Moremysteries - There Are More Mysteries Than Tragedies

All of my work to date (1,300,000+ words) has been scraped and added to a dataset shared in multiple places online for the purpose of training Generative AI. If you write fanfic, yours probably has too.

It's years of work—countless hours—countless body aches, missed meals and lost sleep. All of it, for free. For joy, for the love of it. For your love of it—and someone felt entitled to take that and use it for their own personal gain. For profit.

As a writer, it's hard not to be angry about that. I do however, think it's important to highlight this:

Generative AI will never replace us.

AI can't make you feel what I make you feel—what any other writer on earth can make you feel—because real emotion, real connection and real storytelling comes from the heart and it doesn't have one.

AI has never felt hopeless, it's never felt alone, or burdened, or in love, or so ecstatically happy it could cry. It doesn't know grief, it doesn't know joy, it knows simple binary code—zeros and ones, and that's all.

The joy of literature is in connection and in our humanity, and call me sentimental, but that is something that cannot be taught.

WIP: On Account of Lost Adventures

"A woman takes on the hefty task of setting legends straight by interviewing those used for their inspiration."

Genre - Gaslamp Fantasy Epolistary Fiction

Setting - All across Guinevere, a country in the world of Gen'Fa'Sett.

Goals - Novel Around w/ 40,000< Words

Summary — Those who leave their mark on history are never forgotten. But what about the people who got them there? An overachieving grad student is the only one who seems to care.

She strives to be known under the pen name Ms. Quill by piecing together the origins of Champions, deities who once walked among mortals. While studying her country's history concerning demi-gods, she finds evidence that a local politician once strived to become one himself. The only problem is that his past self is supposed to be dead.

Quill believes the truth can be found beyond the rumors, using faded memories from adventurers' past. Recorded conversations, salvaged diaries, and torn logs all sew themselves into her new tapestry, one that begs questions that can't be all answered.

Tags: Victorian Era Inspired, Heavy Worldbuilding Focus, Black Woman Protagonist, LGBT Characters, Magi-Tech, Flashbacks to Sword and Scorery Tropes, A Chosen One Falling to Hubris

The Interviewer:

Ms. Quill - Human History Major - She/Her Under the encouragement of her favorite professor, Quill becomes dedicated to researching the origins of those who make up the Minor Arcana, the mythology that the Champions belong to. In her search, a thread ties itself to Guinevere's most powerful politician in its capital. Determined, a bit out of her depth, and ready to sacrifice any social standings for her project, Ms. Quill works hard for her story.

The Interviewees:

Roman Scurrier - Quarterling Activist - She/Her Roman left behind a life of petty crimes to begin anew. Used to being looked down upon, she never made an effort to care about good standings among others. Now, she is fighting against a resolution that will heavily affect the Quarterling population in Guinevere, worsening lives already undervalued by most. Although her self-worth has improved, her base values haven't changed. Even during her days as a roguish criminal, Roman believed in supporting those in need through any means possible.

Corrin Enniaun - Human Retired Paladin - He/Him Currently residing in the offshore Northern Isles of Guinevere, he long left behind adventuring to watch over the new generations of his house name, which is devoted to the creator god Fa'. His sect, in particular, is known for its conservative religious roots. Corrin has done much work to destroy what he considers "compulsions," dreading what would happen if his progress becomes undone. He will not respond to any mention of who he once was, believing his past self to be a disgrace to the god he follows.

Mokosh, Clan Niketas - Orcan Trade Magnate - She/Her Sterling of all seas, the Niketas Trading Company is on the lips of all who require the finest exports from various continents. It wouldn't be there without Mokosh's input. She wants to be proud of who she became. Her clan depends on it. Yet she can't bring herself to. A life that was once hers passes by too fast, strained through stuffy galas and endless meetings. It used to be real, blood-bleeding-from-knuckles real. But tradition has a stronger call than adventures.

Sera of Gen's Glade - Elven Archivist - They/Them After dedicating decades to the craft of magic, Sera begins losing what they were once taught. Among those memories, they cannot recall their life before immigrating to Guinevere. This form of memory loss is expected in elves but is premature for one their age. It frustrates them to no end. They turn to collect the knowledge of others, an interest that guides Sera to come to terms with what they lost. Their archive is open to all curious and willing to connect to the past.

Basilica Arthur Daubney - Human Linchpin - He/Him Arthur originally made headlines as one of Guinevere's youngest to rise to power. As the State/Federal Forum's main head, he has legislative power in spades. His past is shrouded in a heavy fog, and what pieces he does give feel rehearsed. This has created many stories around his reputation, with citizens of every creed forming their own truths about him. He pays no mind to this. Only his best interests are taken to heart, keeping the upper class happy and everyone else suffering under his thumb.

Other Voices:

Professor Blackwell - Ms.Quill's Mentor - He/Him Scholarly voice of reason and editor of Quill's future publication. His footnotes are featured throughout her account.

The Advisor - Arthur's Human Second in Command - She/Her A charming socialite with a fascinating intellect. As if that's what she wants you to believe, so your guard is down.

IRIS - Spoilers Disguised As Memes [PART 3]

This is the fourth and last option of the community poll. Next up: yet another poll! If you wish to choose what to see next, join us!

Work on IRIS the remaster has officially began! Content is shown on the B/T community a couple days prior blog posts.

IRIS' L. is the placeholder title for an upcoming (Teen bordering on Young Adult) book: a portal fantasy, whimsical story with teen drama, mystery, venturing and body horror. It is part of the Creation And Destruction (Standalone) Tetralogy, the very first installment of the first BAD TOKENS story.

Infernal Serenade Snippet - Mother's Day Edition

You know what? For Mother's day, shout out to Quentin's mom Iris. She was such a loving, queer friendly, and all around wonderful person. She helped Quentin become the wonderfully kind and tolerant person he is at the start of Infernal Serenade. Here's a little snippet of her from the first book, a memory of her sticking up for Quentin after he got into a fight with an ableist and homophobic peer in high school:

I still remember how my mother looked back then, hair cut though she was letting it grow out, with a business top and slacks. At the time, I had grown used to the sight, not realizing she would quit that job in only a month’s time.... ...I would have laughed at the loud, whiny voice coming from the other line if it wasn’t directed at her. From the entryway, I could only hear a few choice words and they certainly weren’t pretty. Still, she nodded along, looking as intimidated by it as a dog was to a tiny grasshopper. That is to say, not in the slightest... “With all due respect, Mrs. Bria, if your child wasn’t calling mine…let’s see, what did he say again? Right, he called him a loony and a faggot, [Quentin] probably wouldn’t feel the need to retaliate...But, if I’m going to talk to my son about it, the least you can do is talk to your son about the language he is deciding to use with his classmates...No Mrs. Bria, I don’t think it has anything to do with them being boys. Could you please just talk to him?”

Ooo this has me so intrigued! I did not see that last part coming at all. /pos

Spooky Short Story in a Forest

"This is as far as I can take you." The man driving the taxi said as he placed the car into park on the outskirts of a lush forest. A forest that very clearly has a path wide enough for a car to drive on.

"What do you mean? Can't you drive through?" The man was looking out the car's windshield, he looked like he didn't want to deal with customers anymore.

"No. Cash or card?" He says it with a finality that makes me give up on my curiosity enough to dig out the needed cash and hand it to him. I pushed the car door open and as soon as I stepped out and shut the door, he started zooming away. I turn my head to look at the forest. Hiking my bag higher up on my shoulder, I start walking towards its entrance. When there's a will, there's a way, and I need to get to my hotel at some point today. With each step that takes me farther into the forest, my footfalls get heavier and the impact my feet have on the ground makes bigger and bigger clouds of dirt on the path. With each step, I feel a greater need to go deeper into the forest. The dense fog of leaves over the tops of the trees block the light of the sun, clouding the interior of the forest in a kind of darkness that usually only comes at night. I pull out my phone and use it as a flashlight, which doesn't prevent me from getting my foot caught in a root that grew in the middle of the path. As I lay sprawled on the dirty ground, I feel my resentment for the taxi driver grow, and now, with a bruised ego and a skinned knee, I decide to take a break. I pick myself up, walk over to a tree off to the side of the path, and drop to the floor with my bag. With my back leaning against the hard surface of the tree's trunk, I take a deep breath in. I let my eyes slip closed as I take a few more deep breaths.

"Help!" My eyes shoot open. There are quick footsteps pounding against the forest floor. A young man came from the direction of the scream. "Help!" I scrambled up off the ground, briefly forgetting how to use my legs. Following closely behind the young man is a larger man dressed in black. I quickly looked around for something I could use to defend myself, the only feasible option being a branch that had broken off of the tree I was resting at. It was about the same length and width of my arm, and when I picked it up it seemed to be as sturdy as a baseball bat. During my search, the larger man had knocked the young man to the ground, pinning him with black clad limbs. The young man was struggling to get away, moving this way and that like a mouse caught in a trap. I move as quickly and quietly as I can, stopping just behind the larger man. I raise the branch up high over my head and bring it down with every ounce of force in my body. There is no impact. The branch falls straight through the man's body, hitting and creating a dent in the ground.

"What?" I gasped, forgetting about being quiet. It doesn't take long after that for the young man's screams of terror to turn into screams of agony. All I could do was watch as a knife was plunged into the young man over and over again, creating a pool of blood that just got bigger and bigger. As the man's screams die out, both men start to become translucent. My mouth hangs open as they become more and more transparent until they're completely gone. Slowly, I turn my back and head back to the tree to grab my bag. There's a jack rabbit in my chest as a bend down. At the base of the tree, there's a name. Adam.

I don't know the context but aw, they have such a sweet relationship. /gen

Chapter 3

363 words

Caellon was lying on his bed on his back, hanging off the edge of it with Aelarias politely sitting next to him.

“You need not worry so much over such things, Aelarias, it's not even your job.” “Oh but I must, you're such an optimistic dolt that you would never consider such worldly things and your siblings just baby you so.” 

Aelarias poked Cael’s side at ‘dolt’ to add some form of emphasis before his smile drifted. “You wouldn’t have ordered me here if you weren’t in need of counsel.” He added in a more severe tone. Cael had flinched away at the harsh contact but didn’t argue against his claim instead Cael nodded solemnly and sat up. “It's an awful lot to do, Osiian doesn't hate it, but she’s the oldest, mum's right hand, it just feels like an average Tuesday for her. Eirion doesn't like that it cuts in on his sparing time with the knights but he doesn't kick up too much of a fuss about it.” He paused for a moment.

 “Rhydes has always enjoyed the diplomatic aspect of her role, she likes chatting with our ladies and lords as well as the common folk, gives us a ‘grander perspective of the goings on’ she says. Of course Taliesin is taking it in stride as per usual, and I'm doing alright I suppose, it's definitely more work than I'm used to though…” Cael trailed off at the end of his sentence, turning his gaze and attention to his hands.

“Well I’m here for one  reason or another aren't I? I’ll help with the workload for a bit, till you get your legs back under you eh?” Aelarias gave him a fairly gentle nudge with his elbow and the pensive frown on Cael’s face finally flickered back to a smile. 

“Yeah, I suppose you are.” He grabbed his friend into a fairly tight hug. “There we go.. good on you.” Aelarias murmured as he returned the gesture and slowly pulled the two of them to standing. “Your mother isn’t set to be gone all that long a while anyhow, you’ll be used to this in no time at all Cael.”

REBLOG IF YOUR BLOG IS A SAFE SPACE FOR AROMANTIC PEOPLE AND IF YOU THINK THEY ARE VALID

I want to see how many people actually are willing to say this and not just act like it

As a college writing major, I am imploring some of you to understand seeing a work in a different way than the author intended is not "media illiteracy". This is not a church and the writer is not the pope.

I am gently encouraging y'all, if you think this, to look into literary theories, because then you will realize there are multiple valid ways to study and interpret a work. And guess what? Some of these theories do not explore the author's original intent at all, but rather let the work speak for itself. That is a valid way of reading a work just as much as researching the writer's intent or background. I am especially concerned about this attitude I am seeing in the younger generation that there is only one way to interpret a piece of art. That is not the beauty of art.

I am especially tired of seeing posts like this about the classics, usually by individuals who make jokes about how people who don't view a work the way the author intended "need to go back to high school". I do not blame them for this ignorance, but I am begging them to learn about media analysis outside of the high school classroom, because high school only teaches you one way to approach stories.

Also, nothing makes me roll my eyes more than when people yell "media illiteracy" towards someone interpreting a work differently due to their unique experiences. The amount of singlets who yell "media illiteracy" when I, a plural person, try to explain my discomfort towards most possession stories, is so annoying. Like, it isn't an attack, it's sharing a different view point based on my unique perspectives as a plural person. This is a great opportunity to learn about experiences other than your own, not to trounce people.

Original characters are really just a random assortment of personality traits and physical features taken from myself, from people I saw on the street, and from my favourite characters from other people.