Tessera
Folgen

Jesterbells

@jesterbellart.bsky.social

Opinions mine. Identities private. She/her

83 Posts46 Follower43 Folgt
Joshua Mannix@joshuamannix.bsky.social · 4w ago

Ultimately, this whole thing with the liar Bella Chacha (and her other pseudonyms) is the same procedure for when magazines discover plagiarism in their magazines. They evaluate, ask the supposed author questions pertaining to the work and writing as a whole, ask for any evidence, then judge.

André Geleynse@andregeleynse.com · 4w ago

Anyway, I don't have any sort of clear solution here. There's no magical solution to know 100% if any given piece of writing is AI-generated. And while it may be the case that writing styles will shift to avoid "AI tells," I hope that we're able to resist that self-policing as much as possible.

K.A. Doore@kadoore.com · 4w ago

But. BUT. You wrote those words. You spent time with them. You can speak to why you wrote them the way you did, in a way someone who generates their text never can. That's why I'm so pleased to see that Bona Books made sure to talk to their suspected authors, instead of relying on only their gut.

K.A. Doore@kadoore.com · 4w ago

And I've already seen the flares of anxiety from creatives who feel like they can't meet this or that burden of proof, but as someone who works with folks generating text for dayjob, they can't even remotely speak to what's in that text. Trust me: if you wrote the words, you'll know the words.

K.A. Doore@kadoore.com · 4w ago

I also think their process is as good as it can get, for now. As I said in another post, AI checkers are bunk and anyone who relies on them will get as many (if not more) false positives as true. But talking to a writer? A creative? Asking them about their process? You can't generate creative joy.

R Lochlann@runesword.bsky.social · last mo.

Genderfluid berserker Eydrun battles witch-hunting paladins, an eldritch zombie apocalypse, & her own repression to protect Darja, the nascent sorceress & “best friend” waiting for her back home. A hurt/comfort epic w/ swordfights by one of the top 7% longsword fighters in the world. #queerpit #F #A

Haunted by her father’s murder and trained as a berserker by her estranged mother, Eydrun’s last tether to sanity is a promise to always be there for Darja, the childhood best friend she loves more than her repressed heart can withstand. A promise Eydrun must break, for in avenging her father, she stumbles onto something infinitely worse than his killers. A mysterious song is spreading like a plague, a carnivorous melody that makes monstrous automata of all without both love in their hearts and the strength to defend that love. Joining up with a diverse crew of warriors and magicians seeking a way to destroy this vile enchantment, Eydrun carves a bloody path across the known world and beyond. If she is ever to see Darja again, Eydrun must silence THAT SONG WHICH ENDS ALL HEARING.Eydrun, “The Mad Barbarian” - Berserker - Genderfluid lesbian - Religion: fantasy-Norse pagan - Age: 19 - Weapon of choice: longsword - Fights for: her childhood best friend that she can’t bring herself to talk about for some reason Houamat, “The Rogue Prince” - High-Power Battlemage - Pansexual, polyamorous man - Religion: atheist - Age: 31 - Weapons of choice: lightning, saber - Fights for: his lovers, his country, and all that lives Hiussa, “The Injury Preventer” - Sorceress—medic/sniper - Straight(?) polyamorous woman—maybe she’s just not into feral teenagers, Eydrun! - Religion: atheist - Age: 31 - Weapon of choice: spellshot (gun-free gun) - Fights for: her friends, her refugee mom who really deserves a peaceful retirement, and frogs Brent, “The One Exception to APAB” - Paladin - Straight(?) man—Eydrun’s gender-bending is confusing the poor lad - Religion: fantasy-Christian - Age: 20 - Weapon of choice: warhammer, spell denial field - Fights for: God, God’s Church, and Eydrun—in that order, he swears Esme, “The Balance-Keeper” - Swashbuckling sorceress - Asexual woman - Religion: fantasy-Jewish - Age: 42 - Weapons of choice: rapier, spellshot - Fights for: anarchy, her community Prot, “Personally Responsible for the Legend of Dr. Faust & Mephistopheles” - What the fuck is that - Human gender and sexuality don’t map - Knows what’s really going on - Age: ????? - Weapon of choice: [REDACTED] - Fights for: the lolz Do you want to read about… A Princess Bride-style pining romance with a sapphic viking Westley and a fat neurodivergent Buttercup having her own adventures back home. A journey of self-discovery (that is also, unfortunately, a brutal war against the end of all things.) A parallel journey of self-discovery (that, thanks to the former, involves a lot less death and a lot more baking, music, and exploring a mysterious wilderness.) A found family of hurt heroes coming together to save not just the world, but each other. A cosmic horror that each character interprets through their own religious/secular worldviews—which of them is right? None of them? Or do they all perceive a fragment of the truth? Visceral, propulsive action scenes by a writer who knows both the intricacies of swordplay and how to entertainingly convey them. Then you should read... THAT SONG WHICH ENDS ALL HEARING
J. Alexander Cohen | Fantasy novelist@jalexandercohen.com · last mo.

THE LIBRARY AT EVENTIDE ☁️Cozy fantasy 📜Rebuilding a library 🌸Enchanted flowers 🌈M/M queernorm romance/HEA 🎶Slow-dancing in the ruins 🫂Found family 🐈Cats 🧺Cottagecore 🍲Forever stew 🌊Glowing lagoon 🎉Festivals 🏴‍☠️Nonbinary pirate 🃏Card games 🩼Positive disability rep - no magical cures! #queerpit #FR #A

Kiya Nicoll@kiyanicoll.bsky.social · last mo.

#QueerPit #COA #H #R #A His mother wants to prune him into a dress-up-doll daughter with perfect skin, which makes the whole "sprouting scales" thing very awkward. Which is harder, coming out as a monster or as trans? Who will handle it better, Cam's friends or these boys with secrets of their own?

R Lochlann@runesword.bsky.social · last mo.

Hacked together some writing samples and unburied a scan from my bestie's sketchbook for my second pitch-post, gonna post em here since this is the one that's still getting all the attention

Open book reading: Sample 1: The Promise In a brighter time long gone by, two girls walked arm in arm among dark pines and birches clad in the fire of autumn. Darja—the short, plump, and pretty one—was supposed to be at church, but Eydrun had other ideas. It never took much cajoling for the tall heathen farmgirl to get Darja smiling mischievously, quoting scripture about God’s forgiveness as she packed them both honeycakes from her parents’ bakery. Now they’d gone through that sweetness, wandering for miles into the mountainous wilderness beyond the village of Eligdal, and in the privacy of the deep woods Eydrun listened as Darja’s anxieties broke the tranquil quiet of wind in the trees and leaves crunching underfoot. “My mom won’t stop talking about men noticing me. I’m afraid come spring she’ll pressure me to find a husband. I know that’s what good Cruciferian girls do but I just don’t feel… ready. I don’t even—” Darja let out an eep! as Eydrun put a finger to her lips. “You don’t have to marry any man you don’t want, not so long as I’m around.” Darja’s eyes shone gratitude, but her smile was sad. “How could you possibly promise that?” “Dunno,” Eydrun sighed, remembering her dad awkwardly broaching the same topic. “But I promise you, this will never end.” “This?” “You and me, out in the woods, just the two of us,” Eydrun said, tasting the sweetness of the honeycake she’d eaten, the bitterness of the pines looming all around. “Some man tries to lock you up, I’ll steal you. I’ll always be here for you, no matter how life changes for us.” Darja hugged Eydrun tight, resting her head against the taller girl’s heart. Eydrun’s cheek settled on the soft cord of Darja’s honey-gold crown-braid, and for a long moment they held each other, neither aware that in just a few months Eydrun would break her promise.An open book reading: “Only one way out then.” Eydrun rolled her neck, hefting her sword against a rising panic. Wuotha’s gaze lingered on Eydrun, who had never seen her look so afraid. It was a look that forced Eydrun to consider things she usually avoided thinking about. Like how Wuotha’s armor fit Eydrun perfectly. How Wuotha’s age and scars obscured an uncanny resemblance between them. How Wuotha, despite finding Eydrun endlessly irritating, hadn’t hesitated an instant to drop her entire life and help her. Are you my mother? Eydrun had almost asked so many times. She might’ve finally asked now, had not one of her father’s killers stumbled into the room. It was the one with the goatee, who’d spoken courteously before riding off to commit murder, but Eydrun almost didn’t recognize him. He was in his nightclothes, blood-matted mustaches in disarray, and his eyes were empty, his face blank as he raised his gore-crusted longsword. The thrumming sound beat at Eydrun’s skull as the knight exploded toward her with a brutal overhand hew. Eydrun reacted instantly, hewing into his attack with a shoulder-launched cut meant to both parry his blade and cleave his skull. Hesitate a split-second longer than feels safe, Wuotha had taught her, and the strong base of your blade will intercept your opponent’s weak tip, blasting it out of the way even if he’s much stronger than you—but Eydrun hadn’t the nerve for risky timing. Propelled by terror, her blade sang with her foe’s, edges locking together and rising above their heads as the knight barreled toward her with emotionless aggression. Eydrun was tall and strong, but this man was still bigger and stronger, so instead of trying to resist his strength, she flowed around it. She sidestepped, letting her swordpoint drop until she was holding his blade away with a hanging parry. Then she straightened her arms to bring her blade wheeling round in a torque-powered hew that cleaved through his shoulder-- (sorry, ran out of space)Open book reading: “Crossbearer, who set Saint Roland upon his cross, You who with Your hammer and nails unmade the wounds of the world…” Darja said, not vainly proclaiming her prayers, just speaking them and meaning them, but soon they became just one note in a landscape of sound, fitting like a puzzle piece into the rhythm of the wind, the murmur of the soil, and the rising drone of the bees. There was something amiss in that sound. Darja knew the sweetness beneath that menacing buzz, for God let her open it up like Uncle Ingand opening a hive, revealing slow, dripping under-melodies secretly composed of something faster, hotter, and more intricate, all the tiny movements of the bees laboring for their queen and their young and each other. Now there were holes in that slow sweetness, black pits where the song’s golden warmth flowed and disappeared in viscous-slow whirlpools. There seemed to be some hidden substance to these gnawing holes, something that croaked a litany of rot, making the bees agitated and afraid. The bees swarmed around Darja now, crawling on her clothes, her face and hair, but she’d spent time in Uncle Ingand’s garden ever since she was a little girl, and she’d never feared bees, not even after her first sting. Not yet stung now, Darja focused on those black pits. There seemed to be hundreds of them, but there was room in her mind to map them all, her prayers acting like a mnemonic device. Once she’d marked each and every one, she asked God to wipe them away. For a moment nothing happened. She thought of her church, of Father Reed and Father Whitaker before him. The stories they told, of the Crossbearer and all His saints, of heroic paladins and miraculous healers, but something about it wasn’t working for her. Maybe Father Reed’s violent zeal had cankered those memories with something like these black pits. Then she thought of her woods, of their music that even now seemed to carry in on the wind to-- (sorry, ran out of space)Sketch by Death McHandsome, who so optimistically assumes Eydrun will live long enough to see Darja again! Making no promises there... Eydrun and Darja sit side by side. The former is scarred and hard, clad in mail with a sword belted at her waist. The latter is soft-featured and wearing a dress, leaning in with bright eyes as she listens to Eydrun's account of her adventures.
R Lochlann@runesword.bsky.social · last mo.

Genderfluid berserker Eydrun battles witch-hunting paladins, an eldritch zombie apocalypse, & her own repression to protect Darja, the nascent sorceress & “best friend” waiting for her back home. A hurt/comfort epic w/ swordfights by one of the top 7% longsword fighters in the world. #queerpit #F #A

Open book reading: Sample 1: The Promise In a brighter time long gone by, two girls walked arm in arm among dark pines and birches clad in the fire of autumn. Darja—the short, plump, and pretty one—was supposed to be at church, but Eydrun had other ideas. It never took much cajoling for the tall heathen farmgirl to get Darja smiling mischievously, quoting scripture about God’s forgiveness as she packed them both honeycakes from her parents’ bakery. Now they’d gone through that sweetness, wandering for miles into the mountainous wilderness beyond the village of Eligdal, and in the privacy of the deep woods Eydrun listened as Darja’s anxieties broke the tranquil quiet of wind in the trees and leaves crunching underfoot. “My mom won’t stop talking about men noticing me. I’m afraid come spring she’ll pressure me to find a husband. I know that’s what good Cruciferian girls do but I just don’t feel… ready. I don’t even—” Darja let out an eep! as Eydrun put a finger to her lips. “You don’t have to marry any man you don’t want, not so long as I’m around.” Darja’s eyes shone gratitude, but her smile was sad. “How could you possibly promise that?” “Dunno,” Eydrun sighed, remembering her dad awkwardly broaching the same topic. “But I promise you, this will never end.” “This?” “You and me, out in the woods, just the two of us,” Eydrun said, tasting the sweetness of the honeycake she’d eaten, the bitterness of the pines looming all around. “Some man tries to lock you up, I’ll steal you. I’ll always be here for you, no matter how life changes for us.” Darja hugged Eydrun tight, resting her head against the taller girl’s heart. Eydrun’s cheek settled on the soft cord of Darja’s honey-gold crown-braid, and for a long moment they held each other, neither aware that in just a few months Eydrun would break her promise. An open book reading: “Only one way out then.” Eydrun rolled her neck, hefting her sword against a rising panic. Wuotha’s gaze lingered on Eydrun, who had never seen her look so afraid. It was a look that forced Eydrun to consider things she usually avoided thinking about. Like how Wuotha’s armor fit Eydrun perfectly. How Wuotha’s age and scars obscured an uncanny resemblance between them. How Wuotha, despite finding Eydrun endlessly irritating, hadn’t hesitated an instant to drop her entire life and help her. Are you my mother? Eydrun had almost asked so many times. She might’ve finally asked now, had not one of her father’s killers stumbled into the room. It was the one with the goatee, who’d spoken courteously before riding off to commit murder, but Eydrun almost didn’t recognize him. He was in his nightclothes, blood-matted mustaches in disarray, and his eyes were empty, his face blank as he raised his gore-crusted longsword. The thrumming sound beat at Eydrun’s skull as the knight exploded toward her with a brutal overhand hew. Eydrun reacted instantly, hewing into his attack with a shoulder-launched cut meant to both parry his blade and cleave his skull. Hesitate a split-second longer than feels safe, Wuotha had taught her, and the strong base of your blade will intercept your opponent’s weak tip, blasting it out of the way even if he’s much stronger than you—but Eydrun hadn’t the nerve for risky timing. Propelled by terror, her blade sang with her foe’s, edges locking together and rising above their heads as the knight barreled toward her with emotionless aggression. Eydrun was tall and strong, but this man was still bigger and stronger, so instead of trying to resist his strength, she flowed around it. She sidestepped, letting her swordpoint drop until she was holding his blade away with a hanging parry. Then she straightened her arms to bring her blade wheeling round in a torque-powered hew that cleaved through his shoulder-- (sorry, ran out of space)Open book reading: “Crossbearer, who set Saint Roland upon his cross, You who with Your hammer and nails unmade the wounds of the world…” Darja said, not vainly proclaiming her prayers, just speaking them and meaning them, but soon they became just one note in a landscape of sound, fitting like a puzzle piece into the rhythm of the wind, the murmur of the soil, and the rising drone of the bees. There was something amiss in that sound. Darja knew the sweetness beneath that menacing buzz, for God let her open it up like Uncle Ingand opening a hive, revealing slow, dripping under-melodies secretly composed of something faster, hotter, and more intricate, all the tiny movements of the bees laboring for their queen and their young and each other. Now there were holes in that slow sweetness, black pits where the song’s golden warmth flowed and disappeared in viscous-slow whirlpools. There seemed to be some hidden substance to these gnawing holes, something that croaked a litany of rot, making the bees agitated and afraid. The bees swarmed around Darja now, crawling on her clothes, her face and hair, but she’d spent time in Uncle Ingand’s garden ever since she was a little girl, and she’d never feared bees, not even after her first sting. Not yet stung now, Darja focused on those black pits. There seemed to be hundreds of them, but there was room in her mind to map them all, her prayers acting like a mnemonic device. Once she’d marked each and every one, she asked God to wipe them away. For a moment nothing happened. She thought of her church, of Father Reed and Father Whitaker before him. The stories they told, of the Crossbearer and all His saints, of heroic paladins and miraculous healers, but something about it wasn’t working for her. Maybe Father Reed’s violent zeal had cankered those memories with something like these black pits. Then she thought of her woods, of their music that even now seemed to carry in on the wind to-- (sorry, ran out of space)Sketch by Death McHandsome, who so optimistically assumes Eydrun will live long enough to see Darja again! Making no promises there... Eydrun and Darja sit side by side. The former is scarred and hard, clad in mail with a sword belted at her waist. The latter is soft-featured and wearing a dress, leaning in with bright eyes as she listens to Eydrun's account of her adventures.
ACLU@aclu.org · last mo.

People with disabilities deserve the freedom to determine our own lives and our own futures. Too often and for too long, we’ve been denied that essential right. This Disability Pride month and every other month of the year, we’re fighting for a world where we can exist on our own terms.

Yellow graphic with green, red, white, and yellow asterisks on the side. On top of the graphic it reads "Disabilty Pride Month". In the middle of the graphic it reads "Nothing About Us Without Us".
Beth Train-Brown@bethtrainbrown.bsky.social · last mo.

GODKILLER meets GREATEST SHOWMAN #NA #YA fantasy: a deaf sea witch escapes imprisonment and flees on a circus ship. Shark wrestling pays her fare but revenge pays her debt 🧏‍♀️ #OwnVoice 🎪 Author raised in circus 💜 Aspec FMC 👨🏼‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏾 MLM side romance ⚔️ Ride or die M&F besties 💕 Found family #QueerPit

An aesthetic board of 9 images. (1) A stormy sea with the quotation "Bring it all down." (2) A woman summoning water with her hands. (3) The view of the sea through barred windows. (4) A lion's mouth. (5) Four people running happily into the sea. (6) A fire breather shooting a plume of flame above himself. (7) An old-timey galleon setting sail. (8) A gloved hand sheathing a sword over a chainmailed shoulder. (9) Stormy cliffs with the quotation "No risk. No story." Overlayed across the whole image is the work's title, Anchoress.
Kestrel Craig@biconoclast.bsky.social · last mo.

THE TAINTED CUP x WITCHMARK Though he can’t sense magic himself, a nerdy gay investigator has worked his immigrant ass for years to earn the opportunity to consult on magical crimes. Unfortunately, the butch witch he has to work with to keep the job firmly believes ACAB. #QueerPit #A #F

Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg@theradr.bsky.social · last mo.

Human rights human dignity human safety human flourishing and the flourishing of the Earth and all of us, interconnected. Every choice, law, governance, policy, everything should flow from these things. It's. Not. Fucking. Complicated.