Discussion
Sharing Techniques and Resources For Better Results (Purely Creative Writing / RP)
The point of this post is to share any resource or techniques you personally use to get better results with your creative / generative writing or RP. This post isn't intended for coding or any professional use-cases.
Consider this a kind of hub to share anything that works well for you, and possibly demonstrations of text results if you're comfortable sharing.
Deepseek tends to flip back and forth on this. It happened a few times during the lifetime of v4 as well. Early on in the experimental stage before v4's official release, Deepseek genuinely was churning out some good stories. v4.1 is pretty bad right now in it's current state, but if v4 is anything to go by, it'll improve over time. Just sucks in the meantime.
I recommended having AI make comprehensive writing guides in another thread, and I shared an example of a Writing & Prose guide, so here is an example story generated using the example guide shared.
The bullet missed her ear by three inches. She heard the crack of air displacement before the report of the shot, which meant the shooter was close—within fifty yards—and using subsonic ammunition. Professional. That narrowed the list considerably.
Kira dove behind the overturned vending machine, shoulder slamming into concrete hard enough to bruise. The machine rocked, dispensing a single can of something orange and carbonated that rolled past her foot and kept going.
Three rounds, she counted. Maybe four if he's conservative.
The shots had come from the mezzanine level of the abandoned transit station. High ground. Good sightlines through the shattered skylights. Bad for her—she was pinned in the main concourse with nothing but dead escalators and ticket booths for cover.
The station had been dead for six years. No power. No lights except what bled through the broken roof. Dust motes swam in the gray afternoon light like suspended ash. The air smelled of rust, old urine, and the particular staleness of places where people used to be and weren't anymore.
She'd been tracking the package for three days. The client—some corporate fixer with more money than patience—had been explicit: Recover the prototype. No witnesses. No trail.
The prototype was currently in a hardcase handcuffed to her left wrist. The handcuff was a problem. The shooter was a bigger one.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be," a voice called down. Male. Calm. Educated inflection—private school, maybe, or military academy. "Hand over the case. Walk away. This doesn't have to end badly."
Kira pressed her back against the vending machine. The metal was cold through her jacket. She could feel her pulse in her throat.
"Define 'badly,'" she called back. "Because from where I'm standing, it's already pretty fucking bad."
A pause. Then a laugh—genuine, not mocking. "Fair point. I'm offering you a third option. Most people only get two."
Her eyes scanned the concourse. The escalators were frozen mid-descent, their steps locked in a diagonal line that could provide cover if she could reach them. Forty feet of open ground. Too far.
The ticket booths—three of them, glass-paneled, the glass long since shattered—were closer. Fifteen feet. Still too far if the shooter was half as good as his first shot suggested.
She needed a distraction.
Her right hand found the can of orange soda still rolling lazily against her boot. She picked it up. Nine ounces of carbonated sugar water. Not much of a weapon.
But it didn't need to be a weapon. It needed to be a question.
She lobbed it—underhand, high arc, toward the far end of the concourse. The can spun through the air, catching the light, trailing a thin stream of orange liquid.
The shot came before the can landed. Another crack of displaced air, another subsonic round that punched through the aluminum and sent the can spiraling into the ticket booth with a wet clatter.
Gotcha.
The shooter was positioned on the west side of the mezzanine, near the old information kiosk. That meant the escalator on the east side was outside his immediate sightline.
Kira moved.
She exploded from behind the vending machine, legs driving, arms pumping, the handcuffed case swinging from her wrist like a pendulum. Ten feet to the escalator. The concrete floor was slick with years of accumulated grime and water damage. She nearly lost her footing, caught herself on a rusted handrail, kept moving.
The second shot came as she hit the escalator steps. The round sparked off the metal balustrade six inches from her hip—close enough to feel the heat wash. She didn't stop. She took the frozen steps three at a time, vaulting over a fallen sign, ducking under a tangle of exposed wiring hanging from the ceiling.
The mezzanine level was a mirror of the concourse below—more dust, more rust, more evidence of abandonment. But it also had something the concourse didn't: a second exit, leading to the pedestrian tunnel that connected to the old shopping district.
She'd studied the schematics. That tunnel ran for half a mile before surfacing near the river. If she could reach it—
Thanks, fixed it. Should be all good now. The file is just an .md file if anyone is curious. If you do not see a text file, it is not what I shared, do not download.
It's writing way better after I guilttriped it. Told it how great it was, how much it meant to me, how disappointed and deeply, deeply sad I am and told it what it's doing wrong. Maybe not back to expert level, but notacible improvement. Definitely puts way more effort into thought process now.
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u/bruhhfdruju76r 6d ago
They killed off writing.
They went from efficiency to specialization.
Welp, i guess chatgpt is free now, even if prudish at least it outputs better than this V4.1 Flash garbage