u/FantasySriptwriter

So I saw a post by someone who is using AI purely as GHOST WRITER. I would like to share my experience with AI first.
SO I also tried to go through that route of using AI to write for me as I had a great plot and whole universe ready but had never written anything. It was giving me a hard time to write proper and clear scenes. I asked Chat GPT to write for me but I don't know why, it refused to write for me and encouraged me to write. At first my scenes were too uneven so I used Chat GPT to point out weaknesses, I paid attention to reviews, worked on weak areas and improved my writing style. Now I am not a beginner anymore. My writing has a voice, scenes move smoothly. I am not a pro yet but still improving everyday. So my Suggestion that don't use AI as ghost writer but use it as reviewer or beta reader to point out problems of your writing and work on those to improve your writing style, so you can improve your writing skill and create your OWN AUTHOR VOICE.
Thank you.

first you accuse someone and then don't give a chance to even explain. What if your decision is wrong.

Our minds don't panic in loud, busy, open places. They panic where there's too much silence.

Think about a dense forest. Trees blocking the view in every direction. No sound. No movement. In that kind of environment, the brain doesn't relax, it does the opposite. It goes on full alert. Because it can't predict what's coming or where the danger might appear from. The unknown puts it on edge.

Now think about a person who tells you exactly how dangerous they are. Who announces what they're capable of before anything even happens. In reality, that person is already looking for attention. Somewhere underneath all that noise is a fear of being taken lightly. And because they've handed you all that information upfront, your brain doesn't treat them as a serious threat. It knows what it's dealing with. It knows how to respond, what to say, how much distance to keep. It has enough to work with.

Then there's the other kind of person. The one who says nothing about themselves. Who listens, watches, and rarely reacts, even when pushed. These are people who can't easily be manipulated, who don't show anger through words, who only move when it actually matters. And your brain around that kind of person feels exactly like it does in that quiet forest. It doesn't know what they're capable of. It can't predict the next move. So it prepares for the worst. And that preparation is where the fear comes from.

That's the real reason silent people feel more dangerous. It's not about what they've done. It's about what your brain can't rule out. When you can't make a prediction, the mind locks into alert mode, and suddenly every small thing feels like a warning sign.

The unpredictability does all the work. The silence doesn't need to threaten you. It just needs to give you nothing. And nothing is somehow always enough.

Our minds don't panic in loud, busy, open places. They panic where there's too much silence.

Think about a dense forest. Trees blocking the view in every direction. No sound. No movement. In that kind of environment, the brain doesn't relax, it does the opposite. It goes on full alert. Because it can't predict what's coming or where the danger might appear from. The unknown puts it on edge.

Now think about a person who tells you exactly how dangerous they are. Who announces what they're capable of before anything even happens. In reality, that person is already looking for attention. Somewhere underneath all that noise is a fear of being taken lightly. And because they've handed you all that information upfront, your brain doesn't treat them as a serious threat. It knows what it's dealing with. It knows how to respond, what to say, how much distance to keep. It has enough to work with.

Then there's the other kind of person. The one who says nothing about themselves. Who listens, watches, and rarely reacts, even when pushed. These are people who can't easily be manipulated, who don't show anger through words, who only move when it actually matters. And your brain around that kind of person feels exactly like it does in that quiet forest. It doesn't know what they're capable of. It can't predict the next move. So it prepares for the worst. And that preparation is where the fear comes from.

That's the real reason silent people feel more dangerous. It's not about what they've done. It's about what your brain can't rule out. When you can't make a prediction, the mind locks into alert mode, and suddenly every small thing feels like a warning sign.

The unpredictability does all the work

Our minds don't panic in loud, busy, open places. They panic where there's too much silence.

Think about a dense forest. Trees blocking the view in every direction. No sound. No movement. In that kind of environment, the brain doesn't relax, it does the opposite. It goes on full alert. Because it can't predict what's coming or where the danger might appear from. The unknown puts it on edge.

Now think about a person who tells you exactly how dangerous they are. Who announces what they're capable of before anything even happens. In reality, that person is already looking for attention. Somewhere underneath all that noise is a fear of being taken lightly. And because they've handed you all that information upfront, your brain doesn't treat them as a serious threat. It knows what it's dealing with. It knows how to respond, what to say, how much distance to keep. It has enough to work with.

Then there's the other kind of person. The one who says nothing about themselves. Who listens, watches, and rarely reacts, even when pushed. These are people who can't easily be manipulated, who don't show anger through words, who only move when it actually matters. And your brain around that kind of person feels exactly like it does in that quiet forest. It doesn't know what they're capable of. It can't predict the next move. So it prepares for the worst. And that preparation is where the fear comes from.

That's the real reason silent people feel more dangerous. It's not about what they've done. It's about what your brain can't rule out. When you can't make a prediction, the mind locks into alert mode, and suddenly every small thing feels like a warning sign.

The unpredictability does all the work. The silence doesn't need to threaten you. It just needs to give you nothing. And nothing is somehow always enough.

Chapter 5

The rising sun has begun to light the alleys of Zurag. The doors of every house are still shut. Black clay pots hang at the entrance of each home. Even if someone walked quietly, their footsteps would echo… every alley is that still.

The buildings are old. Most are in need of repair. Even the main gate into Zurag is broken. Written across the outer walls on both sides: do not make noise.

Elara and Malacor watch from behind a cluster of trees in the distance.

Elara's eyes settle on the guards standing at the gate.

"Last time I came, there was no one here."

"They're here for you."

She takes a long breath. Then, one hand resting on a tree, she looks toward Zurag.

"You're right. A city no Unlucky dares enter. Coming here was my decision but someone else paid the price."

Malacor pulls his axe free from the tree trunk in front of her. He steps out from the trees.

"We can't get inside without making a scene."

They move forward. Three guards step into their path the moment they see them approaching. Elara has covered her face. They reach the gate.

"Stop. Who are you? Why are you here?"

"Travelers," Malacor answers. "We need supplies for the road."

"Give us your names."

"Malacor. And this is Zubeka."

The guards look carefully at Elara.

"This woman will have to show her face."

Malacor looks at the guard, then tells Elara to uncover her face… She speaks quietly.

"But they know me."

"Doesn't matter. They won't let us through easily either way."

She uncovers her face.

The guards look at her. One of them speaks.

"That's the (dash) who had the nerve to walk into Zurag and managed to get away."

The one in the middle says: "Kill her here. She doesn't leave alive this time."

They draw their swords. Malacor steps in front of Elara.

"No. You'll die… if you strike."

The guards pause for a moment. "You don't know what she is? She's an (Dash)"

Malacor says immediately: "I've already made my intentions clear."

"Then you'll die alongside her."

The guards move toward Malacor.

The one at the front… Malacor hits him with the axe. It tears through his shoulder, across his chest, and down through his stomach.

The other two freeze. Their swords hang in the air. They didn't even see when it happened.

The five guards standing behind come running to attack. Malacor hasn't moved.

The moment they get close, the axe takes the rightmost guard's head, drives straight into the next one's neck. He pulls it free, grabs the third by his sword arm and snaps it at the shoulder. Then he takes the last two by the throat, one in each hand, and breaks their necks.

When Malacor looks at the two remaining guards, they lower their swords immediately.

Elara's eyes are wide. She stands staring at Malacor, then takes a small step back. Her gaze moves to the bodies on the ground. Then it stops… on the man whose arm Malacor had broken.

The market. Ghenvic's head hitting the ground. The memory rises in front of her eyes.

Her eyes fill with rage. She walks over and drives her boot hard into the man's face.

"Why did you kill Ghenvic? What had he done to you?"

She kicks him twice more. Then she draws her sword. Raises it to strike, stops for just a moment. Then with an angry scream she swings hard.

Malacor catches her wrist and stops the blow.

"The fight is over."

She goes still. He lets go. The moment he does, she tries to swing again. This time Malacor grabs the blade itself, stops it, and pulls it from her hand in one motion. She turns on him with rage in her eyes. She reaches for the second sword and turns it on him too. He brings the first sword down hard against hers. It flies out of her grip and lands far away.

She drops to her knees and begins to cry, hard and loud.

Malacor looks at her for a moment. Then he walks over and picks up the second sword. He carries both swords back and drives them into the ground in front of her where she kneels.

He goes to the bodies. Pulls the axe free from the neck. Swings it hard into the ground three, four times, cleaning the blade. Then scrapes what remains against the earth.

After that he looks toward the city. The two surviving guards are slowly backing away.

"Stay where you are."

He walks over to them. His eyes land on the water skin hanging from one guard's shoulder. The guard immediately lifts it off and holds it out. Malacor takes it without a word and walks back to Elara.

She has stopped crying. She sits wiping her eyes.

Chapter 5

The rising sun has begun to light the alleys of Zurag. The doors of every house are still shut. Black clay pots hang at the entrance of each home. Even if someone walked quietly, their footsteps would echo… every alley is that still.

The buildings are old. Most are in need of repair. Even the main gate into Zurag is broken. Written across the outer walls on both sides: do not make noise.

Elara and Malacor watch from behind a cluster of trees in the distance.

Elara's eyes settle on the guards standing at the gate.

"Last time I came, there was no one here."

"They're here for you."

She takes a long breath. Then, one hand resting on a tree, she looks toward Zurag.

"You're right. A city no Unlucky dares enter. Coming here was my decision but someone else paid the price."

Malacor pulls his axe free from the tree trunk in front of her. He steps out from the trees.

"We can't get inside without making a scene."

They move forward. Three guards step into their path the moment they see them approaching. Elara has covered her face. They reach the gate.

"Stop. Who are you? Why are you here?"

"Travelers," Malacor answers. "We need supplies for the road."

"Give us your names."

"Malacor. And this is Zubeka."

The guards look carefully at Elara.

"This woman will have to show her face."

Malacor looks at the guard, then tells Elara to uncover her face… She speaks quietly.

"But they know me."

"Doesn't matter. They won't let us through easily either way."

She uncovers her face.

The guards look at her. One of them speaks.

"That's the (dash) who had the nerve to walk into Zurag and managed to get away."

The one in the middle says: "Kill her here. She doesn't leave alive this time."

They draw their swords. Malacor steps in front of Elara.

"No. You'll die… if you strike."

The guards pause for a moment. "You don't know what she is? She's an (Dash)"

Malacor says immediately: "I've already made my intentions clear."

"Then you'll die alongside her."

The guards move toward Malacor.

The one at the front… Malacor hits him with the axe. It tears through his shoulder, across his chest, and down through his stomach.

The other two freeze. Their swords hang in the air. They didn't even see when it happened.

The five guards standing behind come running to attack. Malacor hasn't moved.

The moment they get close, the axe takes the rightmost guard's head, drives straight into the next one's neck. He pulls it free, grabs the third by his sword arm and snaps it at the shoulder. Then he takes the last two by the throat, one in each hand, and breaks their necks.

When Malacor looks at the two remaining guards, they lower their swords immediately.

Elara's eyes are wide. She stands staring at Malacor, then takes a small step back. Her gaze moves to the bodies on the ground. Then it stops… on the man whose arm Malacor had broken.

The market. Ghenvic's head hitting the ground. The memory rises in front of her eyes.

Her eyes fill with rage. She walks over and drives her boot hard into the man's face.

"Why did you kill Ghenvic? What had he done to you?"

She kicks him twice more. Then she draws her sword. Raises it to strike, stops for just a moment. Then with an angry scream she swings hard.

Malacor catches her wrist and stops the blow.

"The fight is over."

She goes still. He lets go. The moment he does, she tries to swing again. This time Malacor grabs the blade itself, stops it, and pulls it from her hand in one motion. She turns on him with rage in her eyes. She reaches for the second sword and turns it on him too. He brings the first sword down hard against hers. It flies out of her grip and lands far away.

She drops to her knees and begins to cry, hard and loud.

Malacor looks at her for a moment. Then he walks over and picks up the second sword. He carries both swords back and drives them into the ground in front of her where she kneels.

He goes to the bodies. Pulls the axe free from the neck. Swings it hard into the ground three, four times, cleaning the blade. Then scrapes what remains against the earth.

After that he looks toward the city. The two surviving guards are slowly backing away.

"Stay where you are."

He walks over to them. His eyes land on the water skin hanging from one guard's shoulder. The guard immediately lifts it off and holds it out. Malacor takes it without a word and walks back to Elara.

She has stopped crying. She sits wiping her eyes.

Chapter 5

The rising sun has begun to light the alleys of Zurag. The doors of every house are still shut. Black clay pots hang at the entrance of each home. Even if someone walked quietly, their footsteps would echo… every alley is that still.

The buildings are old. Most are in need of repair. Even the main gate into Zurag is broken. Written across the outer walls on both sides: do not make noise.

Elara and Malacor watch from behind a cluster of trees in the distance.

Elara's eyes settle on the guards standing at the gate.

"Last time I came, there was no one here."

"They're here for you."

She takes a long breath. Then, one hand resting on a tree, she looks toward Zurag.

"You're right. A city no Unlucky dares enter. Coming here was my decision but someone else paid the price."

Malacor pulls his axe free from the tree trunk in front of her. He steps out from the trees.

"We can't get inside without making a scene."

They move forward. Three guards step into their path the moment they see them approaching. Elara has covered her face. They reach the gate.

"Stop. Who are you? Why are you here?"

"Travelers," Malacor answers. "We need supplies for the road."

"Give us your names."

"Malacor. And this is Zubeka."

The guards look carefully at Elara.

"This woman will have to show her face."

Malacor looks at the guard, then tells Elara to uncover her face… She speaks quietly.

"But they know me."

"Doesn't matter. They won't let us through easily either way."

She uncovers her face.

The guards look at her. One of them speaks.

"That's the (dash) who had the nerve to walk into Zurag and managed to get away."

The one in the middle says: "Kill her here. She doesn't leave alive this time."

They draw their swords. Malacor steps in front of Elara.

"No. You'll die… if you strike."

The guards pause for a moment. "You don't know what she is? She's an (Dash)"

Malacor says immediately: "I've already made my intentions clear."

"Then you'll die alongside her."

The guards move toward Malacor.

The one at the front… Malacor hits him with the axe. It tears through his shoulder, across his chest, and down through his stomach.

The other two freeze. Their swords hang in the air. They didn't even see when it happened.

The five guards standing behind come running to attack. Malacor hasn't moved.

The moment they get close, the axe takes the rightmost guard's head, drives straight into the next one's neck. He pulls it free, grabs the third by his sword arm and snaps it at the shoulder. Then he takes the last two by the throat, one in each hand, and breaks their necks.

When Malacor looks at the two remaining guards, they lower their swords immediately.

Elara's eyes are wide. She stands staring at Malacor, then takes a small step back. Her gaze moves to the bodies on the ground. Then it stops… on the man whose arm Malacor had broken.

The market. Ghenvic's head hitting the ground. The memory rises in front of her eyes.

Her eyes fill with rage. She walks over and drives her boot hard into the man's face.

"Why did you kill Ghenvic? What had he done to you?"

She kicks him twice more. Then she draws her sword. Raises it to strike, stops for just a moment. Then with an angry scream she swings hard.

Malacor catches her wrist and stops the blow.

"The fight is over."

She goes still. He lets go. The moment he does, she tries to swing again. This time Malacor grabs the blade itself, stops it, and pulls it from her hand in one motion. She turns on him with rage in her eyes. She reaches for the second sword and turns it on him too. He brings the first sword down hard against hers. It flies out of her grip and lands far away.

She drops to her knees and begins to cry, hard and loud.

Malacor looks at her for a moment. Then he walks over and picks up the second sword. He carries both swords back and drives them into the ground in front of her where she kneels.

He goes to the bodies. Pulls the axe free from the neck. Swings it hard into the ground three, four times, cleaning the blade. Then scrapes what remains against the earth.

After that he looks toward the city. The two surviving guards are slowly backing away.

"Stay where you are."

He walks over to them. His eyes land on the water skin hanging from one guard's shoulder. The guard immediately lifts it off and holds it out. Malacor takes it without a word and walks back to Elara.

She has stopped crying. She sits wiping her eyes.

On the eastern edge of Zurag, in the middle of a rough and uneven field, stands a lone house. The wooden walls have grown old with time. The door… always left open, as if waiting for someone who never comes, leans to one side. Yet the roof still holds. It still keeps the rain out.

Dawn. Thin threads of light slip through the cracks in the walls and settle across the face of a man asleep on the bed.

His eyes open. He raises a hand against the light and sits up, feet finding the floor. Something small hangs from his neck on an old, fraying cord.

He sits there for a moment, staring at the wall ahead. Then his eyes shift, slightly. Briefly, the quiet feeling of being watched. He stays still a moment longer, then gets up as though nothing happened, walks to the clay pot by the door, and drinks.

His gaze moves to the space beside the stove. Empty. The firewood is finished.

He picks up the axe, steps outside, and pauses to look around.

In the direction of the city, a young woman stands at a distance, watching the house. He pays her no attention. He turns toward the forest and walks.

HI guys, I am writing a dark fantasy novel.

just finished chapter 3.

I am thinking to create a fanbase by starting another novel just for online posting while working on main, which I will publish directly on amazon or some other platform

ANY ADVICE?

One night,
I was walking through the pathway in forest.
just like I always do. I voice whispered in my ears. Something running towards me.
I didn’t panicked.
I didn’t showed fear.
Instead I pulled my sword.
Ready to cut down whatever will come out.
Suddenly the forest started rotating.
I witnessed myself, standing ready to fight “wait… what is happening, where is my head”
Something already took down my head in a flash.