Mike Carss

Thanks. More recently I've been using Stable Diffusion for my cover art. I've updated my story pages accordingly.

In my experience, when I used ChatGPT or Claude to review for grammar errors, it's never pointed out technically incorrect character speech as a problem. It understands the distinction, sometimes pointing it out but then saying it fits their style of speaking. Your professor was indeed correct, but word processor spell/grammar checks don't compare to using AI for review. I've also used NotebookLM to review entire manuscripts for plot holes or inconsistencies. As an example, early in a story there was a mention of a turnip farmer. Five chapters later, I'd mistakenly written beet farmer. I was blown away that it caught such a tiny mistake, missed by myself and a beta reader. That said, it's far from perfect. A number of "plot holes" it found were misunderstandings in the nuance of my writing. For example, it took a character's comment as fact, when it was just a friendly compliment. I know using AI in creative arts is a hotly debated topic. There are those who've embraced it, others who've outright vilified it. I'm in the middle. I see it simply as a tool. Sure, there are people out there using AI to write for them. I'm a musician and there's plenty of "AI artists" out there. I just shrug my shoulders. I feel like the people creating entirely with AI are missing the point of creating in the first place. Creating art shouldn't be easy. It should take time. That's the pleasure of it. I don't mean to derail the conversion. Circling back to @CarlAccolla's concern about doubt in their work, I can absolutely relate. But what I've found is using AI as a sounding board has raised my confidence in my work because it catches errors I'm often blind to. If you're curious to dabble, I recommend Claude over ChatGPT. I've found ChatGPT to be less helpful and miss errors that Claude found.

That's the ultimate goal in the overall story I want to tell. ♥️

Yes, that would be the right course of action. Hopefully he'll tell him before Graeme inadvertently finds out on his own. But, knowing how I generally write, I doubt Sam will make the right choice.

In the third part, we'll witness an outburst from Graeme that will shine a light on his own trauma (it was hinted at early in the first part), and we'll finally learn how he sustained those terrible burns.

The afternoon bustled with relentless activity. After departing the inn, Sam and Graeme retrieved Winx and Tusk from the stables in the rear. Given the horses had been sheltered there since their arrival days earlier, both were eager to get moving again. The watchmen escorted them to the safety of Blakenhall Keep, accompanied by the three scoundrels in custody. Duncan received them enthusiastically, confessing their investigation had proved more helpful than he’d dared hope. That was despit

Haha! I thought the same thing while writing it. FWIW, the guard is trustworthy.

Graeme’s gaze swept the streets for hidden threats while marshalling Sam east toward the town market. The effects of the gryphon ash in Sam’s system twisted his instincts into knots of contradiction, making it difficult to understand Graeme’s wariness. “Shouldn’t we be okay?” Sam asked. “We made it out.” “We are still very much at risk, Sam. A guard escaped. Doubtless that woman is aware we’ve managed to free ourselves. There’s no telling how many men she has in her employ. They know o

A hush swept through the cramped room, every eye drawn to Rafe. Camilla’s expression sharpened in indignation as she glared at him, then pointed to Sam. “You know him?” The big man held the silence. His eyes darted uneasily at the guards, but now, none would return his gaze. “Wait!” she cried. “Is this the guy from last night?” “Yes, madame,” he managed to choke out. She gestured wildly at Sam and Graeme as she continued to berate Rafe. “All this is your damned fault. So

I feel seen. I remember a time when I could make mental reminders to do something, and my brain would never fail me. Now, in my late 40s, I can't trust my brain to cooperate. Remember when PDAs were a thing? Being a tech nerd, I bought one, but never ended up using it to its full potential because at that time I didn't need it. Oh, how things have changed. At least we can commiserate in solidarity.

Absolutely. However, the previous chapter explains their decision (even though it wasn't the right choice in the end). “Should we wait until tonight?” Graeme tilted his head as he considered. “It must be a legitimate business, so unlike this private warehouse, visitors ought not to be denied entry. Moreover, caught trespassing during the day would probably result in a request to leave. After dark would promise a far worse fate.”

You're looking at this from an analytical perspective, not one where you need to make a snap judgements as the situation changes second to second. Did Sam and Graeme take a great risk in going down there in the first place? Of course they did. Was it a mistake? Sure, but that's kind of the point. I'm trying to tell a gripping story, and that'd be difficult to achieve if the characters were always playing it safe. You've been reading my stories since I started posting here, so I assume you enjoy them overall, but more than once you've "complained" that the characters acted foolishly. Complained is in quotes because I tried to learn from your comments, but I've no interest in writing stories about characters that always make the right choices. That'd be boring, wouldn't it? For this particular scene, I think we can agree to disagree on Graeme's decision to break through a smaller number of men rather than attempt to take them all on. 😅

I agree moving to a better place to maneuver makes sense, but is it not clear they were surrounded in the stairwell? There's nowhere to retreat to. And doesn't it make more sense to push three men out of the way rather than attempting to retreat back to the basement and deal with seven men instead?

They were trapped in the stairwell with men on both sides. Better to push ahead and attempt escape than get trapped in the basement.

The citizens of Blakenhall continued to prove themselves considerate and friendly, offering directions to the glassworks with a smile. It stood on the western outskirts of town alongside other industrial establishments. Rather than streets lined with buildings, each operation stood alone. With fire and forges central to their craft, the reasoning was clear. A fire sparked here would find difficulty in spreading. The familiar ring of a blacksmith’s hammer echoed in the distance, bringing Mr Kent—