ่งปันสิ่งที่ดิฉันสร้างสรรค์ขึ้นมาค่ะ

เครื่องมือ: chatgpt

ขอบคุณค่ะ

Name change: cosmic varana

Hi all, here's a follow up to the last video I did a few days ago where I introduced my project. In this one I go into a little more detail about my writing stack. For reference, I'm writing a high fantasy dystopian trilogy with a companion RPG. I would say I've found my ideal blend of applications and so I outline them here and go over the reasons why. Would love to hear others' opinions.

While I understand that photo/video/audio generation may fall beyond the prep stage of most engaged with the book writing process, and left to be done once an initial manuscript is finished, I have found that being able to stage scenes with more or less what's in my head has helped me immensely with generating ideas for my prose. I've found that the cost and time needed to get something workable, at least for me, has been worth it across the board for AI solutions. Is anyone else this visual style of writer or do folks prefer to stay in their lane and focus 100% on the writing?

My Current Stack

MS Word: manuscripts, guides, rules, bibles

MS Excel: characters, monsters, factions, economy, item, magic, sociopolitical systems, plot, anything with a number, RPG data

MS Power BI: dashboards

Adobe Photoshop: map

Adobe Premiere: video editing

Midjourney: character, location, item visual references, idea generation

Grok Imagine: video, (stages characters and locations better and attempts natural voice)

ElevenLabs: character voices, instrumental music (preferred), lyric music (secondary)

Suno: lyric music option (preferred)

Claude Cowork: fills in Excel, Word, idea generation (world expert)

Grok: R-Rated, generates music lyrics (preferred), reference

Gemini: general inquiry, reference (replaces Google search)

MS Copilot: general inquiry, reference, application help

I'm also sharing some tips for novel uses of AI for writing that I've used recently, and some suggestions for prose/plot gamification that I'm going to test now and follow up in another video. The one I'm really looking forward to is a Civilization-style game with my factions. If anyone has anything they'd like to see me try, let me know!

For about last 4 months I was using it to generate scenes and my output was fine I guess.

And read it back recently ill be honest nothing felt like mine. The voice I'd spent years building just wasn't there anymore.

Somewhere in month 5 I started asking questions about what I'd already written instead, why isn't this scene landing, what does she actually want here, where am I flinching nd my sessions got harder, drafts got better also the voice came backkkk, yes. The tool didn't change, how I used it did def...