Hello #Mastodon, I am seeking comments from the community to include in my next newsletter about #Google's change in their privacy policy. (They now say that anything you post online will be used to train their AI models.)
I am especially interested of thoughts from #writers and #artists.
How do you feel about this move? What do you think about placing your content behind a wall to protect it? And will this change how you post online in the future?
I drummed my fingers on the table beside her open grimoires. Not facing the bully, I turned my eyes toward the blonde, taking in her arrogant smile. She'd gotten me to do what she wanted. She held her wand steady, and the tip glowed like hot iron. "And that's all I need to do? I can't believe you're helping me like this after all we've been through..."
The bucket-full of water and me being hit by said bucket falling off the shelf above the door. The vanishing ink pen I used on a test. The worms in my box lunch. Other things. But I was also a T.A. Some responsibilities where inescapable.
I did volunteer to help Jill.
I wanted to laugh at the "we" in that last sentence, but sighed instead. She was predictable. Very predictable. "The mnemonic, the equations, the visualization. Spot on. It balances and your wand indicates that."
"So all I have to do is say what I want to conjure?"
Predictable. I didn't grin. Instead I switched to French, hopeful. "/Tu m'emmerdes avec tes questions!/"†
She blinked. "Merde? Isn't that French for—"
With magic you really need to be specific about where to target a spell affect and what you're asking for. She'd been specific about neither.
Where your wand is pointing is the default. Her's pointed above her head.
The spell understood what she wanted enough that the closest source proved to be the horse stables. I could see it out the dorm room window. The spell mucked every stall.
A load of small round spheres crashed down around her, bouncing off her head and bounding around the room. I squealed reflexively and jumped away.
I doubled over leaning against the door, laughing despite the smell. For her part, the bully sat stunned. Her expression wanted to be a smile. She had succeeded, after all. She also knew she'd been made the fool.
Exiting out the door was the better part of valor. I grabbed the nob.
"/Amélie/," came a growl.
=-=-=-=-=
† "You're so annoying with your questions!" Literally: "You're shitting on me with your questions."
#WritersCoffeeClub Jan 1: What are your writing related New Year Resolutions?
I don't really do resolutions, but let's try this: I'll actually send my work out more this year. Get serious and make a list of agents, and just go through the list.
1/5 Got tagged by @madikonrad over at Tumblr for the 'Questions For Your OC'!! – answer 3 questions as your main OC(s) – since we’re #writers, we can write this as a narrative, first-person, or RPG style - anyway we wish.
When done, provide 3 new questions to pass on to the next creator. (you then tag others with 3 new questions)
My main OC’s are Aedan the Ancalite and Lucius Scipio Servius, and the following questions are from sapphic author, Madeline Konrad.
#WordWeavers Sep 2: What could you change about your world to make it better for most people?
Racism and sexism. The world has advanced a lot in terms of declawing capitalism, which creates a huge updraft for women, poc, indigenous people, queer/trans people, etc. Economics are the tool of oppression, after all, but white supremacy and patriarchy are still implicit in all kinds of systems of power, not to mention individual prejudice.
#WordWeavers May 1: Introduce your setting as if it’s a character in your story.
The Greater Cascadian Megalopolis was born from the need to house the population of the Pacific North West but leave the bulk of the continent free of humanity,"re-wilding." The fetal megapolopolis started as superblocks and then arcologies,multiplying until they formed an urban organism that now stretches from the middle of British Columbia all the way to the California border.
Do you reply to your last toot, or do you reply to the initial toot of the thread? Why? (Please reply to the thread.) Please boost for a bigger sample size..
They're at home, wondering how they could possibly have let their little girl die like that, even though she's very much alive, trapped, a long long way away...
#WritingWonders 7.9 — What are you good at when it comes to writing?
People have complimented me on my dialogue.
Recently, I've switched from 3rd person to 1st person narrative. That's essentially the MC talking to the reader, which may explain why my writing feels so much more fluid and natural.
I read most everything I write aloud. It has to pass the speech test. Getting tongue-tied is a bad sign.
So...
My answer to this one is what I am doing now. Talking to the reader. What do you think? Does it work for you?
Here Justine Bateman’s thread lays out a case for why AI in entertainment must be addressed now, protections created or writers, actors and directors may not have a profession or career at all very soon. Writers Guild (WGA), SAG-AFTRA and the Directors Guild of America (DGA) are fighting for our professions to exist at all.
Screenshot of tweets by @JustineBateman • 2h Your digital image can be triple and quadruple booked, so that bodes well for a 10 percenter. 4/ 2. Films customized for a viewer, based on their viewing history, which has been collected for many years. Actors will have the option to have their image "bought out" to be used in anything at all. 5/ 3. Films "ordered up" by the viewer. For example, " want a film about a panda and a unicorn who save the world in a rocket ship. And put Bill Murray in it." 6/ 4. Viewers getting digitally scanned themselves, and paying extra to have themselves inserted in these custom films. 7/
Screenshot of tweets by @JustineBateman 5. Licensing deals made with studios so that viewers can order up older films like STAR WARS and put their face on Luke Skywalker's body and their ex-wife's face on Darth Vader's body, etc. 8/ 6. Training an Al program on an older hits TV series, and creating an additional season. FAMILY TIES, for example, has 167 episodes. An Al program could easily be trained on this, and create an eighth season. We only shot seven. 9/ Al has to be addressed now or never. I believe this is the last time any labor action will be effective in our business. If we don't make strong rules now, they simply won't notice if we strike in three years, because at that point they won't need us. 10/end Addendum: Actors, you must have iron-clad protection against the Al use of your image and voice in the SAG MBA or your profession is finished. Demand it from @sagaftra and do not accept any AMPTP proposal that does not have it.
Any #writers here? Are you fans of Scrivener, or Ulysses, or perhaps Obsidian Notes? Looking around for a writing system that will be future-proof. Also love the idea of using Markdown because that’s what my blogs all use now. #writing#writersofmastodon
Myself and @beardedtechguy are looking for writers to write for our #AllThingsTech blog that we launched earlier this week.
If you are interested in doing some blogging about tech related stuff, please reach out to us as we'd love to talk to you and possibly bring you on-board!
If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask as I'd be happy to answer any questions.
#PennedPossibilities 85 — MC POV: Tell us a quick love story. The story must end badly. CW: Um, frank talk?
I thought he was dead. The only guy who'd ever had a crush on me. My lieutenant from my days in the mob. He'd been bleeding when I'd shoved him through the /Interstellar/ apparition a year ago. When I'd escaped through the same working ten minutes later, the street it was anchored to in Home City was abandoned—but for Praetorian guards too frantic to notice me because Director Rainy Days had roared through only half a minute before, in full battle mode, without any of her guards.
A year later, Rainy Days cornered me. To convince me to stay, she'd baited her trap with him. She'd made him a cadet in her Praetorian guard, and oh my—my—my, did he look good in that uniform. He stepped up to me, no longer blushing or stuttering, not able to say those words that he liked me. No, he stepped up to be, cupped my chin, and kissed me deeply.
My knees nearly gave out, despite my worst enemy standing less than a dozen standards away from me. My heart racing, I returned the kiss, warming up, and letting him put a hand behind my back.
Rainy Days said something like, "She should get a room."
I stepped back, a hand on my lieutenant's chest. I looked at her in complete shock, but I couldn't think of anything sufficiently sarcastic. I flashed her a hand-gesture instead, then grabbed his head and kissed him back until he moaned. I expected that evening would be sweet.
He fought alongside me against Rainy Days, the strongest thaumaturge to ever live. We nearly died.
That night, after lots of events too numerous to enumerate, and me agreeing to work with Rainy Days as her minion (long story), I had to deal with my roommate. She was the first person I'd acknowledged as a friend since childhood. I had used her in a sting operation to catch a crime boss and for various reasons—including that she had never ever gotten laid because of who her mom is—was bummed out.
I "gave" her my boyfriend to cheer her up.
They took me literally. Loudly, I might add. You'd think an ivory tower would have better sound insulation, but you'd be wrong. I left as soon as I could the morning after as they were still at it.
Technology and science wasn't magic, and Sharp Eye knew this more than ever. Five generations ago, Fleetmaster Running Talon had turned a portable cannon on his first Tyrannosaur, and ended their species rein of terror. Since that day, science and progress had ruled their world. Telescopes and the study of astronomy were unknown to her grandkin. The laws of orbital dynamics took a decade to render correctly, and her own grandmother had invented the slide math-relator that made verifying it all possible.
She lived in a world that promised her hatchlings steamships that could cross the Great Ocean between ports reliably, in days, because it need no sails. It offered /their/ hatchlings the possibility of powered flight using a lightweight heat engine. Literature discussed the not too fictional possibility of one day visiting the moon.
She ought have been happy with life and her grand future.
This wasn't the case. She turned the great telescopes with there photo capture plates toward the sky every night.
She'd found a streak.
Not a new planet. Something far smaller. Something far closer.
The rodent was very brazen outside the window. She'd been throwing the mammal bits of meat for the last month as she'd directed the telescopes, so of course he was. It chittered. With googly eyes, needle teeth, and the rotted smell of offal, the creature wiggled its pink nose and whiskers at her. It could see through a window! So smart. Its furry kind survived the freezing nights on the mountain, where despite her downy feathers, and a heavy parka, she could barely breathe the frigid night air. It burned her lungs.
She'd found a giant rock in space. A week later she confirmed it was two. The latest plate insisted she'd found a co-orbiting swarm, the biggest the size of a city or larger, the rest not that much smaller. Its mass made her think it was mostly iron-nickel. The length of the streaks on the plates grew smaller as the planet's gravity well influenced the orbit, sending it down on their heads.
Physics was physics. The ellipse calculations were irrefutable.
Between the constantly erupting volcano lands on the opposite side of the continent—which made sunset burn orange and purple, and sometimes caused snow to fall at the equator—and the dirt and dust that would be kicked out of the atmosphere by the meteor impact to rain down molten rock across the land, would it be that prolific mammal's descendants who'd inherit her decimated world?
Sharp Eye took a deep breath, inhaling the steam of her tea. The big question was: Did she announce her findings? While she had time?
Did it matter?
Who was she to break the world's ignorant bliss by announcing the inevitable? Fame didn't matter any more. How could it?
She sipped her tea and watched the soon to be victorious vermin nose through gravel, looking for roaches. She set the cup down, thinking how pleasant living only in the present was. She knew the future.
Then she thought, surely roaches would survive. Right?
OC Creatives of all kinds: check out this delightful list with dozens of FOSS creative tools for artists, photographers, film makers, game devs, musicians, and more! (codeberg.org)
A curated list of delightful tools for digital creatives in a variety of mediums.