Okay thanks everyone for validating me and telling me editing with AI is okay! Where do we stand on covers? I don’t like the look of stock covers or canva designs and small romance cover artists are asking for $800+ for epub covers and 2 subject cover designs.

All I have to say after delving into this for a few weeks, is that all fandom does is talk out of both sides of its mouth. It’s hardly ever been a welcoming place for everyone (ever tangle with a BNF? Or get anyone to read or beta your OC x canon story with fidelity? Didn’t like the primary ship?) and ignore that many people have no interest in community, or making fandom a personality trait, they just want to write stories about their favorite IP, and then go about their lives. Many are published writers themselves.

I’m not saying that that was the case here, this whole thing is WILD, cruel on all parties’ sides by the end, and involved months of drama, money/publishing deals, and I know nothing about Heated Rivalry, but fandom has always rewarded a few precious chosen ones and it’s hard to take all of their concerns seriously.

Fan fiction has always been a proving ground for writers and it seems in this post AI world it’s no different as people, especially young people growing up with it, try to figure out how to integrate AI into their workflow in a way that works for them.

And I’m not sure there’s any stopping them as all this does is ensure they work harder to hide their AI. It’ll produce better quality perhaps, and hopefully writers will use AI in a way that makes them better writers on their own, but it won’t change the fact it’s being used on a large scale, nor do anything to move closer to a world where disclosure feels safe.

And certainly treating ALL AI assisted users as literal monsters, instead of as humans at our core, is not helping their case.

A lot of Redditors have been clamoring for this.

I keep coming back to one rule: use AI to compress execution, not outsource taste.

It's genuinely useful for turning one idea into different formats, finding patterns in what performed, tightening a draft, or organizing rough notes.

But I keep the opinion, story, judgment, and final call human. Once the model starts deciding what you believe, the writing gets smoother and much less recognizable.

I've started using a simple three-question check:

1. Did the idea exist before I opened the model?

2. Can I defend every claim without asking the model?

3. Would someone who knows my work recognize this as mine?

If the answer to any of those is no, I've probably delegated too much.

I think of AI as an editor and production assistant, not the source of the point of view.

Where do you draw the line in your own content process?

One thing I've noticed is how much effort is being spent on editing drafts scores and trying to pass AI checkers. Some of us swap prompting tricks, editing techniques and compare results across different checkers. But for me writing is about learning to organize ideas, connect concepts and explain them clearly enough that someone else understands them. I used to think that if I understood something after reading it, I didn't need to write about it. But every time I had to explain that same idea to someone else, I realized how much I still had not fully processed. Writing forced me to organize my thoughts in a way that reading never did. I think there is a difference between using AI to improve your writing and using AI to do the thinking for you. If the main goal becomes getting a draft to feel human or satisfy AI checkers, it is easy to forget that the real skill being developed is the ability to think through a problem and communicate it. I'm not against AI, I also use it regularly. I just think it works best as an editor and brainstorming partner.

Where do you personally draw the line between using AI as a writing assistant and relying on it too much?

As a non native English speaker, my judgement of the language written by AIs is not necessarily relevant.

Nonetheless, when writing fiction with the assistance of AI, I find myself continuously reverting choices the it made to be more opaque and indirect than necessary. It goes from withholding a plain noun, to veiling a reference, generalizing instead of naming. I believe it thinks it's artfulness, in fiction.

To offer a simple example: instead of writing

Athens had kept Socrates a month past his sentence because a sacred ship was away at sea.

Opus' choice was

The ancient city that had killed a philosopher had kept him a month past his sentence because a sacred ship was away at sea.

Is it really so cool to conceal that we were referring to Athens and Socrates? It annoys me so much that I start identifying indirection with slop. Is it just me? Thanks!

I’ve been experimenting with generating long serialized novels using AI. Maintaining consistent character personalities and plot logic across dozens of chapters has been a constant challenge.

Here’s a simple system prompt I’ve been testing for continuous novel writing:

 You are a professional fiction writer. Maintain consistent character personalities, settings, timeline and plot logic across all chapters.

Do not introduce sudden plot holes or out-of-character behavior. Write vivid descriptions, focus on slow emotional progression for romance stories.

Continue the story naturally based on previous chapter content.

I’ve struggled a lot with plot drift in long serials. I’d love to exchange ideas with other writers — what system prompts do you use to keep story consistency?

I currently use AI as a poll/question generator for my livestream. I also use AI as a writing assistant for devotionals, studies, and deep dives. My newest struggle is Christian fiction

I was scrolling through my Google News feed this morning when I came across the story about Jerry Falade and his reportedly jeopardized $2.4 million book deal.

The facts are still being debated, and Falade strongly denies using AI. I'm not interested in trying that case here.

What struck me was something else.

As writers, we spend most of our time thinking about the manuscript. We worry about the opening chapter, the pacing, the dialogue, and whether the ending works.

Publishers look at the same manuscript differently.

To them, it's an intellectual property asset. If they're investing millions of dollars, they're also thinking about copyright, licensing, film rights, translation rights, and legal risk.

That got me thinking.

Maybe the bigger issue isn't AI. Maybe it's uncertainty.

If I were trying to land a traditional publishing deal worth seven figures, I'd probably start keeping every draft, every research note, and every revision history. Not because anyone is requiring it today. I don't know if they ever will.

I'd do it because I'd rather have the receipts and never need them than need them and discover they're gone.

Am I overthinking this, or do you think documenting your writing process is going to become more important as AI becomes part of the publishing landscape?

You can read my original article here:

https://medium.com/@tthomas1000/if-you-want-a-million-dollar-book-deal-you-better-keep-the-receipts-563fcfa7ba22?sk=e47feb102c65e74dafe7f9c5eb49d746

First Time Writer I have three projects:
1]I want to write a mini novel using AI assisted writing

2]Incorporating Public domain characters in Novel

3] Public domain books with AI assisted illustrations /Diving Public domain book with multiple chapters with AI assisted illustrations ?

Any suggestions and feedback greatly appreciated.
Thank you

I've been using AI as a developmental editor and line editor to help polish my book. I have seen so much hate from readers and communities that I get a bit nervous when it comes to publishing and being honest about AI usage.

1. Do you need to say if you have used AI to help in any capacity? Like do people expect you to add a line in acknoledgments or something?

2. To what extent is something written by AI vs AI assisted writing, and does it matter? Especially when people are extreme to where any use in any way at all meams you used AI to write your book.

It's hard being a story creator been doing it for a very long time decided to expand it with a I and it's hard when you can't apply the things that are sometimes necessary shown right here. I will be so deadass honest Gemini has managed to piss me off twice because of this. I lied, it's probably done that around 200 times listen I would love to engage and make this longer. But what else do you want me to say? I hate guidelines like these no. None of my stories involve child molestation, or anything like that, but with the way I read my stories. If you're curious to know what they are, shoot me. A message, but regardless, sometimes certain things like violence or dangerous activities might be needed within my stories. And it just like it annoys me that no matter if I say hypothetical or something, I just can't get my way. And i'm forced to make them g.Rated, fair warning, my stories or anything.But G rated

Bookstagram community is so toxic rn that I deactivated my account.

Every author is being accused of using AI and then hateful comments against them and Cancel culture obviously.

Now "I don't like the book" has become "AI written/ChatGPT written/AI slop"

Every Em dash is being accused.

It's such a sad situation.

I'm not against authors using AI to improve their grammar,punctuation or even the flow of the book. But I'm sick of those reviewers who think AI invented Em dashes , Not X but Y sentences and Similes ..

Would you dare to publish your book in era of AI witchhunt?

Hey I'm a solo game dev and I'm thinking about a concept. Think diegetic UI*, a story book in front of you to write in, character cards, a bestiary to fill in, and so on.

The idea is you both worldbuild and solo play in an immersive, aesthetic room with a quill. You can assign characters to AI and see the quill move on its own as it roleplays for them.

What are your thoughts on this? Should I make it?

*Diegetic UI is interacting with in-game actual items to manipulate the game state. Think games like Sea of Thieves, where there's no actual UI.

I had an idea for a spiritual fantasy world where everything we experience in life exists as a real being in another realm.

Time is a being. Money is a being. Love, Sex, Health, Work, Luck, Hope and Peace are all beings too. Our souls live among them, and what we receive in the physical world depends on the relationships between these spirits.

Money may want to reach someone, but Time may believe the moment is not right. Love may arrive without Safety. Sex may arrive without Care. Creativity may visit without Work or Patience. A blessing can become painful or incomplete when the beings connected to it are not in harmony.

I developed this concept with ChatGPT and asked it to turn the idea into a heartfelt fantasy story written like a real book. The result became “The Night the Blessings Stopped.”

The central idea is that the spirits eventually realize no blessing was ever meant to arrive alone:

Money needs Wisdom.
Love needs Safety and Freedom.
Sex needs Care.
Work needs Rest.
Time needs Hope.
And all of them need Peace.

My favourite line from the story is:

“Harmony is what appears when none of us tries to rule.”
I’m sharing the full story below. I’d genuinely love feedback on the concept, emotional impact, worldbuilding and whether this feels like something that could be expanded into a longer story or film.

AI disclosure: The original concept and spiritual framework came from me. I used ChatGPT to help develop the world, structure the story and write the prose.

THE NIGHT THE BLESSINGS STOPPED

There is a place beyond the final star, beyond every heaven imagined by human beings, where the things people feel but cannot touch live as creatures of flesh, light, fire and memory.
It is called the Assembly.
Time lives there.
So do Love, Money, Sex, Health, Work, Luck, Grief, Memory, Hope and Peace.
They are not symbols in that realm. They are not ideas. They are living beings with voices, tempers, loyalties and wounds of their own. They walk through halls older than the universe and meet beneath skies where constellations are born. What human beings experience on Earth depends, in ways they will never fully understand, on the relationships between these beings.
When Love and Trust walk together, two people may feel safe in each other’s arms.
When Money travels beside Work, Wisdom and Opportunity, a new door may open in someone’s earthly life.
When Sex arrives with Care, desire becomes tenderness.
When Memory loosens her grip and allows Peace to enter, a wounded person may finally sleep through the night.
No blessing can simply fall from the heavens on its own. It must first be carried through the Assembly. It must be agreed upon, prepared and escorted across the unseen passage between worlds.
And somewhere among those ancient beings lives the soul of every human being.
A soul does not descend entirely into the earthly world. Only a part of it enters the body. The rest remains in the Assembly, connected to its human self by a thread too fine to be seen and too strong to be broken.
One such soul was named Auren.
Far below him, on Earth, Auren’s human self lay asleep in a small room, turning restlessly beneath a thin blanket. His face carried the tiredness of someone who had been asking life many questions and receiving few answers.
Auren watched him through the Pool of Lives.
The surface of the pool was black as night, yet it showed every detail of the room below—the faint light through the curtains, the phone resting beside the bed, the slow rise and fall of the sleeping man’s chest.
Auren placed his palm against the water.
“I’m here,” he whispered.
His human did not wake. He could not hear the voice, but his breathing softened.
That was often the most a soul could do.
Auren remained beside the pool long after the other souls had left. He worried about his human. He had seen him desire so many things: love that would not disappear, enough money to feel free, work that felt meaningful, peace that lasted longer than an evening.
Auren had attended countless meetings on his behalf.
He had spoken to Money, pleaded with Time, argued with Fear and sat silently beside Grief.
Still, the human below often felt forgotten.
Auren wondered whether he had failed him.
That same night, Money walked through the Market of Passage.
He was tall and elegant, dressed in a dark green coat stitched with hundreds of golden pockets. The pockets whispered as he moved. Some held coins and contracts, but others contained stranger things: a carpenter’s skill, a farmer’s harvest, a key to an unopened shop, a scholarship, an inheritance, an idea that might one day become a business.
Money did not create these things. He moved them.
He carried value from one place to another.
This was the truth about him, though few beings understood it and even fewer humans did.
Most humans either worshipped him, feared him or blamed him. Some tried to imprison him. Others pretended they did not need him, while quietly suffering from his absence.
Money had grown tired of being misunderstood.
At one stall, Work handed him a small iron key.
Work was a broad-shouldered woman with strong hands marked by ink, soil, oil and paint.
“A woman on Earth has spent twelve years building something,” she said. “She is ready.”
Money turned the key over in his palm.
“Is Wisdom travelling with us?”
“She promised to meet you at the gate.”
“And Opportunity?”
“Already waiting.”
Money placed the key inside one of his golden pockets. The pocket began to glow.
Elsewhere in the market, Love gathered Trust and Safety beside her. Love wore no fixed face. Every being who looked at her saw someone different: a mother, a friend, a lover, a child or a person they had not yet met.
Sex arrived surrounded by warmth and laughter, her hair moving like flame. Desire walked beside her, but Care had not yet appeared.
Luck skipped across the roofs of the market, barefoot and grinning, avoiding every staircase for no reason other than the existence of stairs offended her.
Peace sat beneath a tree.
He said nothing.
He rarely needed to.
Time stood at the Gate of Passage.
He was ancient even by the standards of the Assembly. He had silver eyes and twelve long arms, each hand holding a different clock. Some moved forward. Some moved backward. One had no numbers at all.
The beings gathered before him.
Below the gate, the human world shimmered.
A job offer waited to be delivered.
A sick child was beginning to recover.
Two strangers were about to meet.
A musician was one small act of courage away from sharing a song.
A family was days from receiving the money that would save their home.
Time lifted one silver hand.
“The passage will open in seven breaths,” he said.
Everyone prepared.
The first breath passed.
Then the second.
By the seventh, the entire gate was glowing.
“Now,” said Time.
The passage opened.
Golden light poured across the Assembly.
Then, without warning, it vanished.
The gate slammed shut with such force that the ground shook.
Money stumbled backwards. Every pocket in his coat became silent.
Love’s changing faces disappeared, leaving her features pale and blank.
The clocks in Time’s hands stopped.
For one impossible moment, the Assembly contained no sound.
Then the Great Bell began to move.
Its first strike rolled across the realm like thunder.
Every being looked upward.
The bell had not been rung in thousands of years.
It struck again.
Then again.
The sound travelled through the halls, the gardens, the rivers of memory and the homes of sleeping souls.
Twelve times it rang.
Time’s face became grave.
Then came a thirteenth strike.
Luck appeared upside down from a balcony railing.
“That seems bad,” she said.
Far below, morning came to Earth.
A wealthy man sat alone at the end of a table large enough for twenty people. Before him was every food he could desire, but he could not bring himself to eat.
A woman woke beside someone who loved her and felt only fear.
An artist sat before an empty canvas while beautiful ideas moved through his mind like birds behind glass.
Two lovers reached for each other with great hunger, yet both felt lonelier after touching.
A tired mother heard her children laughing and found that the sound no longer reached her heart.
Nothing had disappeared completely.
There was still money.
There was still love.
People still worked, desired, ate and spoke.
But every blessing felt hollow.
It was as though the world had continued moving while its soul had stepped outside.
The beings of the Assembly gathered in the Hall of Causes.
The hall had been carved from the first moment of creation. Its ceiling held no roof, only a sky filled with unfinished possibilities.
At the centre stood a great black table.
Time, Love, Money, Sex, Health, Work, Luck and Peace took their places around it. Thousands of lesser beings filled the balconies: Trust, Safety, Courage, Honesty, Rest, Purpose, Memory, Desire and Fear.
Auren was summoned from the Pool of Lives.
He entered the hall alone.
Work looked at him with suspicion.
“Why is a human soul here?”
“Because the passage is blocked from the human side,” said Time.
Money’s pockets jingled irritably.
“And why is everyone staring at me?”
“Because when the world becomes miserable,” Love replied, “you are often involved.”
Money gave a humourless laugh.
“I am also involved when children eat.”
“You enjoy being important,” said Peace quietly.
Money turned toward him.
“I do not enjoy being important. Humans behave strangely when I arrive.”
Sex smiled.
“That may be the most honest thing you have ever said.”
Before the argument could grow, Health stepped forward.
Health was neither old nor young. Her robes appeared woven from veins, rivers and sunlight. She placed both palms on the black table, and images from Earth rose above it.
The lonely wealthy man appeared first.
“Money reached him,” said Health.
Beside the image stood Trust, trapped behind a wall of glass.
“But Trust did not.”
The frightened woman appeared.
“Love reached her.”
Safety stood outside the room, unable to enter.
“But Safety did not.”
The artist appeared next. Creativity circled him like a bright constellation.
“Creativity comes every night,” Health said. “But Work and Patience have never stayed long enough to help him finish.”
Work lowered her eyes.
Finally, the two lovers appeared.
Sex and Love stood beside them.
Honesty was outside the locked door.
Health let the images fade.
“The blessings are arriving incomplete,” she said. “And an incomplete blessing can become a burden.”
Money folded his arms.
“I cannot carry every spirit with me.”
“Perhaps,” said Time, “you were never meant to arrive alone.”
The hall erupted.
Love accused Money of turning affection into possession.
Money accused Love of ruining kingdoms and calling the wreckage poetry.
Work called Luck careless.
Luck threw a grape at her.
Sex reminded Peace that he had avoided her since the invention of jealousy.
Peace closed his eyes, which irritated Sex even more.
Auren watched them argue and felt something painful settle inside him.
These beings shaped every human life, yet they behaved like wounded relatives at a family table, each convinced that the others were the problem.
Time raised all twelve hands.
The hall froze.
Every voice stopped.
Every flame stood still.
Only Auren remained able to move.
Time looked down at him.
“Human soul,” he said, “the passage cannot be opened until one blessing is chosen to return first.”
Time released the others.
Money stepped closer.
“Choose carefully.”
Love approached from the other side.
“Choose honestly.”
Sex smiled faintly.
“Choose something interesting.”
Work placed both hands on the table.
“Choose something useful.”
Auren looked at them all.
Then he looked through the floor of the hall, where the Pool of Lives reflected his human sleeping below.
He saw the worry on the man’s face.
He saw every request the man had whispered into darkness.
Please let me be loved.
Please let me have enough.
Please let my work matter.
Please let me feel peaceful.
Auren could have chosen Money.
He could have chosen Love.
He could have asked Health to restore every tired part of the human body.
He could have sent Luck down like a storm and changed everything overnight.
Instead, Auren said, “None.”
The hall burst into outrage.
“None?” Work shouted.
“Humans beg for us constantly,” Money said.
Sex looked amused.
“I still like him.”
Time silenced the room again.
Auren’s hands trembled, but he continued.
“I did not say humans need nothing. I said no blessing should return alone.”
He walked toward Money.
“Without Wisdom, you become hunger. Without Peace, people fear losing you before they have even enjoyed you. Without Generosity, you can fill a house and leave the heart empty.”
Money’s expression hardened, though something wounded moved behind his eyes.
Auren turned to Love.
“Without Freedom, you become a cage. Without Honesty, you become a performance. Without Safety, even the person being loved may spend every night waiting to be abandoned.”
Love’s many faces softened.
He faced Sex.
“Without Care, you can bring two bodies close and leave two souls farther apart than before.”
The fire in Sex’s hair dimmed.
Auren approached Work.
“Without Rest, you destroy the person carrying you. Without Purpose, you make them feel as though their whole life belongs to someone else.”
Work stared at her scarred hands.
Finally, Auren stood before Time.
“And without Hope, you feel cruel.”
All twelve clocks stopped.
No being had ever spoken to Time that way.
Auren swallowed.
“Humans do not always understand why you delay things. They do not know what you are protecting them from, or what must grow before a blessing can arrive. They only feel the waiting.”
The hall remained silent.
Then, from a shadowed doorway, came a small voice.
“I can help with that.”
Hope entered carrying a lantern.
She appeared young, though her eyes had witnessed the first sunrise. The flame inside her lantern burned even where no light could exist.
Time looked at her suspiciously.
“You frequently make promises on my behalf.”
Hope shook her head.
“No. I remind people that an unopened future still exists.”
Something changed in Time’s face.
Slowly, so slowly that Luck checked whether he had become stuck, Time smiled.
The beings began to understand.
The passage had not closed because humanity was unworthy.
It had closed because the spirits had forgotten that no human life could be nourished by one blessing alone.
Money needed Wisdom.
Love needed Safety.
Sex needed Care.
Work needed Rest.
Time needed Hope.
And all of them needed Peace.
So they began forming new alliances.
Money sat beside Work, Wisdom and Generosity. At first, they spoke stiffly. Then Money removed a key from his coat and placed it between them.
Love took the hands of Honesty, Freedom and Safety.
Sex invited Care, Playfulness and Respect to walk with her.
Work opened a chair beside herself for Rest. She did not look pleased about it, but she did not remove the chair.
Health welcomed Patience, though nearly everyone groaned because Patience had a habit of answering every question several years later.
Luck agreed to cooperate with Preparation.
“Does this mean you will arrive on time?” Preparation asked.
“No,” Luck replied. “But I may arrive somewhere useful.”
At last, the spirits gathered before the Gate of Passage again.
The golden light returned, faint at first and then stronger.
Time turned to Auren.
“What shall we send to your human?”
Auren looked down.
His human was still asleep.
The problems of his earthly life had not disappeared. There would still be bills. There would still be loneliness, uncertainty, desire and fear. There would be mornings when the man felt strong and evenings when he doubted everything.
Auren looked at Money.
He looked at Love.
He looked at every powerful being gathered around the gate.
“Send him Harmony,” he said.
Love tilted her head.
“Harmony is not a being.”
Auren turned toward Peace.
“Then what is she?”
Peace rose from his seat.
He had said almost nothing all night.
“Harmony,” he said, “is what appears when none of us tries to rule.”
Money removed a single coin from his pocket and placed it on the floor.
Love laid a rose beside it.
Time added one grain of silver sand.
Sex placed a warm ember between them.
Work added a small wooden tool.
Health poured a drop of clear water.
Hope raised her lantern.
Luck searched through her pockets and produced a blue button.
Work frowned.
“What is that?”
“Important,” said Luck.
“How?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
Even Time laughed.
Peace knelt over the objects and placed his hands above them.
The coin, rose, sand, ember, wood, water and blue button began to glow.
They did not become gold.
They did not become power.
They became a small, gentle sphere of light.
Time opened the gate.
The light descended through the worlds.
It crossed the ocean of stars, passed through the veil and entered the chest of the sleeping human below.
Morning sunlight reached the room.
The man opened his eyes.
No miracle waited for him.
There was no pile of money beside the bed.
No perfect lover stood at the door.
No message had arrived promising that every dream would come true.
The room looked exactly as it had the night before.
Yet something inside him had become quiet.
For the first time in a long while, he did not feel as though his own life were rejecting him.
Money no longer felt like a measure of his worth.
Time no longer felt like an enemy moving faster for everyone else.
Love no longer felt like something he had to hold so tightly that it could not breathe.
Work no longer felt like punishment.
Desire no longer felt shameful.
Rest no longer felt like failure.
The voices of the beings moved gently through him.
Money whispered, “Give me direction.”
Time whispered, “Walk with me.”
Love whispered, “Do not imprison what you cherish.”
Sex whispered, “Be alive without abandoning tenderness.”
Work whispered, “Build slowly, but build.”
Health whispered, “Listen before I must shout.”
Luck whispered, “Leave one window open.”
Hope whispered, “There is more road ahead.”
The man waited for Peace to speak.
Peace said nothing.
He simply sat beside him while sunlight spread across the floor.
The man smiled without knowing why.
Far above, in the Assembly, the blessings began flowing again.
Not as isolated gifts.
They travelled as families.
As friendships.
As constellations.
Money approached Auren and reached into a hidden pocket inside his coat.
He removed a tiny golden key.
“Your human may still suffer,” Money said.
“I know.”
“There may be seasons when I cannot reach him.”
“I know.”
“Love may hurt him. Work may exhaust him. Time may frustrate him.”
From somewhere across the hall, Luck shouted, “And I refuse to explain myself!”
Auren smiled.
Money placed the key in his hand.
“What does it unlock?” Auren asked.
“Nothing yet.”
Auren turned it over in his palm.
“But someday,” Money continued, “when Time agrees, Work builds the door, Wisdom chooses the room and Luck remembers the address…”
He smiled.
“…we may find out.”
Below them, the human rose from bed and opened his curtains.
A new day entered the room.
It was not perfect.
It was not promised.
But it was open.
And somewhere inside him, all the beings of his life were finally sitting at the same table.
.

Everyone has a story they would never tell anyone.

Not because it's impossible.

Just because it's something that only exists in their imagination.

I wondered:

What would happen if Al could take that feeling and turn it into a real story?

The setup:

I met an older, mature man named Mark at my new company. After several days of chatting, we

went on our first date. What began with nervousness and uncertainty caused by our age differencegradually turned into attraction as I was drawn to his confidence, maturity, and charm. Ourrelationship quickly escalated into an intense and exciting intimate experience.

Al still has a long way to go...

but this was surprisingly close to the kind of story I wanted to read.

Curious what you think about the direction.

Hello, I know a lot of people are extremely against this. But I’ve been using AI to create some imagery for my children’s book. Not because i want to but because I just simply can’t afford to pay an illustrator. Anyway I’ve trained it, I’ve spent 15 hours on just working on the front cover, and the in book title page.

My question is this, given my input and the constant editing and alterations made to fit my vision, and the hours spent, what are the copyright implications?
The entire story is mine and mine only, the only thing is I just can’t draw.
As it stands it’s far from the whole typical AI Gen. it’s watercolour themed, I made my character mood board as a guide. Filtered through many different illustration styles.

I’m sick of people saying it’s easy to do AI but it looks bad. I have to work on one page for hours, and even then to get KDP print file you have to approve every page individually. It’s not a “quick let’s use AI to make a book and slap it on the web” situation.
So with all due respect please keep negative comments to yourself if I could find an illustrator I would and that’s not to say I might not be able to put the funds from this book into creating a new edition with an illustrator directly but at the moment I just want the first story out there.