Hello! As someone who loves writing anything, I get really disappointed when I write something that I know doesn't do justice to my ideas. I just can't write that well, I think. Sometimes I blame my limited vocabulary but when I get asked of the definitions of certain words, I realize it's actually wider than I thought it was. So I would like to ask for help, if it's possible.

Could anyone please give me a topic to work on or write about and then grade it afterwards? Giving tips on how I can improve some parts of it to make it much better would be very helpful for me, too. I can't pay lessons because I'm a scholar in a university but I'm really really desperate for improvement and this is one of the ways I thought about. Again, I love writing but I know that loving it isn't enough to be good at it. Thank you for giving me your time! I hope you have a good day!

I am a type of person who always uplift or support my friends if they have a post or a story immediately I will like, repost or comment on them as for it will just take you a seconds or minute to do it but when it comes to me i received none. What I mean by none is 0 likes, 0 comments it makes me feel sad. Is it something that I should take personally?

Mannville boasts a population of 1183 and one school that included grades kindergarten through 12th grade. The backbone of America. Jennifer was in her senior year, the future class of 1985. 17 classmates, your garden variety of teenagers from all walks of life. Kids of farmers, teachers, a banker and various other small town economic status that faired on the blue collar side. Being a unique addition to the mixture, Jennifer's parents moved to Mannville in the summer of 1981, intrigued by the small town life after living in a large east coast city. It was a bleak version of Mayberry in the Andy Griffith Show with it's one grocery store on the edge of town to the drug store that sold ice cream on main street. Summer was so hot you could literally fry an egg on the cement. The town pool was a welcomed relief from the sun. Most days it wasn't uncommon to see groups of high school jocks sporting farmers tans, children with floats and sunscreen faces and then there were the posh moms with sun-kissed tans. Jennifer never quite knew how to fit in and too young to fully understand what it meant to be an outsider in this small southern town.

Jennifer adjusted her ponytail as she hurried down the hall before last bell rang. Mr. Jenkins stood with arms crossed in front of his principal office. Jennifer tried not to make eye contact with him, but his staunch presence and stern voice were enough to make her drop her books as she reached for the library door. "Punctuality is not your strong point." Mr. Jenkins told Jennifer as he tapped his forefinger on his wrist watch. "Sorry sir," is all she said as she picked up her books from the floor and hustled into first period. Mrs Swanson welcoming smile and relaxed persona made Jennifer feel safe, even for just 50 minutes from the outside world.

I am one of God's creatures and this is why I started powerfucking hamsters. One day, I realized that my penis was so small that anyone who might be interested in fucking my micropenis would actually snap it like a little twig. In that moment, I felt God's purpose surge through me, and I understood his message. The reason why I was born with a micropenis is because the hoes don't deserve my micropenis, but God's chosen pets do. This is when I started powerfucking hamsters with my micropenis. At first, it felt weird and I could hardly insert it, but after applying a copious amount of Onatsuyu Onahole Lotion to my little twig, I ended up getting the hang of it. The soft vaginal lips of the female hamsters and their very tight soft holes felt like heaven on earth. I was transported to a land that no man had ever explored. I felt called to share God's wisdom, but an evil thought crossed my mind. Perhaps, this little bit of heaven was mine alone to know, but after expanding my harem to 500 fluffy creatures living across 100 multi-chambered rodent leisure complexes, I decided to share my wisdom to you, fellow human beings. Welcome to my world of divine rodent powerfucking!

Chapter 1

She was broken. She was sad. She was done.

At least, that was how Amethyst felt most days. It seemed like her heart had always been fragile, cracked in places that no one else could see. The first break had come when she was only in fifth grade.

Back then, she had liked a boy—blue eyes, smart, the kind of boy who seemed untouchable. To her, he was everything. But he belonged to someone else. And when his girlfriend found out about her little secret, Amethyst’s world quickly became crueler. The girl mocked her relentlessly—her clothes, her voice, even the way she walked.

Why me? Amethyst would wonder, fighting the sting of tears. Why am I always the one they laugh at?

That was the year she learned what heartbreak really felt like. It wasn’t just about love—it was about rejection, humiliation, and the aching weight of not being enough. It was also the year her body began to change, the confusing swirl of puberty dragging her further into emotions she didn’t know how to handle.

Middle school wasn’t kinder. Amethyst wanted so badly to be noticed, to be seen as more than the quiet girl in the corner. At first, it felt hopeless—until she met her second crush. He had a smile that reminded her of the boys in movies, the ones who always showed up just in time to save the heroine. For a little while, she let herself imagine he could save her too.

But like all fragile things, the feeling didn’t last. A few weeks passed, and the spark was gone. Of course it is, she told herself bitterly. Boys like him don’t look twice at girls like me.

So she locked her heart away. At least until high school.

The rest of middle school blurred into survival. She drifted between friends—some stayed, some left, and some turned against her. One of the harshest blows came from someone she had once trusted. Amethyst still remembered the sting of opening her agenda and seeing the word “Bitch” scribbled across the pages in thick, angry letters. Not just once. Page after page.

Her throat had tightened, her stomach twisting as though the letters themselves had carved into her skin. Why? What did I do? She had no answer. So she swallowed her pain, pretending it didn’t matter. But at night, lying in bed, the question always returned: What’s so wrong with me that even the people I care about want to hurt me?

Home should have been a refuge, but it wasn’t. Her mother seemed too wrapped up in her own world to notice how much Amethyst was hurting. When her mother’s boyfriend moved in—a man Amethyst had barely met—it felt like another door had closed on her. She didn’t like him there, didn’t like the way everything changed so quickly, but she was only a pre-teen. She had no right to speak up. Don’t cause trouble. Don’t complain. Just stay quiet. That was the unspoken rule of her life.

Still, time passed, and in the cracks of loneliness, Amethyst found something that belonged only to her. Painting. Fashion. Art. Hours disappeared as she sketched designs and painted colors onto paper, creating beauty when her real world felt empty. It gave her hope—small, fragile hope—that maybe she wasn’t as broken as she thought.

By the summer of 2011, she was ready for something new. High school was coming, and with it the promise of change. She told herself it would be different—that she would finally make friends who stayed, that she would learn not just from books but from life itself.

One hot Tuesday afternoon, she packed her bag with sharpened pencils, fresh notebooks, and binders that smelled like possibility. For the first time in years, her mother seemed more present, laughing with her, asking about her preparations. Amethyst let herself believe that maybe their relationship could finally heal, that maybe they could be mother and daughter in more than just name.

She looked out the window that day, the summer sun spilling across her skin, and whispered a quiet promise to herself: High school will be different. It has to be.

What you guys think?

Synopsis: An angel breaks heaven’s law when he falls in love with a mortal girl. Cast out and stripped of his wings, he must survive among humans while forces from both heaven and hell hunt him. The story explores sacrifice, forbidden love, and the cost of destiny.

I’d love feedback on my first chapter — does the opening hook you, and is the pacing clear enough to make you want to keep reading?

“I thought my fall was the end. Only later did I realize it was the beginning of everything I ever wanted.

In that moment, I could see everything—and nothing. Feel everything—and nothing. Fire. Sadness. Sky. Pain. Clouds. Shame. Wind.

Why am I feeling these things? How do I even know what feelings are? I’ve never felt anything in my life. Except… once. The first time I saw her. But beings like us shouldn’t feel. We can’t. Can we?

I should know. I’ve been here since the dawn of everything. One day I simply was. Then came the light. Then came everything else. My Creator made me, made all of us. I’ve never seen them—man, woman, it doesn’t matter. Only their presence: guiding, shaping, giving purpose.

But now my eyes are heavy. My body trembles. The air burns against me—no, I am burning. My wings are aflame, and I’m falling. Falling forever.

And then, below me, it comes into focus: the world.

The Creator’s world.

This wasn’t the end. It was the beginning of something the Creator never intended.”

Before the fight starts, Michael is still shocked and wonders what was that creature and who sent it, however he did not be thinking it would be a god. Little did all of them knew the gems were the most wanted thing in the universe, and the person who wants is master b. Even before the earth existed he knew about it so he sent demons looking for it, but they all failed but later he found out that some humans mapped it to be in one city, West City, and he knew it was his time to strike by killing the humans and sending a powerful demon, but it got killed and it reincarnated into Henry's soul, but Master b found this out and he realized that he doesn't need to send demons he can use these kids as pawn pieces in order to find the the gems. The main reason he wants the gems is to rule the multiverse, in order to do this he needs to find the the 6 gems and then use the something that is also really special it is the box of power and if you collect the 6 gems and put them into the box, master b can do a spell that the multiverse has to fight by collecting 500 players from different universes and make them fight but random players are put together into a different universes until the round ends. Master b plan has been like this for a while but who is stopping him and his name is master g. Master g is the protector of earth and the universe and is also a god and has been stopping master b plan for billions of years and is trying to stop his rein, but they can't because no one knows where master b lives not even master g so in order to know where he lives master g needs to have the box of power and if he does he has to kill and take the soul and put into the box and then kill him and win. While Michael doesn't know that he immediately switches his attention to the robots since the rest of the gang are dead and the riders are dead too, and the robots attack first by shoot at them but they all miss but they all attack again doing the same attack but they miss but one of the bullets hits henry's hand but he is fine because of the adrenaline. Henry tries to fire a rocket launcher but it misfires and one of the robots hits him in the stomach with a powerful attack and almost passes out and he wonders how he hit him so hard and he sees it again but on Sam and Michael and realizes that the attacks don't effect the body so he thinks hard and tries to do it and he hit one the robots in the head and it's head breaks but the robot hits him again but he is ok. What Henry learned is soul attacking and soul protection, attacking is attacking the soul instead of attacking the outside, protecting is putting all your strength into your soul and block the attack to the soul. Henry throws another smoke bomb and escapes. with Sam and Michael. Both of them wake up and Henry says to explain themselves and Michael admits to the whole entire thing and Henry screams at him while knowing the robots are coming but their called off, but he Henry also admits that he is proud that is brave enough to fight robots, demons face off against guns etc, but he also says that he isn't any different then him and he says that they'll face the consequences together and be brothers and they'll always be together.

I'm new here (and to reddit as a whole) and I'm trying to get into writing. I really enjoy it, but I haven't been doing much with it. I want to get feedback/criticism for my work, actually improve, and start taking it more seriously. I mainly do poetry and super short stories and/or essays (stuff that kind of feels like word vomit right now tbh). Do people here offer feedback for that type of stuff??

Read this poem this morning and thought it was too beautiful not too share

“Give me a daughter with your stubborn heart, your even temper, or your enchanted smile, so that when we are gone, the world will find within them all the reasons why I love you.”

Hello! I like writing stories. Like... a lot. I fall in love with my characters and can't stop thinking about the dynamics between them for weeks. To get this kind of inspiration, which ultimately makes me hell consistent, I usually *roleplay* first.

If you are similar to me, you might like this a lot :)
I'm about to explain what I do to roleplay with AI before I write a single word.

The process

I will highlight how my process usually looks like and why it works so well for me. I will frame these as things you can do.

1. Treat roleplay as a no-pressure sandbox
Roleplaying is a game. It puts you in a space where you don't really have to think strategically, just immerse in the world and let events come out naturally. This separates your thinking brain from your creative brain.

I also have a full guide on how to roleplay with AI. People liked it, apparently :)

2. When I write the actual story
Eventually, you will get bored of the roleplay campaign. Or at least it's what happens to me every time. But if you're like me, you'll still be obsessed with the characters and the dynamics. But if you look closer, what you have now is a bunch of ideas to kickstart your writing. All that's happened in the roleplay is still fresh. I usually use those memories as the first events and chapters I write.

How I come up with roleplay ideas

The main bottleneck of my creative flow is actually finding the ideas for the roleplay campaigns. And honestly, these come and go. Some work and some just can't get that initial kick of interest.

But I still have a framework that might help, or simply get you inspired a bit, which is to find your favorite *dynamics*.

I wrote something like this in a comment just a couple days ago. A guy posted a question about whether other people use recurring themes in their stories. Well, I've commented that I do, and I do that a lot. I have a bit of the obsessive personality when it comes to creative enjoyment. I might listen to the same song ten times a day for a week and then get sick of it.

Thing is, the thing that has worked for me is to *investigate* on myself to find what are the recurring themes I like. And I'd pose the same question to you if you're struggling with finding the next idea. If roleplaying is a game and enjoyment is the only discriminator, what is it that stimulates you? Is it the savior/saved dynamic? The bully in a taven hook? Maybe having a party of characters with certain quirks? Take a couple things you know work and add them into your first sketch to kickstart things. It doesn't matter if it seems like throwing in a thousand thing that do not match (for now).

I often find myself removing elements that did not make sense and start again. I remember an old campaign of mine where I was the general of a legion of orcs and mercenaries. I eventually replaced it with an army of disciplined knights and warriors with heavy armor. It was just more fitting.

The tools I use

I would encourage anyone to go and find the tools that make *your* personal process the most natural. But if this can help you find out about new stuff, then enjoy.

As the roleplaying engine, I use my own online tool Tale Companion. It's an all-in-one RPG studio where you can create settings and campaigns and roleplay them with AI. There are lots of tools and the community is cozy and warm on Discord :)

For writing the actual stories, I use Obsidian. I used to go with Notion, but my notes got so big it eventually started lagging (it's built with a non-native library, if you're the code-y type, that's why). Obsidian has also more of the "power-user" feel to it, which I usually prefer.

For media generation in general, I use FalAI. Disclaimer: it's for developers, but its interface is easy if you give it five minutes. This is extremely useful because it's a collection of all media-generating AI models in one place. If you know about openrouter, it's like the same thing but for media. Some of my favourite models are:
- Imagen 4 for generating images
- The new nano-banana (Gemini 2.5 Flash Image) for *editing* images
- Veo 3 for generating videos, but there are also other models that cost less
Yes I like Google's AI models

And last but not least, I use Google AI Studio for any quick questions or inspiration-seeking I might need with my fav model Gemini 2.5 Pro. He's my best friend at this point. He knows a lot of stuff, understands everything, can be creative, and does anything you ask. If I need inspiration for a story, ideas for a character, or help me spot grammatical errors in this Reddit post, it does the job.

That's it. This is everything I do to have fun while finding new ideas for my stories. I have a blast, I love my stories, and everything works. Sometimes it gets tricky, especially if inspiration flees or if AI breaks immersion with its weird patterns. But nothing that a couple days break can't fix.

I'd love to hear your thoughts and even learn from your process. What's something you don't like about my process? What's the biggest bottleneck you face when trying to create stories? Is it the initial idea, the middle, the finishing it?

Let's talk let's talk

Grow and old sleep and wake up but all the time is your journey to how you move like a time every seconds and minute all is important to your life beacause you realize in real time that is all a dream?

At the foot of the Catskill Mountains lies a small, seemingly insignificant town, populated by a handful of families that goes back several decades. Chester's Hollow has a population of less than 30,000. Everybody knows everybody, and there are few secrets. Passersby are exactly that, people who pass by. There is nothing worthwhile to see in Chester's Hollow. If you don't work at Pop Benson's Auto Parts, the Grand Deal Supermarket, the Post Office, or Q's Balls N Stix, the chances are you're retired, on welfare or you work out of town. Walter Benson is the proprietor of Pop Benson's Auto Parts. He inherited the business from his father. The business is dependent upon young boosters from Brooklyn and Manhattan who have the mechanical aptitude to break down any car in seconds and strip it of all its major components. Parts are easier to move as pick and pull rather than entire stolen vehicles, which are more easily traceable. The Grand Deal barely qualifies as a supermarket, since twenty percent of its shelves are empty. Most of the residents, who work out of town, usually do their shopping in the larger cities on their way home from work.

In the back of Qs Balls and Stix, a rousing game of stud poker is underway. The owner, Quinn Benson, the only son of Pop Benson, and proprietor of Q's, presides over the activity. The usual cast of characters are in the throes of an epic game. Snake Willis, Bad Blood Allen, Lil' Bit, Mad Harry Oliver are all deeply engrossed. Quinn absently scratches at the small scar on his chin. A tall, mysterious stranger makes his way to the table. Aretha is playing on the turntable. Cherry Red apologizes to Quinn, explaining the stranger forced his way in. Guns are drawn. Quinn interrogates the stranger and after satisfactorily vetting him, allows him to play. The game progresses throughout the night.  Eventually, Quinn and the stranger are the only two remaining.

Quinn has a pair of twos and a Jack of Spades. His hole card is a deuce. The stranger is showing two pair, sixes over threes. Quinn goes all in. The stranger protests, since he can't match. Quinn has been eyeing the stranger's ruby studded diamond ring all night. He demands the stranger put up his ring. The stranger balks, issuing a dire warning about the ring's malevolent powers. "This ring is worth more than your entire shitty establishment," growls the stranger."  Quinn warns the stranger, that failure to match the pot could have fatal consequences. Several guns are revealed, all pointing at the newcomer. The stranger reluctantly acquiesces and tells Q, he will add the ring to the pot, should he lose.

The final card is exposed. It's a Queen of Hearts. Quinn laughs and reaches for the pot "Three deuces," he exclaims, revealing his hole card. "Not so fast," responds the stranger. He flips over his hole card, showing a three of clubs. Full House. He gathers up his winnings and as he turns to leave, Quinn shoots him in the back. Quinn recovers the winnings. He tries to slide the ring off of the dead man's finger. No amount of pulling and tugging seems to work. He looks over at Mad Harry and directs him to cut the offending finger off. "Get that ring, then get rid of the body." The ever obedient Harry does as he is told, then he and Ben Willis carry the corpse out of the pool hall.  "Boss, I got bad news," whimpers Mad Harry. "I cut off his finger, but the ring won't budge. It's as if it is spliced to his finger. I can't tell where the ring ends and his flesh begins."  "Do I gotta tell you every step, idiot? Take it to my father's shop and have him separate it. I want that ring yesterday. Got it?", yelled Q.

At the auto parts shop, Mad Harry explains to Pop the difficulty of extracting the ring from the severed finger. Pop chuckles, "That son of mine. When are you gonna stop doing his bidding?  Bring it here, let's see what we can do." After unsuccessfully using an awl  and hammer, Pop borrowed a piercing saw from Kelsey Briggs, his jeweler friend. He was able to separate the ring. He then sent Mad Harry to have Briggs clean and polish the ring.

"Here it is, boss. Good as new," groveled Harry. Q slipped the ring on his finger. "This is an incredible piece of jewelry," offered Q. "It's gotta be at least four carats. It fits my finger perfectly."

Several days pass. Pop Benson receives a visitor. He introduces himself as Giuseppe Conti. He's inquiring about an associate who recently moved to the area. "Im looking for my friend Alfonso Diamati. He moved here from Jersey a couple weeks ago. I haven't heard from him, and he's not answering his phone, so I'm a little worried." He provided a description,which matched the description of the man who was killed at Q's Balls N Stix. " He has a penchant for gambling. Have you seen him?" "No. This burg is so small, I woulda know that a stranger from Jersey moved here. Perhaps you're mistaken. Maybe he moved to another town. There are tons of towns here at the foot of the Catskills." "Yeah, perhaps you're right. Alright, then thank you."

As Giuseppe walked towards his car, he noticed a pool hall down at the end of the block. If Alfonso went anywhere in this town, it would have been there. He changed directions and ambled towards Q's Balls N Stix. Pop, having watched the whole scene, immediately got on the phone with his son. "You better hide the ring. This guy could be trouble."

Q tried removing the ring. No luck, it was one too tight. He poured liquid soap on his finger, but the ring wouldn't budge. When Giuseppe reached the pool hall, Q met him at the front door. "Welcome to Q's Balls N Stix. You must be new to the area. I haven't seen you around here before." He didn't offer to shake, as both his hands were buried deep in his pockets. "Sorry, but I ain't here for the entertainment. I'm looking for a friend. Big fella, goes by the name of Alfonso. "No. We don't get many strangers around here. If he came by, I would’ve remembered." A pinprick of pain jabbed his ring finger, and a slight tingling raced up his arm. He ignored it. "Listen, I'm gonna believe you for now. I got no choice. But if I find out you're lying, I'm coming back, and I'll turn your little paradise into rubbish. I'll just leave you with this. Alfonso is a connected guy over in Jersey. We know for a fact, he took up residence in this town. The bosses will leave no stone unturned in finding one of their own. Capiche?" Q tried keeping his composure. He knew if the Jersey family came to Chester's Hollow, they would indeed demolish it along with everyone in it. Yet, he couldn't show fear. " Hey yo, man. Ain't you coming on a little too strong? I said I ain't seen him. That should end it. Now get your bitch ass up out of here!" With that, several of Q's henchmen appeared out of nowhere. Although they didn't display it, Giuseppe sensed they were heavily armed. He handed Q a card with his phone number. "If you come across anything, give me a call."

Inside the pool hall, everyone was all abuzz. Bad  Blood Allen said, "Damned that was some authentic mafia shit. What are we going to do if he comes back? Shit Q, man, weren't you scared?" "Hello no. Those sissies don't scare me." The pain in his ring finger started up again, this time with a little more intensity. "Harry, you didn't tell me where you disposed of his body, and I don't want to know. Just tell me that it will never be found." "No worries boss, it'll never be found." "Bad Blood, Snake, you two follow his car. Make sure he doesn't get back to Jersey."

The Stranger in Apartment 6. "7 days of creeping tension."

Chapter Seven: The Truth Behind the Door

Maya’s chest heaved as she stood between the two doors. Her apartment, or his.

The hallway was silent, endless, the air heavy like it was waiting for her choice.

Then came the sound.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It came from her own door this time. Slow. Mocking. She spun, gripping the knife tighter.

The voice whispered again, close enough to feel hot against her ear: “Open it.”

Her shaking hand reached for her doorknob. She yanked it open, and screamed.

Inside was not her apartment. No couch. No bed. No windows. Only fire. A charred, blackened ruin of Hollow Pines Apartments, exactly as it must have looked ten years ago. The walls were dripping with ash. Burned furniture sagged in melted heaps.

And there, in the middle of the ruin, was a scorched body lying in the same spot as her bed. A woman’s body. Her body.

Her breath caught in her throat. She stumbled back. “No… no, that’s not.”

The stranger’s footsteps echoed behind her. Slow. Heavy. Final.

She turned, and he was closer now, his ember eyes locked onto hers. His charred mouth twisted into something like a smile.

“You’ve been here before, Maya,” he rasped. “You never left.”

Memories flooded in, a night years ago, the smell of smoke, the heat, the screaming. Her own screaming. The fire consuming everything.

She wasn’t the neighbor. She was the one who died in Apartment 6.

The walls around her groaned. The air rippled with heat. The last thing she heard before the flames closed in was his voice, low and final:

“Welcome home.”

And then, blackness.

Phase 1: I’m going to write the greatest space epic with some romance story that anyone has ever read.

Phase 2: write 18k words of 5 books from third person omniscient pov that goes from soft sci fi to hardcore romance.

Phase 3: thinking I can then add third person perspective pov for every character for every chapter so each character can experience everything making the book 2000 pages.

Phase 4: changing it so each pov is its own part of the story all well ignoring major plot holes and formats.

Phase 5: realizing that it’s not good sci fi because I don’t know enough science nor a good romance because it doesn’t follow any of the tropes nor a good story for that matter.

Phase 6: lost unsure of what to do next. This is the only story I’ve ever tried to write. I don’t want to give up but I don’t think anyone will like it.

Mods do nothing about the slop spam. Fuck this sub.

Arla squinted and held her breath as she looked down at the crowd below. Even from nearly a hundred meters up, the muffled, beastly sounds still reached her—disgusting, gut-churning murmurs. She wiped the sweat from beneath her eye with the back of her hand and reached for the cigarette between her lips. With the inhale, the rusty, metallic taste of synthetic tobacco spread through her lungs.

Her cropped hair was blown into her face by the wind and her blue eyes stared down at the chaos below with a gaze sharp enough to pierce through it. The lines on her face still carried faint traces of softness, but in that moment, there was no tenderness left in her skin or posture. It was as if the armor had burned away whatever gentleness had remained, leaving only a machine beneath.

Down below, hundreds of people exiled from Earth’s wreckage and crammed onto Mars were shouting—most of them without even knowing exactly what they were protesting. Their faces, drowned in filth and spewing hatred, wore an anger so primal it could’ve belonged to beasts. Arla took one last drag. She stubbed the cigarette out against her armor, strapped on her mask, and picked up the rifle resting beside her. She brought her eye to the scope.

At the front, there were far too few police officers to handle such a crowd, and five sluggish patrol vehicles clumsily escorted them. They were moving forward in a V-formation, like migrating birds. But this wasn’t order—it was instinctual chaos. Glass was shattering, benches were toppling, cars were being torn apart. The police just stood by, even acting like they were protecting the mob.

Further back was the main body of the crowd. Men’s faces buried under months of unshaved beards. Women’s greasy hair, the filth stuck to the skin of children. Skin cracked and burned under the Martian sun. That sight alone would be enough to make me vomit up the synthetic cheese and bun I had this morning, she thought. If this is what it looks like, what the hell must it smell like?

She moved her armored finger to the trigger. Touched it. The metal was cold. She didn’t press down. Not yet. She had to wait.
They would all be dead soon, anyway.

I don’t have many friends who would understand the writing life, so would like to share a small win here with other writers. I recently shared the first chapters of my manuscript with a publisher and this week I heard back from her. She asked if I had more for her to read because once she started reading she couldn’t put it down! [giddy scream here!]

I really had no confidence that my work was any good. And I have been harassing ChatGPT to seek validation for the longest time. But deep down I knew that it would never tell it to my face if my work was bad. So, hearing from an actual publisher is a big thing!

It’s been years since I wrote anything original, over the past year I’ve been disappointed in myself so many times because of my usage of AI, I would like to start, but every time I feel as if I’m ready to learn, I remember. “Oh, you used AI, people won’t respect that, you’ll never be good because of that.” Cause after I first used it, I started to worry about people’s opinions about AI in, I can’t really tell if it was the worst decision I’ve made or the best according to what I’ve seen others say. I seen just how much people hate this, and I equated it to what I felt as my worthiness of being a writer. It’s been awful man, I can’t seem to forgive myself for it, because I’ve used my ideas with stories I’ve been wanting to write before I used AI. Over time seeing how much people hate the use of AI made me realize that maybe I’m not cut for and maybe I should just quit. I’ve been wanting to write since I was like 14-15, being 22 now, it’s hard for me to get started with continuing off the ideas I had already because I used them in AI. I’ve thought about scrapping everything and starting on different series instead to salvage what credibility I could have left as a potential writer. Over this time I’ve been growing away from writing as a passion for myself due to these things. I’ve decided that it might not be worth, but I don’t want to quit. Any helpful advice or encouragement is greatly appreciated and welcome. What is NOT welcome or tolerated here is hate, racism, flames or people backing the use of AI in writing, that’s the opposite of what I’m trying to do.