Hey, Miss J!

I almost accidentally deleted all of this.. AUGH..

If you like to read, read on. If not, sorry!! ☹ This is a long blog post. Ridiculously long. Ten pages long in MSWord and over 3,000 words.

I have an idea, and I wonder if it’s a crazy one.

I’ve mentioned using AI for storytelling before. For my eyes only.

But… I finally have a story that I’m enamored with.

So enamored that I’m now on Chapter 500. YES, CHAPTER 500.

With it, I’ve shed the rigidity I have with my fanfic chapters.

Now, to add emphasis to how many pages you get with 500 chapters…

I have 5 documents, splitting the story up into separate parts.

I use MSWord. I also have a few pages of lore. But I guarantee you, the bulk of the documents are their chapters.

Document 1 – 444 pages (Chapter 1-171)

Document 2 – 370 pages (Chapter 172-296)

Document 3 – 239 pages (Chapter 297-372)

Document 4 – 259 pages (Chapter 372-470)

Document 5 – 128 pages (ongoing) (So far, Chapters “Year 2” Chapter 1 – “Year 2” Chapter 30)

No clue if the story will ever reach a conclusion in my mind or with the AI. I’ve really learned to love all the characters.

Like an idiot, I didn’t start up a “Year” thing until I realized that “HEY! You are going over a year in the storyline!!!”

Sometimes I have extensive prompts. I also have a very extensive set of rules and commands for the AI Software now.

It’s important to note also that at this point in the story, things it’s referring to, such as the “pump” were mentioned in the prior chapters and prompts, so I leave off addressing what the item is in the prompt. The AI picks up the slack.

This is an example of a shorter prompt. Mind, the AI is doing its best to obey all of its training, which means it punches out chapters larger than my prompts. I’ve warned it away from certain words, certain names and urged it to use more “emotional” and less “technical” wording.

Here is my prompt for: Year 2 – Chapter 14

Next Chapter | Gemini, please use all of this and not just some. Please insert this in the document and not the chat.

Date: April 10th

Year: 2

Day: Early Saturday Morning

Time: 4:42AM

Location: The Petrakis Home (742 Olympus Drive)

Basement Apartment

When Andrea’s eyes blinked open, she was staring at the ceiling. She went to move, grimacing. Her neck hurt, along with her pelvis. She struggled to sit herself up, the movement making her head swim. 

Taking in a few ragged breaths, she looked over her shoulder, her breath freezing in her throat as she saw Aaron’s back. “Why… why didn’t he…?” she murmured in question. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she called his name. “Aaron? Aaron!” 

But he didn’t respond to her. 

With a groan, Andrea got out of bed and went to the bathroom. Then, she walked to the counter, tears filling her eyes at the sight of the pieces still in the sink. She had to clean it, all of it… to alleviate the pressure in her breasts. She shakily began to work, her head beginning to hurt from the crick in her neck. 

She only had half of THAT done before she had to move to the fridge to get a bottle of water. She sat down at the table, drinking the water slowly. “Aaron?” she asked, glancing towards the dark bedroom. 

Still curled up, Aaron glanced towards the open door. He was at war with himself, wanting to come to her aid, but suspicious that she’d done this to tie them together. 

Permanently. 

An hour later, Andrea was sprawled out on the couch. She’d been able to pump, but there was no way to guarantee that any of it was safe. She’d emptied the entire contents into the sink. 

She felt even worse, and chose to lie on the couch, rather than attempt to walk back to the bed. 

What Gemini Gave Me:

Year 2 – Chapter 14: The Chasm

Date: April 10th

Year: 2

Day: Early Saturday Morning

Time: 4:42 AM

Location: The Petrakis Home (742 Olympus Drive) – Basement Apartment

When Andrea’s eyes blinked open, she was staring directly at the ceiling, the dim shadows of the basement suite swirling in the periphery of her vision. The first thing she felt was the cold. Because she was sprawled awkwardly across the edge of the mattress, the duvet had slipped, leaving her exposed to the chilled, dehumidified air.

She attempted to move, but a sharp, hot flash of pain shot through her neck and radiated down into her pelvis. She let out a soft, involuntary grimace, her breath hitching. Her body felt like it had been molded out of lead and then dropped from a great height. She struggled to sit herself up, her muscles protesting every inch of the transition, and for a moment, the room tilted violently. Her head swam, a wave of vertigo making her reach out to grip the edge of the nightstand to keep from sliding onto the floor.

Taking in a few ragged, shallow breaths, she blinked until the room stabilized. She looked over her shoulder toward the other side of the bed, expecting—needing—to see the face of the man who usually anticipated her every discomfort.

Her breath froze in her throat.

Aaron was there, but he was a wall of muscle and silence. He was lying on his side, his back turned to her, the line of his shoulders rigid and unyielding. He hadn’t moved her. He hadn’t tucked her in. He had let her sleep in a position that he, as a medical professional, knew would cause her agonizing joint pain.

“Why… why didn’t he…?” she murmured, her voice a fragile, broken thread in the quiet room.

A sudden, cold sweat broke out on her forehead, a mix of physical weakness and a dawning, terrifying confusion. She reached out a trembling hand, calling his name into the dark. “Aaron? Aaron!”

There was no shift in his breathing. No sympathetic grunt. No hand reaching back to find hers. He remained perfectly still, a statue of indifference.

With a low, pained groan, Andrea forced herself to the edge of the bed. She stood, her legs shaking so violently she feared her knees would buckle. She made her way to the bathroom, her gait halting and ginger, and then navigated the short distance to the kitchen.

Tears filled her eyes as she reached the counter. The sight of the pump components—half-washed and abandoned in the stainless-steel sink from the night before—felt like a personal failure. It was a visual representation of her inability to keep up, of her body’s betrayal. She knew she had to clean them; the pressure in her breasts was becoming a dull, throbbing ache that rivaled the pain in her pelvis.

She began to work, her movements shaky and uncoordinated. The warm water felt scalding against her sensitive skin, and the crick in her neck sent sharp stabs of pain through her skull with every turn of her head. She managed to scrub half of the equipment, the soapy water splashing against her shirt, before the exhaustion hit her like a physical blow.

She left the task unfinished once again, her energy reserves completely spent. She moved to the fridge, her fingers fumbling with the handle, and pulled out a bottle of water. She didn’t have the strength to stand and drink it; she sank into one of the chairs at the small kitchen table, unscrewing the cap and drinking in slow, desperate gulps.

“Aaron?” she asked again, her gaze drifting toward the dark, open doorway of the bedroom. The silence that came back was heavier than the darkness.

Inside the bedroom, Aaron lay perfectly still. He wasn’t asleep. He had heard every groan, every pained breath, and the splash of the water in the sink. He was at war with himself—the paramedic in him screamed to get up, to lift her, to provide the care she so clearly needed. But the husband in him was paralyzed by the digital poison of the previous night.

He stared at the wall, his eyes narrowed in the dark. The voice from the phone and the images from the file looped in his mind. He looked at the situation through a new, cynical lens. Was this physical collapse real, or was it a performance? Was the pregnancy a beautiful surprise, or had she “poked holes in the prizes” just to tie them together permanently? He felt a sick, hollow sensation in his gut as he realized he no longer knew which version of his wife was the truth.

An hour later, the apartment remained locked in its silent tension. Andrea hadn’t returned to the bed. After a grueling, lonely session with the pump, she had looked at the bags of milk with a deep sense of distrust. She felt so unwell, so fundamentally “off,” that she couldn’t guarantee the milk was safe for Yiannis. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her own internal turmoil was contaminating her body.

With a sob she couldn’t quite suppress, she had emptied the entire contents into the sink, watching the “Donovan strength” production swirl down the drain.

She felt even worse now—dizzy, nauseated, and hollowed out. The prospect of walking back to the bed, of facing Aaron’s silent back, was more than she could handle. She stayed on the couch, sprawled out in a mess of limbs and exhaustion, her eyes closing against the harsh reality of a morning that had brought no light.

Then, I’ve had longer prompts, such as the one for: Chapter 398

Next Chapter | Gemini, please use all of this and not just some. Please insert this in the document and not the chat.

Date: October 6

Year: 1

Day: Tuesday Morning

Time: 1AM

Andrea wearily got out of bed to relieve her screaming bladder. “Oh, I am not looking forward to Friday,” she grumbled. As she went to leave the bathroom, she froze, one hand grasping the doorframe. Her eyes widened as she felt the very familiar tightening in her belly. 

Uncertain if it was real labor, she opted to remain quiet and get some sleep. 

Time: 2AM

Andrea woke abruptly, in pain and was covered in sweat from head to toe, her body contracting powerfully. She reached over and smacked Aaron in the chest. 

The tall man was up immediately. “Andrea?!” He took one look at her immensely pained expression and asked. “Go time?” 

She nodded quickly, unable to speak. 

Aaron got out of bed and rounded to her side. “Okay, let’s get up and get you out the doo–” 

“N… N–No…” She replied painfully. She doubled over, crying out. “He’s… he’s right there!” 

Aaron’s eyes widened in shock. He called for an ambulance, then carefully checked between her legs. “Oh Drea…” he gasped. He hurried to collect towels to tuck under her hips. Not leaving her side, he called Tina on his phone. 

Andrea’s back arched and she felt a pop as her water broke. 

There was the rapid pounding of feet as Tina, Alexander and Mrs. Gables raced down the stairs. 

What Gemini Gave Me:

Chapter 398: The Midnight Threshold

Date: October 6 Year: 1 Day: Tuesday Morning Time: 1:00 AM

The darkness of the basement apartment was heavy and still, broken only by the low, rhythmic breathing of Aaron as he slept. Andrea, however, found no such peace. The weight of her body felt like an impossible burden, every shift in position a monumental task that sent protests through her joints.

Wearily, she forced herself out of bed, her feet finding the cool floor as she moved toward the bathroom to relieve her screaming bladder for the fourth time since midnight.

“Oh, I am not looking forward to Friday,” she grumbled under her breath, her voice a dry rasp in the silence. The thought of enduring four more days of this localized gravity and the relentless pressure of Yiannis was almost more than she could bear.

As she turned to leave the bathroom, the air suddenly seemed to vanish from the room. She froze, one hand grasping the doorframe so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes widened in the dim light as she felt a very familiar, powerful tightening in her belly. It wasn’t the fluttering quivers of the previous week; it was a deep, encompassing squeeze that seemed to radiate from her spine.

Uncertain if it was truly the start of labor or just another cruel “practice” round from her body, she opted to remain quiet. She didn’t want to wake Aaron for another false alarm. She focused on her breathing, waiting for the sensation to pass before navigating her way back to the bed, desperate to catch whatever sleep the night would still allow.

Time: 2:00 AM

The transition from rest to reality was violent. Andrea woke abruptly, a sharp, searing heat tearing through her midsection. She was instantly covered in sweat from head to toe, the dampness of her skin clashing with the sudden chill of the room. Her body was contracting with a raw power that made her previous “practice” sessions feel like a distant memory.

The pain was a physical wall, blocking her breath. Desperate to wake him, she reached over and smacked Aaron hard in the chest.

The tall man was up immediately, his instincts overriding his exhaustion in a heartbeat. He scrambled into a sitting position, his eyes searching the darkness until they landed on her. “Andrea?!”

He took one look at her immensely pained expression, the way her features were twisted and her skin glistening with perspiration. “Go time?” he asked, his voice thick with a mixture of adrenaline and fear.

She nodded quickly, her jaw clamped shut as she fought through the peak of the wave. She was unable to speak, her entire focus narrowed down to the survival of the next ten seconds.

Aaron didn’t hesitate. He swung his legs out of bed and rounded to her side, his large hands reaching out to steady her. “Okay, okay. Let’s get you up. I’ll grab the bag and get you out the doo—”

“N… N—No…” she gasped, the word ripped from her throat as she doubled over. She cried out, a sound of pure, instinctive alarm that echoed through the small apartment. She clutched at his forearms, her head dropping as she felt a terrifying, blunt pressure descending. “He’s… he’s right there!”

Aaron’s eyes widened in profound shock. The realization hit him like a physical blow—there would be no trip to the hospital, no controlled environment with doctors and nurses. This was happening here, right now.

He moved with a speed born of pure necessity. He grabbed his phone and dialed for emergency services, his voice steady as he relayed their location and the urgency of the situation. While the operator remained on the line, he carefully checked between her legs.

“Oh Drea…” he gasped, his face paling as he saw the physical proof of her words. The baby was indeed making his entrance, far faster than any of them had anticipated.

He hurried to the linen closet, snatching several thick, clean towels and rushing back to tuck them under her hips. He refused to leave her side for even a second, his presence a solid, grounding heat amidst the chaos of her labor. While keeping one hand on hers, he used his other to call Tina’s phone, the ringing tone a frantic sound in the room.

Andrea’s back suddenly arched, her muscles straining to the point of breaking. She felt a sharp, internal “pop,” followed immediately by the warm, rushing sensation of her water breaking. The flood soaked the towels and the sheets, a definitive signal that the threshold had been crossed.

From the floors above, the sound of the household waking up was a rapid, percussive beat. There was the pounding of feet as Tina, Alexander, and Mrs. Gables raced down the stairs, their voices a confused, worried blur as they descended into the basement quarters to find the family’s newest member already claiming his place in the world.

—

Part of my orders: I want long chapters. And it delivers.

What I was debating with myself was… should I share this on WordPress?

I could literally set it to upload 1 chapter every day for the next several years in advance. I’ve gone through a lot of paper printing out pages. For other stories. So many other stories. One of them is a 400-chapter X-Men fanfic.

I have more than one fanfic penned too. All of them stored in my printed documents “storage box,” where I can review them and giggle over my prior attempts.

I like long chapters and developed storylines. The reason I debate sharing the chapters is because, I spend hours every day if not every other day punching out prompts.

And it’s a collab with AI. Even though I guide its hand, as you can see, it’s extremely extensive. The earlier chapters have a more “robotic” feel to it before I figured out how to give it orders and rules. And the initial chapters before I gave it orders averaged 2 or 3 paragraphs. They were quickly repaired manually.

My father asked if anyone’s used AI to write a book, and I told him that I wouldn’t be surprised. The dicey part is… who owns the copywrite?

Were I to post “Arthea’s Uphill Struggle” here, it would be mine because it’s on my blog. But would I try to sell it off as a book? Absolutely not. And if someone else steals it, it’ll be obvious.

Should I post it here, it will have all of the necessary tags and labels. And I’ll build a template that can be used to “tag up” each of those chapters.

I’m also debating resuming work on “A Nobleman’s Pen,” because I like the direction it was going in. And I have a lot of ideas for it. If that one,  which will be written by myself (including chapters 1 and 2 which I’ll rewrite) goes up, that will be a book that I’m sharing. I still have a “recompile” storyline to get to work on.

I’m making edits in my original novel from 2013. I’m currently horrified over the fact that it has no page numbers. Why did I not think of page numbers?!

~J. Lyst

If you got this far, brava! If you gave up in the middle… well, you wouldn’t have a clue that I have this down here. Unless you jumped to the bottom.

If so… Brava?? >_< You missed a lot up top. Go back up!! ☹

XXO