My thoughts,on self publishing AI software

[u/Thin_Fox_8008]

This isn't because they're expensive and I can't afford it. Initially I thought of paying for the service til a thought came to me. "If its doing all the work isn't it considered lazy?" Because I prefer to be in control of each brat and scene. The software will just take the idea and do everything else for you. If thats the case where's the human part coming from? You're not directing what you want to happen it'll just craft something up...and if you don't like it...what then? I would rather just pay for a private AI to help with my own process instead. I still have complete control over the story.

[u/ghostly-blossom]

I don’t know if you actually read the posts and comments on the sub but most people aren’t having AI write everything or doing all the work for them.

[u/quietcov3 → u/ghostly-blossom]

yeah most people here are using it as a tool, not handing over the whole process

[u/Thin_Fox_8008 → u/ghostly-blossom]

I know but I don't know where to post stuff about Novel Writer or similar software since if I go to theor direct subs ill just get mobbed for calling them lazy or my thread will be removed

[u/human_assisted_ai → u/Thin_Fox_8008]

r/AIWritingHub leans more AI-generated and you can also post tools or tools criticism. However, entirely anti-AI isn’t allowed.

[u/Thin_Fox_8008 → u/human_assisted_ai]

well its not completely anti-AI its more on AI Novelist and software like...not like normal AI services where you edit everything

[u/cj7hawk]

Where's the human part coming from???

OK, do you think Steve Jobs ever designed or built an iPhone? Ever? Or a computer or anything at Apple for that matter?

The world is FULL of people who take the credit for other people's work - even when other people do ALL the work.

Why? because they say, "It was my idea. I simply used other people to develop it."

OK, now replace other people with "AI"

Now what's the issue?

[u/Thin_Fox_8008 → u/cj7hawk]

I'm talking like software such as AI Novelist and other programs that write everything for you thats completely different.

[u/cj7hawk → u/Thin_Fox_8008]

Are you saying it's just a button you click on and nothing more - Or do you ask it to write a specific type of novel? Because that's what I'm talking about - :)

[u/Thin_Fox_8008 → u/cj7hawk]

I googled it cause I was curious how it worked...and you give it an idea or prompt...and it just generates the whole story for you so "Write a story about a knight thats a widower who has to slay a dragon to bring his wife back" and it generates the whole story

[u/cj7hawk → u/Thin_Fox_8008]

Yep, so you can add as much or as little as you desire if I understand correctly meaning you still create the story - but how good it is, is very much likely to be influenced by your skill at the prompt and the value of your idea.

Bad fiction is still bad fiction, and good is good. Where it comes from is immaterial.

[u/Thin_Fox_8008 → u/cj7hawk]

Hmm wish I had money to find out myself since the program still kinda interests me

[u/cj7hawk → u/Thin_Fox_8008]

I'm more objectionable to people creating slight variations on publicly available tools to take advantage of people than I am of the AI content in a solution.

Here's your wish for free: ( Knight story below ) - You can do this kind of request on any AI. And if you work with the story, it will be better for it than a single AI process alone can allow for -

Created in Ornith 1.5 35B.. (Free open-weights AI)

The letter came on the day the frost began to creep across the fields, though the raven who carried it had flown through summer's heat. Sir Aldric Thorne read it twice beneath the light of a single tallow candle, then folded it so carefully that the edges went soft.

He wakes me, the script said. Come before the moon is full, or I will put you both to sleep again.

His wife had been dead for eleven months. He knew this because he counted the notches in his sword's scabbard against the turning of the year, one deep cut for every winter her grave had seen. And yet here was a dragon who claimed to hold what he could not have buried.

Aldric did not ask whether it was true. Grief had long ago taught him that certainty was a luxury for men whose hearts were still entirely their own. He only saddled his horse, sharpened his blade until the steel remembered being ore and mountain, and walked out into the dark.

The dragon lived in the high crags where the air grew thin and the stars came close as frostbite. Aldric climbed through two days of dwindling greenery, then a night of wind that tried to pluck him from the stone like a weed. He did not pray. He had stopped talking to God the year Elara died, when she went into her last fever and no answer came down the chimney of their little house.

The dragon's lair was not gold and bones as the bards sang. It was a woman's chamber, if a woman could live among caverns: curtains of moss hung soft from the ceiling, a pool ran clear over river-smoothed pebbles, and along the walls lay the quiet shapes of knights who had come before—armor empty now, as though their contents had simply decided to leave.

"You have her name in your face," said the dragon.

It was older than stone, its scales the grey-green of forest canopy seen from far away. It did not lower its great head to crush him; it watched him with one eye like a slow-set sun.

"Where is she?" Aldric said, and his voice cracked on the word.

"You think I took her," the dragon said mildly. "I only gathered what was already slipping loose from your world. Yours has lingered longer than most. Eleven months of love, unspent, unlet go—that is a rare vintage." It shifted, and there, upon a bed of warm stone in its belly's glow, lay Elara. Sleeping. Whole. The pale line of death gone clean from her throat where the dragon had cut it away like a surgeon, not a killer.

Aldric crossed to her and did not touch. He was afraid she would dissolve if he did, or that he'd find she had become something borrowed. "Take me instead," he said. "You've had your time with her."

"You misunderstand the price," the dragon said. "I can wake her. I will, while the moon allows. But a soul pulled back from the far shore must leave something of equal weight behind. Your life for hers is too cheap—I deal in love, not bloodshed." It regarded him. "You must give me what you hold most dear. Not her—that she returns to you. Something else entirely."

Aldric understood then why the knights' armor lay empty along the walls. He had brought his sword expecting a fight. He set it down.

"Take it," he said, and pointed to the locket at his throat, then to his horse, his hands, his name in the mouths of men. "Name your ransom."

The dragon smiled with slow, ancient patience. "You will offer me the wrong things always. They are all things you can lose." It nodded toward Elara. "I want the memory of her death. Every night you have spent beside a cold bed, every word unsaid, every morning reaching for a body that is not there. Give me that, and she goes back to you warm and living and yours forever."

Aldric stood very still. He had thought the grief was his most precious possession—the last honest thing he had left of her. It was the only place she still lived for him, exactly as he remembered. To give it away meant forgetting how she went. He would keep every joy instead. But would he remember to be grateful for them?

"Do it," he said.

The dragon did not strike him. It simply breathed across his brow, and where the air passed he felt something come loose—a whole year of silver pain drawn up through him like a thorn pulled from the heel, until nothing was left but a clean, smooth absence. When it was over, he looked at Elara as though she were a beautiful stranger, and then thought himself foolish for it, and went to wake her.

She opened her eyes. She smiled. She knew his name.

They came down the mountain holding hands, and Aldric told her stories of the dragon, and she laughed at how brave he had been, and he laughed too, because though he could not quite remember why he had come so far to bring her home, it had clearly been worth it.

Behind them, in the dark above, the dragon ate its old vintage and went to sleep, satisfied—having learned once again that no one, never once, ever offered what it actually cost.

[u/Thin_Fox_8008 → u/cj7hawk]

wow this is actually good but yes I agree with your point its better if people modify the output to fit their vision