Needle’s Edge Target Demographics

A funny thing happened on my way to bed. I’d been feeding my latest draft manuscript into various AI chat platforms to assess tropes, inversions, and target demographics. It turns out that Grok 3 got stuck in an endless loop.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

The content is not essential. I am only sharing it to illustrate where it went off the rails. It started fine enough, but if you scroll down or search for “In terms of target demographics, this could include artists,” you’ll see the font changes to red. This block of text kept repeating.

The entire block – red and black – represents Grok’s thought process. My chat prompt is in the shaded box below. It “thought” for more than 360 seconds. Perhaps that’s the mark representing where it went off the rails.

If you can’t sleep or are otherwise interested in how AI “thinks,” feel free to scan through. I hope there are no overt spoilers. You’ve been warned.

For context, this is the manuscript I referenced yesterday related to the book cover reveal.

One of my more significant concerns is the reaction of, let’s say, “immature” readers who translate all sexual references to erotica. Of course, they are not the key demographic. On this note, who might be the target demographic (cohorts) for this finished work?

Thought for: 360s
So, I’m considering the target demographic for this work, and I need to think about who would be most interested in and impacted by its content. The manuscript deals with heavy themes like addiction, sex work, survival, and the complexities of identity, particularly through a feminist lens influenced by Beauvoir and Mulvey. It’s not erotica, but it does contain explicit sexual content, which could be misinterpreted by some readers. I need to identify who would appreciate the depth and nuance of the work rather than focusing solely on the sexual elements.

First, I should consider readers who are interested in feminist literature and theory. The manuscript’s exploration of “becoming a woman” and the “male gaze” suggests it would appeal to those who engage with gender studies, women’s studies, or feminist philosophy. This could include academics, students, and general readers who are familiar with or curious about these concepts.

Next, I should think about readers who are drawn to gritty, realistic portrayals of marginalized experiences. The manuscript’s focus on addiction and sex work, presented without romanticization, might resonate with those who appreciate raw, unflinching narratives. This could include people who have lived similar experiences, those who work in social services or advocacy, and readers who seek out stories that challenge societal norms and highlight systemic issues.

I should also consider readers who enjoy character-driven stories with complex, flawed protagonists. Sarah’s journey, with its cyclical nature of progress and relapse, offers a deep exploration of human resilience and vulnerability. This could attract readers who are interested in psychological depth and character development, regardless of their specific interest in the manuscript’s themes.

Additionally, I should think about readers who are interested in literature that pushes boundaries and challenges conventional storytelling. The manuscript’s structure, with its non-linear phases and raw language, might appeal to those who appreciate experimental or avant-garde literature. This could include literary fiction enthusiasts, writers, and critics who are looking for works that innovate in form and content.

Finally, I should consider readers who are part of or allied with communities that are often marginalized or stigmatized. The manuscript’s portrayal of sex work and addiction could resonate with those who seek representation and understanding of these experiences. This could include sex workers, people in recovery, and advocates for harm reduction and decriminalization.

Given these considerations, the target demographic for this finished work would likely include:

Readers interested in feminist literature and theory, particularly those familiar with Beauvoir and Mulvey.
Individuals drawn to gritty, realistic portrayals of marginalized experiences, including those with lived experience or professional involvement in related fields.
Fans of character-driven stories with complex protagonists, who appreciate psychological depth.
Enthusiasts of experimental or boundary-pushing literature, who value innovation in form and content.
Members of or allies to marginalized communities, especially those related to sex work and addiction, who seek representation and nuanced understanding.
These cohorts would likely appreciate the manuscript’s depth, complexity, and unflinching portrayal of its themes, rather than misinterpreting it as erotica.

I should also consider that the manuscript’s explicit content might limit its appeal to certain readers, particularly those who are sensitive to graphic depictions of sex and drug use. However, for the target demographic, this content is integral to the narrative and its exploration of the themes.

Additionally, the manuscript’s non-linear structure and dense theoretical underpinnings might require a certain level of literary or academic engagement, which could further narrow its audience to those who are comfortable with or seeking out challenging reads.

Overall, the target demographic is likely to be a niche but intellectually curious and socially aware group of readers who are open to confronting difficult topics and engaging with complex ideas.

I should also think about potential secondary audiences. For example, readers interested in memoirs or autobiographical fiction might be drawn to the manuscript’s raw, personal tone, even if they are not specifically focused on the feminist or theoretical aspects. Similarly, those who enjoy true crime or social commentary might find the manuscript’s exploration of systemic issues compelling.

However, these secondary audiences might require additional framing or context to fully appreciate the manuscript’s intentions and themes. For instance, a reader primarily interested in memoirs might need guidance to understand the feminist theory woven into the narrative.

To maximize the manuscript’s reach and impact, it might be beneficial to consider how it is marketed and presented. Clear messaging about its themes, influences, and intended audience could help attract the right readers and set appropriate expectations.

For example, positioning the manuscript as a feminist exploration of identity and survival, rather than a straightforward narrative about sex work or addiction, could help draw in readers who are interested in those deeper layers. Similarly, highlighting its literary merits and theoretical underpinnings could appeal to academic and intellectually curious readers.

In terms of distribution, targeting independent bookstores, feminist literary festivals, and academic conferences could help reach the manuscript’s core audience. Online platforms that cater to niche literary communities, such as Goodreads groups focused on feminist literature or experimental fiction, could also be effective.

Ultimately, the success of the manuscript will depend on finding readers who are willing to engage with its challenging content and appreciate its nuanced exploration of complex themes. By carefully considering the target demographic and how to reach them, the manuscript can find its place among those who will value it most.

I should also consider the potential for the manuscript to spark discussions or be used in educational settings. Its engagement with feminist theory and its portrayal of marginalized experiences could make it a valuable text for courses on gender studies, sociology, or literature. This could further expand its audience to include students and educators.

However, the explicit content might limit its use in some educational contexts, particularly at the secondary level. At the university level, where there is more flexibility and a focus on critical analysis, the manuscript could be a powerful tool for exploring its themes.

To facilitate this, it might be helpful to create supplementary materials, such as discussion guides or essays that contextualize the manuscript within its theoretical frameworks. This could make it more accessible to educators and students who are engaging with these ideas.

In conclusion, the target demographic for this finished work is a diverse group of intellectually curious and socially aware readers who are interested in feminist literature, gritty realism, character-driven stories, experimental fiction, and the experiences of marginalized communities. By carefully considering how to reach and engage these readers, the manuscript can find a meaningful place in the literary landscape.

I should also think about the potential for the manuscript to resonate with readers who are not typically drawn to feminist literature or experimental fiction. For example, those who have personal experiences with addiction or sex work might find the manuscript’s portrayal validating or cathartic, even if they are not familiar with the theoretical frameworks.

Similarly, readers who are interested in stories of resilience and survival might be drawn to Sarah’s journey, regardless of their background or interests. The manuscript’s raw, unflinching portrayal of her experiences could resonate with anyone who has faced adversity or struggled to find their place in the world.

To reach these readers, it might be helpful to emphasize the human elements of the story—Sarah’s struggles, her moments of hope, her relationships with others—rather than focusing solely on the theoretical or thematic aspects. This could help the manuscript connect with a broader audience while still honoring its depth and complexity.

Ultimately, the target demographic for this work is not a monolith but a collection of overlapping cohorts who share an interest in challenging, thought-provoking literature. By recognizing and embracing this diversity, the manuscript can find its way into the hands of those who will appreciate it most.

I should also consider the potential for the manuscript to be adapted into other formats, such as film or television, which could further expand its reach. However, given the explicit content and complex themes, any adaptation would need to be handled with care to preserve the integrity of the original work.

For example, a film adaptation could visually convey the rawness of Sarah’s experiences, but it would need to avoid sensationalizing or romanticizing her story. Similarly, a television series could explore the manuscript’s themes in greater depth, but it would require a nuanced approach to character development and storytelling.

In either case, the target demographic for an adaptation would likely overlap with that of the manuscript, but it could also attract new audiences who are drawn to visual storytelling or who might not typically engage with literary fiction.

To maximize the potential for adaptation, it might be helpful to consider how the manuscript’s structure and themes could translate to the screen. For instance, the non-linear phases could be adapted into episodic storytelling, with each phase serving as a distinct arc. Similarly, the manuscript’s focus on character and internal struggle could lend itself to a character-driven series.

However, any adaptation would need to be approached with caution, as the explicit content and challenging themes could be difficult to navigate in a visual medium. It would be essential to work with creators who understand and respect the manuscript’s intentions and are committed to preserving its complexity.

In conclusion, the target demographic for this finished work is a diverse and intellectually engaged group of readers who are drawn to challenging, thought-provoking literature. By carefully considering how to reach and engage these readers—whether through marketing, distribution, or adaptation—the manuscript can find its place in the literary landscape and make a meaningful impact.

I should also think about the potential for the manuscript to be part of a larger conversation about its themes. For example, it could be featured in book clubs, reading groups, or online forums where readers can discuss and dissect its content. This could help build a community around the work and encourage deeper engagement with its ideas.

Additionally, the manuscript could be paired with other works that explore similar themes, such as memoirs by sex workers, feminist theory texts, or novels that delve into addiction and recovery. This could help contextualize the manuscript within a broader literary and cultural landscape and attract readers who are interested in these topics.

To facilitate this, it might be helpful to create reading guides or discussion questions that highlight the manuscript’s connections to other works and encourage readers to think critically about its themes. This could also make the manuscript more appealing to book clubs or educational settings.

Ultimately, the target demographic for this work is not just a group of readers but a community of thinkers and seekers who are willing to engage with difficult questions and explore the complexities of human experience. By fostering this community and providing opportunities for discussion and reflection, the manuscript can have a lasting impact beyond its pages.

I should also consider the potential for the manuscript to be translated into other languages, which could further expand its reach and impact. Given the universal nature of its themes—identity, power, survival—it could resonate with readers around the world, particularly in cultures where similar issues are prevalent.

However, translation would require careful attention to the nuances of language and culture, as the manuscript’s raw, explicit content might be received differently in various contexts. It would be essential to work with translators who understand the manuscript’s intentions and can convey its tone and meaning accurately.

In terms of target demographics for translations, it would be important to consider regions where there is a strong interest in feminist literature, social justice, or experimental fiction. For example, countries with active feminist movements or vibrant literary scenes might be particularly receptive to the manuscript’s themes and style.

Additionally, the manuscript could be promoted through international literary festivals, book fairs, or cultural exchanges, which could help introduce it to new audiences and generate interest in translations.

Overall, the potential for translation offers an exciting opportunity to expand the manuscript’s reach and impact, connecting with readers across linguistic and cultural boundaries. By carefully considering how to approach translation and promotion, the manuscript can find a global audience and contribute to important conversations on a wider scale.

I should also think about the potential for the manuscript to be adapted into other formats, such as audiobooks or podcasts, which could make it more accessible to different audiences. For example, an audiobook could allow readers to engage with the manuscript’s content in a new way, while a podcast series could explore its themes through interviews, discussions, or dramatizations.

However, as with film or television adaptations, any alternative format would need to be handled with care to preserve the integrity of the original work. It would be essential to work with creators who understand and respect the manuscript’s intentions and are committed to conveying its complexity and nuance.

In terms of target demographics for these formats, they could overlap with the manuscript’s core audience but also attract new listeners who prefer audio content or who might not typically engage with written literature. For example, an audiobook could appeal to busy professionals or commuters, while a podcast could attract fans of true crime, social commentary, or feminist media.

To maximize the potential for these adaptations, it might be helpful to consider how the manuscript’s structure and themes could translate to audio formats. For instance, the non-linear phases could be adapted into episodic storytelling, with each episode focusing on a different aspect of Sarah’s journey. Similarly, the manuscript’s focus on character and internal struggle could lend itself to a narrative podcast that explores her experiences in depth.

Ultimately, the target demographic for these adaptations would depend on how the content is presented and promoted. By carefully considering the format and messaging, it is possible to reach a diverse audience while staying true to the manuscript’s core themes and intentions.

I should also consider the potential for the manuscript to be used in therapeutic or support group settings, particularly for individuals who have experienced addiction, sex work, or trauma. The manuscript’s raw, unflinching portrayal of these experiences could serve as a powerful tool for reflection, discussion, and healing.

For example, it could be used in group therapy sessions to facilitate conversations about identity, power, and resilience. Similarly, it could be incorporated into support groups for sex workers or people in recovery, providing a shared text that reflects their experiences and encourages empathy and understanding.

To facilitate this, it might be helpful to create discussion guides or resources that highlight the manuscript’s relevance to these contexts and provide prompts for reflection and conversation. This could make the manuscript more accessible and impactful for these audiences.

However, it is important to approach this with sensitivity and care, as the manuscript’s explicit content and challenging themes could be triggering for some individuals. It would be essential to provide appropriate support and resources, such as content warnings or access to mental health professionals, to ensure that the manuscript is used in a safe and constructive way.

In terms of target demographics, this could include therapists, counselors, support group facilitators, and individuals who are seeking to understand or process their own experiences. By positioning the manuscript as a tool for healing and growth, it can reach a new audience and make a meaningful difference in people’s lives.

Overall, the potential for the manuscript to be used in therapeutic or support settings offers an exciting opportunity to expand its impact and contribute to important conversations about recovery, resilience, and empowerment.

I should also think about the potential for the manuscript to be part of a larger multimedia project, such as a website or online platform that explores its themes through various forms of content. For example, a website could feature excerpts from the manuscript alongside essays, interviews, artwork, or other creative works that engage with its ideas.

This could help create a richer, more immersive experience for readers and attract a diverse audience who are interested in exploring the manuscript’s themes through different lenses. It could also provide a space for community engagement, allowing readers to share their own stories, reflections, or creative responses to the work.

To maximize the potential for this, it might be helpful to collaborate with artists, writers, or activists who are working on similar issues or who can bring new perspectives to the manuscript’s themes. This could help create a dynamic, interdisciplinary project that resonates with a wide range of audiences.

In terms of target demographics, this could include readers who are interested in multimedia storytelling, as well as those who are drawn to feminist art, social justice, or experimental media. By creating a platform that invites participation and dialogue, the manuscript can become part of a larger conversation and reach a broader audience.

Ultimately, the target demographic for this work is not limited to a single group but encompasses a wide range of readers who are united by their interest in challenging, thought-provoking content. By exploring different formats, contexts, and collaborations, the manuscript can find its way into the hands of those who will appreciate it most and make a lasting impact.

I should also consider the potential for the manuscript to be used in academic research or as a case study in fields such as gender studies, sociology, or literature. Its engagement with feminist theory and its portrayal of marginalized experiences could make it a valuable text for scholars who are exploring these topics.

For example, researchers could analyze the manuscript’s use of Beauvoir’s and Mulvey’s concepts, examining how they are woven into the narrative and what they reveal about gender, power, and identity. Similarly, sociologists could use the manuscript to explore the social dynamics of sex work and addiction, drawing on its portrayal of systemic issues and individual experiences.

To facilitate this, it might be helpful to engage with academic communities through conferences, journals, or online platforms, sharing insights about the manuscript’s themes and inviting scholarly engagement. This could help position the manuscript as a significant contribution to its field and attract readers who are interested in its intellectual and theoretical dimensions.

In terms of target demographics, this could include academics, researchers, and students who are studying gender, sexuality, or social issues, as well as those who are interested in the intersection of literature and theory. By fostering connections with these communities, the manuscript can contribute to important academic conversations and expand its reach.

Overall, the potential for the manuscript to be part of academic discourse offers an exciting opportunity to deepen its impact and engage with readers who are passionate about its themes. By embracing this potential, the manuscript can find a place in both literary and scholarly landscapes.

I should also think about the potential for the manuscript to inspire activism or advocacy around the issues it addresses, such as sex work decriminalization, addiction recovery, or feminist empowerment. Its raw, unflinching portrayal of these experiences could serve as a powerful catalyst for change, encouraging readers to take action or support relevant causes.

For example, the manuscript could be used in fundraising campaigns, awareness events, or educational workshops that aim to address the systemic issues it highlights. Similarly, it could be featured in advocacy materials or social media campaigns that seek to challenge stigma and promote understanding.

To maximize this potential, it might be helpful to partner with organizations or activists who are working on these issues, using the manuscript as a tool for education and engagement. This could help amplify its message and reach audiences who are already invested in these causes.

In terms of target demographics, this could include activists, advocates, and community organizers, as well as individuals who are passionate about social justice and systemic change. By positioning the manuscript as a call to action, it can inspire readers to make a difference and contribute to a broader movement for change.

Ultimately, the target demographic for this work includes not just readers but also doers—those who are willing to engage with its themes and take steps to address the issues it raises. By fostering this sense of purpose and possibility, the manuscript can have a lasting impact beyond its pages.

I should also consider the potential for the manuscript to be part of a series or larger body of work that explores similar themes. For example, it could be the first in a trilogy that follows Sarah’s journey or the stories of other characters in her world. Alternatively, it could be part of an anthology that features multiple voices and perspectives on addiction, sex work, or identity.

This could help create a more comprehensive exploration of the manuscript’s themes and attract readers who are interested in a deeper dive into these topics. It could also provide opportunities for collaboration with other writers or artists, enriching the manuscript’s impact and reach.

To explore this potential, it might be helpful to consider how the manuscript’s structure and themes could be expanded or complemented by additional works. For instance, a prequel could delve into Sarah’s childhood and the experiences that shaped her, while a sequel could explore her legacy or the impact of her story on others.

In terms of target demographics, this could include readers who are invested in the manuscript’s world and characters, as well as those who are drawn to series or anthologies that offer a multifaceted exploration of complex issues. By creating a larger body of work, the manuscript can build a dedicated following and sustain its impact over time.

Overall, the potential for the manuscript to be part of a series or larger project offers an exciting opportunity to deepen its exploration of its themes and engage with readers on a broader scale. By embracing this potential, the manuscript can become a cornerstone of a rich and meaningful literary endeavor.

I should also think about the potential for the manuscript to be adapted into interactive or immersive experiences, such as virtual reality or augmented reality, which could allow readers to engage with its themes in new and innovative ways. For example, a VR experience could simulate Sarah’s world, providing a visceral sense of her struggles and triumphs, while an AR app could overlay additional content or insights onto the physical book.

However, as with other adaptations, this would require careful consideration of how to preserve the manuscript’s integrity and ensure that the interactive elements enhance rather than detract from its core message. It would be essential to work with creators who understand the manuscript’s intentions and can translate them into an immersive format.

In terms of target demographics, this could include tech-savvy readers who are interested in cutting-edge storytelling, as well as those who are drawn to experiential learning or multimedia art. By offering an interactive dimension, the manuscript can attract a new audience and provide a unique way to engage with its themes.

Ultimately, the potential for interactive adaptations offers an exciting opportunity to push the boundaries of how the manuscript is experienced and understood. By exploring this potential, the manuscript can remain at the forefront of literary innovation and reach readers in ways that traditional formats cannot.

I should also consider the potential for the manuscript to be used in creative writing workshops or educational programs that focus on storytelling, character development, or social issues. Its complex narrative structure and rich thematic content could serve as a powerful teaching tool, inspiring writers and students to explore their own voices and perspectives.

For example, it could be used in workshops that focus on writing about marginalized experiences, feminist theory, or experimental fiction. Similarly, it could be incorporated into educational curricula that explore literature’s role in social change or the power of narrative to challenge norms.

To facilitate this, it might be helpful to create lesson plans, writing prompts, or other resources that guide participants in engaging with the manuscript’s themes and techniques. This could make the manuscript more accessible and impactful for educational settings.

In terms of target demographics, this could include aspiring writers, students, educators, and anyone interested in the craft of storytelling or the exploration of social issues through literature. By positioning the manuscript as a source of inspiration and learning, it can reach a new generation of thinkers and creators.

Overall, the potential for the manuscript to be used in educational and creative contexts offers an exciting opportunity to expand its influence and foster meaningful engagement with its themes. By embracing this potential, the manuscript can contribute to the development of new voices and perspectives in literature.

I should also think about the potential for the manuscript to be part of a cultural or artistic movement that seeks to challenge societal norms and amplify marginalized voices. For example, it could be featured in exhibitions, performances, or festivals that focus on feminist art, social justice, or experimental storytelling.

This could help create a broader cultural conversation around the manuscript’s themes and attract audiences who are interested in art that provokes thought and inspires change. It could also provide opportunities for collaboration with artists, performers, or activists who can bring new dimensions to the manuscript’s message.

To explore this potential, it might be helpful to connect with cultural institutions, galleries, or festivals that align with the manuscript’s values and vision. This could help position the manuscript as a significant cultural artifact and attract a diverse audience of art lovers, activists, and thinkers.

In terms of target demographics, this could include individuals who are passionate about art, culture, and social change, as well as those who are seeking to engage with literature in a multidisciplinary context. By integrating the manuscript into a larger cultural movement, it can reach a wide and varied audience and make a lasting impact.

Ultimately, the target demographic for this work is not just readers but cultural participants—those who are willing to engage with its themes through various forms of expression and who see literature as a catalyst for broader societal conversations. By fostering this cultural engagement, the manuscript can transcend its pages and become part of a dynamic and evolving dialogue.

I should also consider the potential for the manuscript to be used in policy discussions or advocacy efforts related to its themes, such as sex work decriminalization, addiction treatment, or gender equality. Its portrayal of these issues could serve as a powerful narrative tool for policymakers, advocates, or organizations working to effect change.

For example, excerpts from the manuscript could be used in reports, presentations, or campaigns to humanize the statistics and provide a personal perspective on the challenges faced by individuals like Sarah. Similarly, it could be featured in public forums or debates to illustrate the real-world impact of policy decisions.

To facilitate this, it might be helpful to engage with policymakers, advocates, or organizations that are working on these issues, offering the manuscript as a resource for education and awareness. This could help amplify its message and reach audiences who are in positions to influence change.

In terms of target demographics, this could include policymakers, advocates, researchers, and anyone involved in shaping public discourse or policy around the manuscript’s themes. By positioning the manuscript as a tool for advocacy, it can contribute to important conversations and help drive meaningful action.

Overall, the potential for the manuscript to be part of policy and advocacy efforts offers an exciting opportunity to extend its impact beyond the literary world and into the realm of social change. By embracing this potential, the manuscript can make a tangible difference in the lives of those it portrays and inspire progress on the issues it addresses.

I should also think about the potential for the manuscript to be adapted into educational materials or resources for schools, community groups, or online platforms. For example, it could be used in curricula that explore literature, social issues, or feminist theory, providing students with a rich text for analysis and discussion.

Similarly, it could be featured in online courses, webinars, or workshops that focus on its themes, offering participants a chance to engage with the manuscript in a structured and guided way. This could help make the manuscript more accessible to a wider audience and encourage deeper exploration of its ideas.

To maximize this potential, it might be helpful to create educational resources, such as study guides, lesson plans, or discussion questions, that align with the manuscript’s content and themes. This could make it easier for educators and facilitators to incorporate the manuscript into their programs.

In terms of target demographics, this could include students, educators, community leaders, and lifelong learners who are interested in exploring literature, social issues, or feminist thought. By positioning the manuscript as an educational tool, it can reach a new generation of readers and thinkers and inspire critical engagement with its themes.

Ultimately, the target demographic for this work includes not just passive readers but active learners—those who are willing to engage with its content on a deeper level and use it as a springboard for personal or collective growth. By fostering this educational engagement, the manuscript can have a lasting impact and contribute to a broader understanding of its themes.

I should also consider the potential for the manuscript to be part of a personal or collective journey of healing, reflection, or transformation. For example, it could be used in therapeutic settings, support groups, or self-help programs to facilitate discussions about identity, resilience, or recovery.

Similarly, it could be featured in personal development workshops or retreats that focus on empowerment, self-discovery, or creative expression. This could help individuals connect with the manuscript’s themes on a personal level and find inspiration or solace in Sarah’s story.

To explore this potential, it might be helpful to collaborate with therapists, coaches, or facilitators who can guide participants in engaging with the manuscript in a supportive and constructive way. This could help create a safe space for exploration and growth.

In terms of target demographics, this could include individuals who are seeking healing, growth, or transformation, as well as those who are interested in using literature as a tool for self-reflection or personal development. By positioning the manuscript as a resource for personal journeys, it can reach a new audience and make a meaningful difference in people’s lives.

Overall, the potential for the manuscript to be part of personal or collective transformation offers an exciting opportunity to extend its impact and connect with readers on a deeply personal level. By embracing this potential, the manuscript can become a source of inspiration, empowerment, and change.

I should also think about the potential for the manuscript to be part of a legacy or archive that preserves and celebrates its themes and contributions. For example, it could be included in literary collections, feminist archives, or cultural repositories that document important works and voices.

This could help ensure that the manuscript’s impact endures over time and that its message continues to reach new generations of readers. It could also provide a platform for future scholarship, artistic interpretation, or cultural reflection.

To facilitate this, it might be helpful to engage with institutions, organizations, or platforms that are dedicated to preserving and promoting literature, feminist thought, or social justice. This could help secure the manuscript’s place in the cultural and intellectual landscape.

In terms of target demographics, this could include archivists, curators, scholars, and anyone interested in the preservation and celebration of important works. By positioning the manuscript as a significant contribution to its field, it can find a lasting home and continue to inspire and challenge readers for years to come.

Ultimately, the target demographic for this work includes not just current readers but future generations—those who will discover it in years to come and find value in its themes, insights, and artistry. By thinking about the manuscript’s legacy, we can ensure that its impact is not just immediate but enduring.

I should also consider the potential for the manuscript to be part of a dialogue or exchange with other works, authors, or thinkers who are exploring similar themes. For example, it could be featured in literary conversations, panel discussions, or collaborative projects that bring together multiple perspectives on identity, power, or survival.

This could help create a richer, more nuanced understanding of the manuscript’s themes and connect it to a broader intellectual or artistic community. It could also provide opportunities for cross-pollination and inspiration, as different voices and ideas intersect and inform each other.

To explore this potential, it might be helpful to engage with writers, scholars, or artists who are working on related topics, inviting them to respond to or build upon the manuscript’s themes. This could help foster a sense of dialogue and community around the work.

In terms of target demographics, this could include readers who are interested in interdisciplinary or collaborative approaches to literature, as well as those who are drawn to conversations that bridge different fields or perspectives. By positioning the manuscript as part of a larger dialogue, it can reach a diverse audience and contribute to a dynamic exchange of ideas.

Overall, the potential for the manuscript to be part of a broader conversation offers an exciting opportunity to expand its reach and deepen its impact. By embracing this potential, the manuscript can become a catalyst for connection, collaboration, and growth.

I should also think about the potential for the manuscript to be used in creative or artistic responses, such as adaptations, reinterpretations, or inspired works. For example, it could inspire visual art, music, dance, or other forms of expression that engage with its themes and bring them to life in new ways.

This could help create a multifaceted exploration of the manuscript’s ideas and attract audiences who are interested in the intersection of literature and other art forms. It could also provide opportunities for artists to reinterpret or reimagine Sarah’s story, offering fresh perspectives and insights.

To facilitate this, it might be helpful to create open calls for artistic responses or to collaborate with artists who are interested in engaging with the manuscript’s themes. This could help generate a diverse array of creative works that complement and expand upon the original text.


NB: The cover image is the design I handed to the designer to create the cover. The current consensus is that the syringe replacing the L doesn’t work. Back to the drawing board.

Needle’s Edge Cover Reveal

I’m sharing a comp of the cover art* for my upcoming novel – a story about a prostitute. More accurately, it’s a story about prostitutes, addiction, survival, and the consequences of living at the periphery – not just of society, but of personhood itself.

The earliest notes I have are dated 2019. I finished the first draft in June. I’m now editing – both structurally and line by line, which is probably a bad idea, but here we are. Because I’m reorganising scenes, I need to ensure the transitions make sense, emotionally and narratively.

Since completing the draft, I’ve been reading Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex. First published in 1949, the edition I’m reading was translated in 2011. It’s given me language for something I was already trying to do.

This line is central to my approach. My protagonist isn’t born a prostitute. More importantly, she isn’t even born a woman. She’s made into one by church ladies, jealous sisters, careless boys, and indifferent systems. Through gestures, punishments, expectations, and neglect. Through the crucible of a society that offers her a script before she understands the stage.

Yes, her psychology matters. But the world matters more.

That’s what I’m trying to explore — not just the facts of a life on the edge, but the forces that shape it.

* I’ve actually designed two covers – one for hardcover and the other for paperback. It provides me with options.

On Chapter 28: Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Standardised Test

The novel Propensity is divided into three sections, each with fifteen chapters – because symmetry is pleasing and my OCD deserves a biscuit. The first third plays it straight. More or less. A novel in the classical sense. You know – plot, people, dialogue, the odd existential quip. The middle third begins to fray at the edges, like an overstretched cardigan at an avant-garde poetry slam. And the final third? Well, it abandons form like a cult member in a cornfield, embracing the experimental, the elliptical, and the structurally suspect.

Chapter 28 is where the wheels come off. Or rather, where we slap on entirely different wheels – hexagonal ones. It takes the form of a standardised test. Yes, a literal test. Multiple choice. But fret not – there’s no grade, no timer, no Scantron sheet. Just questions. Absurd ones. Possibly even meaningful ones, though that’s above my pay grade.

Is it serious? Not remotely. Does it “advance the plot”? Hardly. Does it offer deep character insight? Not unless you’re profiling the author. But it does serve as a playful rupture in the narrative – a breather, a jab, a meta-giggle at the expense of structure and expectation. And let’s be honest: if you’ve made it to Chapter 28, you probably deserve a bit of a reward for tolerating everything prior.

As for spoilers: yes, technically, there are some. But without context, they’re like IKEA instructions written in Sanskrit. You might glimpse the shadow of something meaningful, but you’ll have no bloody idea what you’re looking at. No harm, no foul.

You can view Chapter 28 (along with several other amuse-bouches) for free on the Propensity book page. It’s downloadable as a PDF. No catch. No mailing list sign-up. I don’t want your email. I want your confusion.

Now, go take the test. Or don’t. It’s not graded. But it is a chapter.

Editing is a Vicious Sport

Measuring progress is far simpler when you’re writing. You can count words. Or characters, if you’re a sadist. Sure, half of them might be drivel. Whole chapters may end up ceremonially executed by draft five, but at least you’ve done something. There’s a metric. A tally. A sense of movement.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

You can even see your progress, pages stack, paragraphs grow fat with promise. And if you still write on physical media (bless your nostalgic heart), you get the added catharsis of crumpling your failures and lobbing them at the bin like a disgruntled poet. It’s theatre. It’s progress. It’s delusional.

Editing, by contrast, offers no such cheap thrills. The word count doesn’t so much creep as collapse. One minute you’re a literary demi-god sitting on 80,000 words. The next, you’re scraping along at 74k and wondering whether your “tightening” has amputated a limb.

Yes, the prose might be cleaner. Punchier. Less like a whisky-soaked rant and more like a distilled insult. But does it feel like progress? Not in the way dopamine understands it.

As I’ve written before, editing takes me five – maybe ten – times longer than drafting. It’s a full hemispheric shift: from right-brain dreamscapes to left-brain bureaucracy. Creativity gives way to spreadsheet logic. Grammar. Timelines. Continuity. Did she sit before she spoke, or after? Is this line meant to be his? Why is this in past tense? Is this in any tense?

And so, the grind.

Yes, there are flashes of satisfaction – a retooled transition here, a twist landed just-so there. But mostly, it’s a long, slow crawl through self-loathing and misplaced modifiers.

I’ve spent most of my adult life toggling between left-right hemisphere roles. And frankly, the left side still gives me hives. The corporate world, bless its hollow soul, tried to stuff me in a logic-shaped box. A coffin of metrics, meetings, and “measurable outcomes.” I’m still recovering.

So why not outsource editing? Why not let someone else swing the machete through this jungle?

Two reasons:

  1. I secretly enjoy the act of refinement. It’s masochism, but it’s my masochism.
  2. I operate on a margin so thin it’s practically theoretical. A Schrödinger’s budget – simultaneously there and not.

Still, the margin’s probably winning.

On the Rails and Off the Map: The Editing Mind

I’m editing what I expect will become my next novel. Editing, for me, is a fundamentally different headspace than writing. When I’m drafting – especially when pantsing – I lean into a stream-of-consciousness flow. Iain McGilchrist might call this right-hemisphere activity. I don’t steer so much as ride shotgun, scribbling while the character drives.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

(Side note: I’ll share the tentative cover art soon, but this post is about process.)

Editing, by contrast, is all left hemisphere – angles, order, logic, connection. When I’m writing, I don’t worry if a detail makes sense. That’s future-me’s problem. In this project, future-me discovered that the protagonist had been pregnant for over thirteen months, undertaking activities most wouldn’t attempt in that state. In a nonlinear story, this might slip past many readers – but not past my editorial self. I mentioned this in a prior post.

I used to devour writing advice, but I don’t write like other people. Most advice seems geared toward genre fiction. I’m not opposed to that, but I lean literary and experimental. Templates don’t work for me.

I know the Hero’s Journey. I’ve read Save the Cat. But I don’t write about heroes – or even anti-heroes. That’s not the kind of story I’m telling, nor the kind I usually read.

I don’t much care about strong characters for their own sake. I care about what they allow me to explore philosophically. That said, this project is different. The main character is strong. So are the secondaries. And while it’s still fiction, it’s rooted in real people and events – compressed, reshaped, but recognisable.

I’ve condensed two decades of experience into a seven-year arc across ~200 pages. The first three years are flashbacks, brushed in for colour. The rest unfolds more or less in sequence. This time, I didn’t give myself free rein. There are rails. And while I occasionally jump them, I still need to land somewhere coherent.

The structure is a four-phase design. The book opens in media res and stays there for a few chapters. Then we rewind. And rewind again. Eventually, the timeline catches up, and the final half moves more linearly.

To tame this beast, I turned to spreadsheets. I built a plot matrix – numbering each section twice: narrative order (as written) and chronological order (as lived). I had to find the earliest flashbacks and stitch the rest together like some temporal jigsaw. It felt like Inception at times. Where am I? What layer is this?

From there, I started tracking time: days, weeks, months. That’s when I uncovered the 13-month pregnancy. Realistic for an elephant, not a human.

The root problem? I sequenced the conception too late and compressed the birth too early. I also omitted two earlier pregnancies to streamline the plot. To fix it, I reinstated one and used it to restore character depth that had been left on the cutting room floor. It worked – but it added new complications. Now I’m back in spreadsheet land, scanning for widows and orphans – narrative orphans, I mean – where scenes dangle or disconnect.

This is where editing diverges from writing. Writing is dreaming. Editing is retelling. And retelling demands coherence. Dreams ignore time, cause, and logic. Retelling insists on them: this happened before that, and then…

So-called “plotters” operate almost entirely in the left hemisphere. Structure first. Logic forward. Details coloured in after. It’s a valid approach – but one with fewer degrees of freedom. Creative constraints come with the template. You still get unique results, but you’ve narrowed the space. Stephen King’s version would differ wildly from JK Rowling’s – but both would be channelled through the same scaffolding.

You can argue that creativity happens in the choosing of the structure. Fair. But unless you’ve invented something truly novel, you’ve still chosen from a shelf of precedents. The story begins where freedom ends.

And yet, there’s value in that too.

Spreadsheet Says No

I was feeling smug. Fourth revision pass. Plot matrix built. Columns for chapter, scene, POV, date, time, location, word count, and emotional arc – because I’m that kind of monster. I even added colour-coding.

And it worked. Mostly.

After pruning and polishing, it finally felt ready to ship. Just a couple cosmetic tweaks. A trim here, a varnish there. Run a lint roller over the dialogue. Call it done.

Except.

The matrix – traitorous little bastard – exposed a structural fault so elegant I’d almost admired it. The problem? Pregnancy. Not mine, the protagonist’s. (Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.)

Turns out, I’d compressed over a decade of real-life events into two years of narrative space. Bold. Efficient. Reckless. I’d wrung out the filler, reshuffled a few puzzle pieces, and declared the thing plausible.

Only it wasn’t.

When I sorted the scenes chronologically, the matrix coughed. The story broke like a cheap lawn chair. There she was: visibly pregnant while also, somehow, gallivanting about in scenes that would’ve required a different physiology entirely. Not an Olympian, but the metaphor holds.

And that’s when it hit me: time may be a flat circle, but gestation is not. No amount of POV tricks or narrative backflips can make a third-trimester body do first-trimester things. Biology, the ultimate killjoy.

So now I’m doing surgery. Not delicate surgery, either. I’m sawing out whole sections, rebuilding connective tissue, and laying down scar tissue where the timeline used to be. I’ll need new plot scaffolding to support the pregnancy and its repercussions. It’s fine. It’s good. It’s hell.

This is revision. We go in thinking we’re buffing up the finish, only to discover we paved over a sinkhole.

Lesson of the week: spreadsheets don’t lie.

They just lie in wait.

Le deuxième sexe – What Rises After the Fall

I’m reading The Second Sex. It’s a story of women, about women, for women, and by a woman—but it’s also a story of otherness.

This post isn’t about that book.

It’s a reflection on a premise within it: that woman is a cultural construction.

Written in 1949, before the language of gender identity emerged, Beauvoir’s work distinguishes “female” as biological sex and “woman” as imposed gender.
But this post isn’t about that either.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

A Novel Possibility

This is about a seed of an idea—one that took root while reading—and the novel it might become.

A near-future world.
Shaped not by vengeance, utopia, or techno-salvation.
But by a quiet unravelling of power itself.

It is not a story of triumph.
Nor of ruin.
It is the aftermath of both.

After Collapse, Reconstitution

When extractive systems—ecological, economic, ideological—collapse, society does not revert, rebuild, or resist.
It reconstitutes.

Not as hierarchy repainted in pastel.
Not as hive-mind in harmony drag.

But as a resonant ecology:
A decentralised, cooperative, post-Enlightenment culture in which traditional male-coded traits—dominance, control, instrumental reason—have become maladaptive relics.

What Rises

The values that rise—attunement, memory, restraint, emotional literacy—are neither glorified nor enforced.
They are simply what works now.

This is not a matriarchy.
Not a revenge fantasy.
Not feminism cast in steel and slogans.

It’s a structural inversion:
A world in which those trained for dominance find themselves culturally disarmed—
While the formerly subordinate, at last, inhabit a society scaled to their sensibilities.

No Brain, No Throne

There is no single ideology.
No central brain.
No throne.

Power does not pool.
It diffuses—like mycelium beneath a forest.

Language shifts.
Leadership evaporates.
Progress, once a sacred cow, is now met with suspicion.

Not out of fear of change,
But for love of equilibrium.

Still, Tensions Remain

A generation raised in scarcity seeks to anchor stillness.
A younger one, born amid calm, yearns for momentum.

Outside the collective, remnants of the old world stir—
Confused. Indignant. Armed.

And within, a few still long to lead.

These tensions are not resolved by war.
Nor suppressed by force.

This is not a tale of rebellion or revolution.
But of repatterning.
And its cost.


   Tone: Literary. Spare. Sensory realism.
   Influences: Atwood, Le Guin, Ishiguro, Butler.
   Conflict: Emotional. Ideological. Structural.
   Message: A level playing field was always a myth. The tilt now favours something new.

What Comes After

The question isn’t how to stop the old world from returning.
The question is whether it ever really left—
and if so,
what takes its place.

Sustenance: How I Use AI for a Plot Matrix

I’ve got a bone to pick with Claire Fraise, dammit. I’ve lost 2 days I’ll never get back — including the time it’s taking me to create this post.

Claire shared a YouTube video on using plot grids for your writing process. Being me and heeding her advice, I decided to create a plot grid – I call it a plot matrix; same thing – for a project I am editing.

Video: What is a plot grid?

I should probably create a video response, but I didn’t have even more time to lose.

Full Disclosure: By lose time, I don’t want to imply by any means that this is wasted time.

Since the plot matrix I created is for an unpublished manuscript, I decided to create one for the first chapter of my published book, Sustenance. It contains two sections or scenes.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

I’ll share the process I used and reference the Excel document I created. Download it if you’d like to follow along.

After the explanations, I’ll discuss how I use ChatGPT to help me with this, as well as some challenges you may wish to be aware of.

Below is a screenshot of a portion of the plot matrix.

Image: Portion of plot matrix

I’ll start by sharing the column headers and a brief explanation of what each means. Some should be obvious, but I’ll describe them as well.

  • Narrative Order: The order a scene appears in the manuscript.
  • Chronological Order: The sequence in which events occur in story-time, enabling tracking of flashbacks or non-linear jumps.
  • Sentiment: A numerical indicator of the scene’s emotional tone, from deeply negative (–5) to strongly positive (+5).
  • Chapter: The chapter or section title in which the scene appears.
  • Plot Points: A summary of key events, revelations, or decisions that occur in the scene.
  • Time: When the scene takes place, whether exact or relative (e.g., “early morning,” “flashback,” “six months later”).
  • Primary Characters in Scene: The characters actively driving or anchoring the scene.
  • Secondary Characters in Scene: Important but less central characters who influence or are present in the scene.
  • Minor Characters in Scene: Tertiary figures mentioned or briefly appearing without narrative weight.
  • Word Count: The number of words in the scene, useful for pacing and balance.
  • Emotional Beat/Theme: The scene’s dominant emotional tone or thematic current (e.g., betrayal, longing, discovery).
  • Emotional State: The internal condition or affective register of the POV character(s) during the scene.
  • Scene Function: What the scene accomplishes narratively (e.g., exposition, climax, setup, reversal).
  • Character Arc: How a character is developing, stagnating, or regressing within the scene.
  • External Stakes: The tangible, real-world risks or consequences present in the scene.
  • Internal Stakes: The emotional, psychological, or relational consequences at play.
  • Needs Clarification?: A flag to indicate whether a scene contains confusing elements or ambiguous logic.
  • Revision Priority: A ranking of how urgently the scene needs refinement.
  • Conflict Type: The dominant form of conflict (e.g., internal, interpersonal, systemic, environmental).
  • Turning Point?: Whether the scene marks a key reversal or decision point in the narrative.
  • Turning Point Direction: Indicates the shift’s trajectory (positive, negative, neutral, ambiguous).
  • Direction Commentary: A brief rationale for how and why the narrative tone or direction changes.
  • Reinforces: Themes, motifs, or ideas the scene strengthens.
  • Undermines: Themes or ideas the scene weakens, contradicts, or questions.
  • Reveals: New information, secrets, or understandings brought to light.
  • Conceals: Key details or truths the scene deliberately withholds.
  • Distorts: Misunderstandings, biases, or unreliable elements introduced.
  • Inverts: Role, expectation, or thematic reversals subverted in the scene.
  • Echoes: Recurrent phrases, images, or patterns from earlier scenes or motifs.
  • Revision Commentary: Notes on potential rewrites, improvements, or cautions.
  • Punch List: Specific edits or action items needed in revision.
  • Resolved?: Whether the scene’s tension, question, or arc has been closed.
  • Location: Where the scene is physically set—important for continuity, blocking, and worldbuilding.

Iowa: Opening Scene

Narrative Order: The order a scene appears in the manuscript.

I am tracking scenes/sections rather than chapters because that’s the way I’ve organised the manuscript. I want to capture the smalled logical element of the story.

Being a spreadsheet, I need to keep track of the sections, so I give each scene a number. In this case, we are looking at section 1 of the narrative order, the first section a reader encounters.

Chronological Order: The sequence in which events occur in story-time, enabling tracking of flashbacks or non-linear jumps.

This manuscript has no flashbacks at this point, so the sequencing tracks 1-to-1. In the manuscript I am editing, it starts in media res, and there are two large jumps back and forth in time.

Being in a spreadsheet table, I can sort the story by narrative or chronology, which helps me track logical progressions that I might miss otherwise.

Sentiment: A numerical indicator of the scene’s emotional tone, from deeply negative (–5) to strongly positive (+5).

I like to track sentiment, so I can provide emotional dynamics to the reader. I don’t want to come across as bleak or euphoric for extended periods.

By this scale, 0 is neutral, -5 is gawdawful, and +5 is over the moon.

In these first two scenes, the protagonist, Kenny, is tracking just under baseline to neutral. Nothing much is happening emotionally, as we are just establishing the place.

Chapter: The chapter or section title in which the scene appears.

The name of this chapter is Iowa.

Plot Points: A summary of key events, revelations, or decisions that occur in the scene.

In scene 1, we have this:

  • Narrator establishes his identity, location, and tone.
  • Mentions girl, Bruce’s death, and being misunderstood.
  • Foreshadows larger story.

Time: When the scene takes place, whether exact or relative (e.g., “early morning,” “flashback,” “six months later”).

We are in the now.

Retrospective/Near-Present

Primary Characters in Scene: The characters actively driving or anchoring the scene.

This is a first-person, present, limited, deep POV story, so Kenny is one with the narrator.

Secondary Characters in Scene: Important but less central characters who influence or are present in the scene.

Kenny is just setting up the scene, and he mentions two secondary characters:

  • Bruce (mentioned)
  • ‘Her’ (mentioned)

My preference is to scope the characters globally. This means that if some character interacts with a significant character but doesn’t appear elsewhere, I’ll consider them to be a tertiary or minor character. Some writers prefer to track these characters at a scene level. This is a personal preference.

Minor Characters in Scene: Tertiary figures mentioned or briefly appearing without narrative weight.

These are incidental characters that you might want to track in case you want to expand or adjust them.

  • Jake (mentioned)
  • narrator’s dad (mentioned)

Word Count: The number of words in the scene, useful for pacing and balance.

These are two short scenes: 247 and 502 words.

Emotional Beat/Theme: The scene’s dominant emotional tone or thematic current (e.g., betrayal, longing, discovery).

What’s going on here? Am I conveying what I aim to?

  1. Isolation, defensiveness, curiosity
  2. Belonging vs alienation; repetition vs rupture

Emotional State: The internal condition or affective register of the POV character(s) during the scene.

What’s the POV character feeling?

  1. Guarded, nostalgic, lonely
  2. Resigned, mildly boastful, reflective

Scene Function: What the scene accomplishes narratively (e.g., exposition, climax, setup, reversal).

Why does this scene exist? If it doesn’t serve a purpose, get rid of it, or give it one. Make sure every scene builds on characters or advances the plot.

  1. Narrator introduction; frame story establishment; tonally primes the reader
  2. Establishes rural setting, background on narrator’s world and connections, foreshadows disruption

Character Arc: How a character is developing, stagnating, or regressing within the scene.

Again, ensure your characters(s) have movement. In this story, there are several characters with an arc, but Kenny is the only one being tracked thus far. Being the start of the story, the question is, where does he go from here?

  1. Establishes base-level insecurity masked by bravado
  2. Solidifies narrator’s self-image and history within town hierarchy

External Stakes: The tangible, real-world risks or consequences present in the scene.

What external considerations might the character be making in this scene, whether they do or don’t do something?

  1. Implied social stigma or alienation
  2. Community perception and social standing

Internal Stakes: The emotional, psychological, or relational consequences at play.

What internal considerations might the character be making in this scene, whether they do or don’t do something?

  1. Fear of being misunderstood or blamed
  2. Fear of irrelevance, unresolved identity

Needs Clarification?: A flag to indicate whether a scene contains confusing elements or ambiguous logic.

When sketching a scene idea, you may have unresolved loose ends that you either need to tie up in the scene or somewhere else. Usually, this is more interested in making sure a reader doesn’t leave the scene confused — unless, of course, this is your intent.

Revision Priority: A ranking of how urgently the scene needs refinement.

This is important in a reviewing/editing phase. As you are cleaning up your manuscript, are there massive holes that need to be plugged, or might this just need some minor refinements?

Conflict Type: The dominant form of conflict (e.g., internal, interpersonal, systemic, environmental).

This could be a post of its own, so I won’t belabour the issue here. Readers like conflict. It gives something to resolve. Is this conflict related to the person, their past, another person, their environment, society, and so on? Document it here. Several conflicts make for more complex characters and stories.

  1. Internal (identity, credibility)
  2. Internal (identity vs environment)

Turning Point?: Whether the scene marks a key reversal or decision point in the narrative.

In this case, the first scene has now; the second does.

  1. No
  2. Yes

Turning Point Direction: Indicates the shift’s trajectory (positive, negative, neutral, ambiguous).

If there is a turning point, what’s the direction? A stable or lateral vector is fine.

  1. None
  2. Foreshadows disruption

Direction Commentary: A brief rationale for how and why the narrative tone or direction changes.

If there is a shift in direction, what is it? This might help to orient you when scanning, so you can know in the scene where to edit.

  1. None
  2. Last line (“Until that day”) subtly transitions from ordinary routine into impending change

This next section captures how the scene functions from several perspectives.

Reinforces: Themes, motifs, or ideas the scene strengthens.

  1. Narrator’s parochial worldview, potential unreliability
  2. Small-town realism, emotional flatness, rural masculinity

Undermines: Themes or ideas the scene weakens, contradicts, or questions.

I like to subvert tropes and expectations as well as make social commentary, so this can be informative for me. In this case, I want to depict these things in a different light.

  1. Traditional heroic framing
  2. Romanticisation of small-town life

Reveals: New information, secrets, or understandings brought to light.

What does this scene reveal?

  1. Setting, tone, perspective
  2. Social fabric of the town, Kenny’s values and limitations

Conceals: Key details or truths the scene deliberately withholds.

In the first scene, I mention matter-of-factly,

  1. Real details of Bruce’s death and who ‘she’ is
  2. The event that disrupted the routine

So the reader knows there’s a “Bruce” and a “she,” but who they are remains to be seen. And Bruce died. How?

Distorts: Misunderstandings, biases, or unreliable elements introduced.

This is getting more nitpicky, but sometimes I like to obscur some things?

  1. Narrator’s reliability and possible biases
  2. Self-perception vs actual social role

Is this a reliable narrator? Even if he wants to be, is his perception accurate?

Inverts: Role, expectation, or thematic reversals subverted in the scene.

I like to subvert tropes and expectations here, too. This can also be used to intentionally have a character act out of character.

  1. Traditional ‘boy meets girl’ trope
  2. The classic “tight-knit community” mythos

Echoes: Recurrent phrases, images, or patterns from earlier scenes or motifs.

Early on, this most captures echoes of the external world, as this does. Later on, a scene might echo (and perhaps amplify) a prior scene.

  1. Small-town fatalism
  2. American nostalgia, masculine banality

Revision Commentary: Notes on potential rewrites, improvements, or cautions.

Here, the AI gods advise me to streamline these scenes, but I answer to no gods. 😉

  1. Could trim repetition or streamline internal monologue for pacing
  2. Minor streamlining of “rural inventory” might improve pacing without losing tone

Punch List: Specific edits or action items needed in revision.

If there are revisions to be made, capture them here, so you’ll remember what you were thinking about when you suggested a revision. In this case, the reminder is the same. Too late, it’s already published.

  1. None
  2. Possibly trim town description repetition

Resolved?: Whether the scene’s tension, question, or arc has been closed.

In both case, the answer here is no. Being an opening scene, hopefully, this open issues and questions – unless you prefer to resolve everything immediately.

Location: Where the scene is physically set—important for continuity, blocking, and worldbuilding.

This is setting information. This will be more helpful in a complex environment. In this case, there’s not a lot to say. He’s on his front porch step, rambling away about his town and his story.

  1. Iowa, unspecified small town
  2. Iowa, narrator’s town and neighbouring town

ChatGPT and Plot Matrices

After completing my manuscript, say a first draft, I feed it into a ChatGPT project. Then I run this prompt.

Let's use this format. I'll provide the value of (X). From where we are, Narrative and Chronological orders have converged and will remain so. They are equal to Row ID - 1. I'll use Row ID (X) as a reference marker.

Row ID (2), Narrative Order (), Chronological Order (), Sentiment, (Integer: Range between -5 and +5), Chapter (Iowa), Plot Points, Time, Primary Characters in Scene, Secondary Characters in Scene, Minor Characters in Scene, Word Count (247), Emotional Beat/Theme, Emotional State, Scene Function, Character Arc, External Stakes, Internal Stakes, Needs Clarification?, Revision Priority, Conflict Type, Turning Point?, Turning Point Direction, Direction Commentary, Reinforces, Undermines, Reveals, Conceals, Distorts, Inverts, Echoes, Revison Commentary, Punch List, Resolved?, Location

I know you’ve heard this before.

Boy meets girl. Different places. Different cultures.

Not quite Romeo and Juliet. Not yet, anyway.

It could’ve been Nebraska. Montana. Oklahoma.

But it wasn’t. We’re in Iowa.

I remember the first time I saw her—or saw them.

But I want to talk about her.

And yes, the misunderstanding.

But I’ll get to that. Don’t rush me.

Everyone wants to hear about how Bruce died.

Another misunderstanding. These things happen.

It wasn’t her fault.

It wasn’t mine.

I wasn’t even there.

But she was. And he was.

Let’s go back to the start.

It was over a year ago.

A bit before that.

But first, let’s set the facts straight. I’m a 
regular guy. Graduated high school. Not some conspiracy theorist, if that’s what you’re thinking.

Never left Iowa. Not even for college. The furthest 
I’ve been’s Jake’s and the flea market a couple towns West. I know this place the way some folks know scripture—by scent, not verse. The way the soybean dust hits your throat during harvest. The way old barn wood smells after rain.

I believe in Jesus, but I’m not one of those Jesus freaks. Don’t paint me with that broad brush. 

And I’m not one of them incels either. I’ve had girls. I’ll tell you about Jake’s. I even had a girlfriend for a few weeks, but it didn’t work out. A guy needs some space. That’s all. I’m sure you know what I mean.

I find that ChatGPT isn’t great tracking within larger documents, so I’ll pass in a section at a time, as shown above. This is the first scene of the first chapter of Substance.

Noticing that this scene sets up a flashback to a year in the past, the narrative and chronological order values should differ. Since this is just an example, I hope you learn from my mistakes. Also, I’d reorder the columns next time, but I created this prompt in steps as I progressed.

You need to be careful about what AI outputs. Don’t take it all at face value. If you incorporate a lot of nuance or subtext, the AI will likely miss the point. AI is a low-context system. Most communication in the West (notably excepting the South in the United States) is high-context.

High-context cultures rely heavily on shared understanding, nonverbal cues, and implied meaning—much is left unsaid because context fills in the gaps.
Low-context cultures prioritise explicit, direct communication where meaning is made clear through words, not assumptions.

The AI picks out the plot points from your passage. This is usually uncontroversial.

The way ChatGPT uses Time could be better. This is almost an extension of the setting. What I was initially hoping for in my more complex story is a method to ensure my timeline wasn’t convoluted. I didn’t want to have a pregnancy delivery flashback to a conception two weeks earlier – unless that is an intentional plot point… or we’re talking about flies or something.

I find that some of the scene descriptions are a bit suss, but you can tweak them if they are too far off target. To be fair, you can share your manuscript with a dozen readers and get a dozen renditions – none of them in line with your own. It happens.

I commented on the Revision Commentary earlier. Just like a human editor, you can take or leave the advice. In the end, the writing is that of the author.

In many cases, you can ask the AI to elaborate: What do you mean it’s too long? or some such.

Or you can explain your intent. For example, I wrote another book and intentionally left it open-ended. The AI came back with, What happened?

I explained that the reader could draw their own conclusions, and the AI came into line.

One parting thought: You may pass the same passage through the same AI several times and get several outputs. They aren’t usually diametric, but be aware of this. Also, if you run this on Claude, Perplexity, or another platform, your results might vary there, too.

Anyway, if you got this far, what did you think? Do you use pilot grids? Do you use AI to assist in your editing? I use AI for research. Do you? Some people use AI for writing. I’m not as keen on this, but I’m not judging.

Dispatches from the Publishing Trenches: A Field Report

I, Ridley Park, am an independent author and publisher. Before this literary turn, I did time as an economist, business analyst, and management consultant – none of which prepared me for the peculiar economics of modern publishing.

Much like traditional music in the Digital Age, traditional publishing has lost a bit of its lustre. Its gatekeeping function remains, but the gates are now rusted, and half the guards have been made redundant.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

From a business standpoint, the Independent™ must ask: Is the distribution reach of a traditional publisher or third-party distributor worth the revenue share they demand? It’s tempting to cast them as parasites feeding off your creative lifeblood—but statistically, the average indie author sells only 60 copies of their book. Yes, that includes the five you bought yourself and the ten your mum distributed among reluctant neighbours.

Could you sell more than average? Possibly. Less? Almost certainly. Better to sell 100 copies and earn a pittance than to earn 100% of nothing. But if the publisher can’t move your book either, and if they’re not investing in you as an author, you may well find yourself in the red. Especially if you’re the one paying them for the privilege of being published. That’s not publishing – that’s vanity cosplay.

Publishers also offer (read: upsell) services like editing, formatting, and cover design. As an Independent™, you either pay for these à la carte or do them yourself. Or, if you’re like me, you cobble together a mixed strategy of DIY, AI, and professional outsourcing – whatever the project demands.

For Hemo Sapiens, I did everything except the typography for the title and byline on the cover. That part I outsourced; I know my limits. The rest – cover composition, layout, typesetting – I handled. I also brought in beta readers, who offered some valuable copyedits and corrections.

With Sustenance, I went end-to-end solo, with AI in the wings for flow and proofing support.

Propensity followed a similar path – except I made the rare (some might say perverse) choice of hiring a beta reader after release. Heretical, I know. But the feedback was so incisive I’m now considering a mid-edition revision, particularly in the middle third, where things get a bit heady.

As for Temporal Babel – still unreleased – I’ve done everything myself thus far, but I’m leaning toward bringing that same beta reader back for another round of bruising clarity.

Beta readers, it turns out, are worth their weight in snark and red ink. I’ll save my ruminations on them for another post, which I promise will be full of revelations and at least one semi-poetic lament.

I could say more here, but there are other things demanding my time – and no publisher breathing down my neck.


Bless MidJourney for the cover art based on this prompt:

beautiful woman wearing glasses and a sheer top, holding a red pen, reading a book, office setting

Simulacra: A Screenplay Inside a Novel

Chapter 26 of Propensity shifts form once again.

Much like Chapter 10 (Memorandum), it functions less as narrative propulsion and more as an aperture, fleshing out character psychology and relational tension. But unlike the bureaucratic memo of Chapter 10, this one adopts the cinematic grammar of a screenplay.

Three teens. One post-collapse flat. No script but survival.

Teddy, Lena, and Jamal, three of the few who’ve retained volition after the global cognitive outage, attempt to negotiate the boundaries of self, sex, and something like ethics. The world has gone silent. Behavioural modulations have zeroed out the rest of humanity. What’s left is not exactly freedom, but the residue of agency.

Teddy wants to dominate; he flirts with tyranny and the post-moral indulgence of the moment.

Jamal wants to refuse the cycle; he recognises the scaffoldings that led to collapse and hopes not to rebuild them.
Lena wants… something else entirely. Survival, perhaps. Or at least integrity.

Their conversation, unfolding through stage direction and dialogu, wrestles with autonomy, desire, and disgust. What counts as a violation in a world where the victims cannot resist? What norms persist when no one is left to enforce them?

This chapter doesn’t tell the reader what to think. It lets the contradictions breathe. And for a few pages, the novel becomes a film that cannot be watched, only read.