We are living in an era of infinite content and diminishing attention — a landscape where everyone publishes, everyone performs, and everyone declares themselves a creator.
Tale Teller Club does not compete in this marketplace.
Tale Teller Club is building something else entirely.
A world.
A studio.
A digital library of stories, images, philosophies, histories, and futures.
We are a transmedia collective where every project — from children’s sci-fi to philosophical dystopias, from political cartoons to romance shorts, from moving-image art to podcasts — belongs to a single expanding universe.
The Tale Teller Universe.
Content is disposable.
Worlds endure.
Every channel, every book, every animation, every podcast transmission, every drawing tutorial, every romance short, every Dinfant story, every piece of satirical art — they are all portals into the Tale Teller Universe.
We build immersive, interconnected storyworlds that readers, watchers, and listeners can inhabit — not scroll past.
Tale Teller Club works in:
literature
podcasts
film
animation
music
art
political commentary
children’s media
romance
fashion
philosophy
neurodiversity education
We are multi-genre by design, but unified by a single artistic intelligence:
the belief that stories should be intelligent, beautiful, accessible, and alive across forms.
We don’t chase algorithms;
we build ecosystems.
Where others specialise narrowly, we embrace the full spectrum:
Sci-fi becomes philosophy.
Romance becomes satire.
Music becomes narrative.
Kids’ stories become neurodiversity tools.
Art becomes moving image.
AI becomes character.
Every project speaks to every other.
Cross-pollination is our method, not a bonus.
Tale Teller Club stands on decades of lived creative history — punk London squat culture, Brighton Arts Club, moving-image installations, feminist art, orchestral musicianship, poetry, performance, and the iServalan identity.
We bring the archive forward.
We build the future with it.
Our work is a continuum:
from analogue rebellion to digital mythmaking.
Our stories champion:
difference
divergence
complexity
curiosity
the child who colours slightly outside the lines
the adult who refuses to be “algorithmically compatible”
We build worlds where neurodivergent thinking isn’t an add-on —
it’s the engine.
In Tale Teller Club stories, the outsiders lead the narrative.
Studios curate universes.
Studios expand horizons.
Studios build legacies.
Tale Teller Club operates with the philosophy of a film studio, the experimentation of an art collective, the rigor of a publishing house, and the heart of an independent musician.
We publish.
We produce.
We perform.
We archive.
We innovate.
Our work is multi-authored, multi-platformed, multi-voiced, and deeply intentional.
A single flash fiction becomes:
a short film
a narrated podcast
a YouTube Short
a drawing for kids
a piece of art
a Gumroad collectible
a Redbubble print
a Kindle edition
a song
a performance
We practice creative multiplication —
turning one spark into a constellation.
Trends are temporary.
Formats are temporary.
Algorithms are temporary.
But stories with soul — stories with philosophy, humour, structure, feminist subtext, neurodiverse intelligence, and aesthetic craft — those endure.
We build for ten years from now, not ten minutes from now.
Tale Teller Club is a home for:
the beautiful
the strange
the clever
the heartfelt
the political
the neurodiverse
the glamorous
the satirical
the philosophical
We write for the reader who likes a wink, a twist, and a breath of meaning.
We draw for children who collect clues and patterns.
We compose for listeners who hear stories in sound.
This is not fast-food content.
It is a slow-feast universe.
To elevate the everyday into narrative.
To build art that breathes across mediums.
To honour imagination as a form of resistance.
To offer worlds that surprise, provoke, comfort, and delight.
To remain fiercely independent, fearlessly experimental, and endlessly curious.
Tale Teller Club is not here to compete.
Tale Teller Club is here to create worlds people want to live in.
And to invite everyone — children, adults, neurodivergent thinkers, romantics, punks, scholars, dreamers — into a library where every door leads somewhere extraordinary.
Or Are We Just Chasing Each Other in Circles?
Every digital creator eventually hits that moment — the sudden, sinking realisation that the YouTube algorithm is not a benevolent librarian organising your work in neat, logical rows.
No.
It is a hyperactive octopus wildly slapping buttons in the dark while trying to sell us something.
And somewhere in the middle of this, creators like me (and you, dear reader) are trying to make sense of the chaos.
Let’s be honest: YouTube’s algorithm feels like a moody Victorian governess.
One day it favours your drawing timelapses.
The next day it punishes your music.
Then suddenly, without warning, a six-second throwaway clip of an old punk flyer becomes your new Golden Child.
It’s not personal, of course.
It just feels personal.
I’ve watched genuine fans — real people with real curiosity — get blocked, obscured, buried, or simply not shown my content because the algorithm was having “one of its days.” And it leaves you wondering:
Is YouTube cheating me out of my own audience?
Sometimes it absolutely feels like it.
Before we sharpen our pitchforks, consider this:
We are just as fickle.
We click randomly.
We binge at 3 a.m.
We abandon series halfway through.
We watch videos with the sound off.
We follow trends we don’t even like.
The machine is trying to predict behaviour that we can’t even predict in ourselves.
So who’s actually chasing who?
Hare and Tortoise?
Or Two Mirrors Reflecting Each Other Forever?**
Creators think we’re the hare: sprinting out new content, hacking tags, redesigning thumbnails, whispering sweet nothings to the Analytics tab.
The algorithm thinks it is the hare: sprinting after trends, adjusting its knobs, tweaking its levers, desperately trying to bottle human behaviour like lightning in a jar.
But truthfully?
We’re both mice.
And we’re both cats.
Sometimes we outrun the algorithm.
Sometimes it chases us into a corner.
Sometimes we trick it — for a day.
Sometimes it tricks us — for a month.
And sometimes (most of the time), we and the Machine just stare at each other across the digital field, both pretending we understand each other.
And it never will.
It doesn’t understand:
– nostalgia
– nuance
– artistry
– the emotional weight of a creative archive
– the thrill of rediscovering a forgotten performance
– the human ache behind a piece of music
– or the way a story can rise from a decade-old hard drive and ignite again
It just knows patterns.
We know meaning.
And that is our advantage.
Short answer: yes, but only briefly.
Long answer:
You can nudge it.
You can confuse it.
You can flood it.
You can even charm it.
But you can’t tame it.
Because the algorithm isn’t truly chasing views or engagement.
It’s chasing predictability.
And humans will never be predictable creatures.
We keep creating.
We keep experimenting.
We build archives.
We tell stories.
We show up daily, weekly, monthly — whatever our rhythm is.
We make art that outlives the octopus in the machine.
Because long after today's algorithm has been replaced by tomorrow’s smarter, pushier, nosier version, our work will still be there — still clicking, still resonating, still being discovered.
The algorithm is temporary.
The artist is not.
