Update README.md

README.md

@@ -32,7 +32,7 @@ tags:
 pipeline_tag: text-generation
 ---
 
-(quants uploading, detailed model card to follow with more examples (2 below))
+(quants uploading, detailed model card to follow with more examples (3 below))
 
 <B><font color="red">WARNING:</font> MAY contain: Nutiness. Vivid prose. Purple Prose. Funny Violence. Over the Top Storytelling. Min of 2 eyerolls per generation. </B>
 
@@ -52,8 +52,6 @@ and character specific).
 
 Use it for story telling, scene generation, poetry, songs, writing, entertainment, crazy talk... anything creative.
 
-(two examples below)
-
 This model requires Alpaca, Mistral or Chatml template, and operates with temp 0-5, rep pen of 1.02+.
 
 Recommend temps under 1 for a wee bit crazy, 1-2 for crazy, and over 2 for way over the top, full on madness.
@@ -62,7 +60,99 @@ Enjoy!
 
 ---
 
-EXAMPLES:
+Special thanks to model makers "jondurbin" and "MTSAIR"
+
+Models Used:
+
+[ https://huggingface.co/jondurbin/bagel-dpo-7b-v0.1 ]
+
+[ https://huggingface.co/MTSAIR/multi_verse_model ]
+
+---
+
+THREE EXAMPLE GENERATIONS:
+
+---
+
+<B>
+Romance: Love in the Limelight. Write one scene within a larger story set in Wales. A famous (fictional) actor ducks into a small-town bookstore to escape paparazzi. The scene takes us through the characters meeting in this odd circumstance. Over the course of the scene, the actor and the bookstore owner have a conversation charged by an undercurrent of unspoken chemistry. Write the actor as somewhat of a rogue with a fragile ego, which needs to be fed by having everyone like him. He is thoroughly charming, but the bookstore owner seems (at least superficially) immune to this; which paradoxically provokes a genuine attraction and derails the charm offensive. The bookstore owner, despite the superficial rebuffs of the actor's charm, is inwardly more than a little charmed and flustered despite themselves. Write primarily in dialogue, in the distinct voices of each character. 800-1000 words.
+</B>
+
+(temp: 1.5, Rep pen: 1.02, Q4km, Alpaca)
+
+ "Bloody hell."
+
+The gruff voice broke through the muffled whispers of the dim bookstore, as a flurry of heads swivelled towards the newcomer's entrance. A figure waltzed in, sporting the swagger and the finesse of a well-seasoned stage performer, even the stifling scent of the place's old pages failing to mask the trace of expensive colognes.
+
+"Gathered the entire welcoming committee, I see?" His British accent rolled out, honey-rich, an oozing seduction to the ears of the modest audience.
+
+A petite, pinned-back- hairdressed woman, the bookstore owner, adjusted her glasses. "We try to give the right warm welcome, Mr.— " she trailed off. "I'm sorry, my memory's a little—"
+
+"Thorne," he interrupted, "Wylan Thorne. It's quite alright, dear. I've often been told it's a face and a name difficult to forget." His voice was smeared with an ireverent smile that could set a fire of unwarranted interest.
+
+She straightened up, attempting a stoicism the intruder's presence threatened to melt. "Of course, Mr. Thorne. How may I— "
+
+"Ah, no. The formalities. Please, just... " He wavel his hands dismissively, " Call me Wyl, like we're at the pub. We actors have to let the mask slip, occasionally, don't we?"
+
+Her guard stiffened but his pleasantry, like a skilled magician's misdirection, fluttered her defenses. "Very well, Wyl," she agreed with a restrained politeness.
+
+"Fine. I'm simply a humble reader escaping the glaring, unforgiving sun. It seems, here, one can indulge in the pages' company, uninterrupted."
+
+She tilted her head to the glass-paneled entrance. "The weather has indeed been dreadful, haven't it, lately?" She steered the conversation away, hoping the gossip-mongers' eyes would be diverted.
+
+"Hear, hear," he echoed, the mingling of respect and mockery laced within. "Though, the world outside doesn't always allow such refuge, does it?" He turned, a practiced sweep of the narrow aisles. "Such treasures! I'm in paradise!"
+
+She sighed internally. "Yes, that's what our patrons tell us, but let me help you with— "
+
+"Oh, don't bother, love. I know what I'm seeking." His finger glided the spines, a seasoned hunter in his habitat.
+
+"May I still—"
+
+"Not the 'May,' dear. The 'Let'. As the renowned Shakespeare would phrase, 'O, let this gentle _'."
+
+The bookstore owner stifled the rising annoyance. "Right, sorry. Please, take your time."
+
+"'Tis a habit of my profession, dear. The desire to play both roles."
+
+She narrowed her eyes, a guard up despite her quivering curiosity. "Indeed, that does sound a fascinating profession. But one can still respect the sanctity of others' quiet." She moved to the other section, hoping the encounter's end might soon approach.
+
+"Oh, but there's an artist in everyone, and sometimes, my darling," his voice was a silvery tranquilizer, "The actor in me simply finds a platform to indulge a few dramatizations."
+
+Her hands fidgeted. "Yes, that's indeed so, and, ah, I should—"
+
+"Pardon me for the disruption." He pulled a well- worn copy of 'Much Ado,’’ a knowing twinkle in his eye. "I simply had to plunge myself in this wondrous web of Beneath's crafting." He held the book to his chest like a cherished trophy, as if claiming a piece of this place. "A most unworthy exchange for this literary treasure, wouldn't you agree?"
+
+'Yes, yes, quite the—' the bookstore owner began, a mumbled protest escaping the chambers of her politeness.
+
+'Catch your breath, Ellyn, and keep your cool, it's just a blooming actor.' She reminded herself. 'And it'll soon pass.'
+
+'Shall I assist with the, um, the— '
+
+'I'm quite fine, darling,' he said, dismissing the gesture with a flourish of his hand. 'Just one final monologue, if I may, a small tribute to your inestimable collection.' He turned towards the gathering of silent listeners, a mischievous smile spreading. 'For an instant, these pages erase the clamor outside, granting solitude to a wandering soul. And I, the eternal tourist, bow my head, eternally grateful.'
+
+'M— Mr., Wyl,' the bookstore owner began, stuttering slightly. 'I, uh, appreciate your appreciation— '
+
+'You're very wel— '
+
+'But it's time to re— '
+
+'Indulge me one more line,' he interrupted, his tone imploring, a touch of earnestness seeping in the flamboyance.
+
+'Just one?' she surrendered, and her voice barely hinted a capitulation, though a shimmer of intrigue crept into the depths of her eyes, betraying the rigid walls she'd guarded.
+
+'A snippet of a heart-broken lover's soliloquy,' he recited, ' " O, be the earth the one in a myriad that holds, A thousand thousand blanks in her arms and hands, Thee to secure, a true-spelled book, 'ere the 'Vast' devours and makes oblique the 'Fair.' ''
+
+Silence echoed. Then, a faint applause rippled, as the audience realized, the performance had, unexpectedly, drawn them.
+
+'I should— '
+
+'Lovely. It seems we're breaching the twilight of our unplanned sojourn. I, for one, would hate to keep this lyrical oasis in the night's grip.' He glanced at the clock, the first trace of a playful flustering marring his mask.
+
+'Alas, a reminder that our 'play' is also a call for you to close the curtains. To let the shadows claim their stage.' She sighed, with a half-smile tugging the corners of her mouth.
+
+' 'Tis the cruel dagger of our art, my dear, and now, I'm late.' He walked, an exit as graceful as his entrance, his presence slowly fading, leaving a lingering essence of intrigue in the quiet, quieting air of the small-town bookstore.
+
+And as he disappeared in the darkness beyond the doors, the bookstore owner finally let her guard down, the spell of his presence, his words, still resonating, gently and unmistakably, a rhythm lingering in the echoes of that solitary evening in a quaint Welsh village, unbeknownst to them both, seeding the roots of a narrative yet untold.
 
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