Ron

This idea perplexes me. The idea that a piece, or body of work has run its course is a rather odd idea. Considering that new readers "discover" authors and their works all the time (whether they announce that discovery or not) is a fact and not a myth; I'm in complete disagreement with your assumption based on personal experience. I suggest that you let those who read your writing decide for themselves whether your work is derivative, something sublime or if it lands somewhere in between. If the work was worth publishing (yes, this is publishing) in the first place then it is deserving of being read. Your work cannot be read if its languishing in an archive.

I suggest they take a pointed stick along with that plastic bag. That way they can Poke 'n' go.

Congratulations on your promotion, Puppilull.

"...smart ass phone..." "It's a smartphone." "Not when it's yours." Good lines, Julie. So funny!

Love is like a butterfly, set it free,... and all that nonsense. Lee has already shown that he isn't ignorant as to what's going on between Marshall and Dustin. It can only be hoped that trap of a poem isn't tripping him up.

I know Marshall is trying to be polite while at the same time not encouraging. I have to say that the situation and Marshall's behavior is a bit comical – so far.

What are you up to, Julie? I smell a setup. But what, exactly?

What game is Lee playing at? I don't take him as someone who is unaware of what's going on around him. Hmm.

I feel like doing a self-satisfied happy dance—see my chapter 3 review.

I have some choice words for Al but I won't print them here.

Why do I get the sense that trouble is brewing with the introduction of Dustin? Or am I just looking for trouble?

I got the recent quick update notifications and I figured the end was coming and I better get started on the story before it was over. What have you got in store for the guys this time?! I guess I'll find out.

Seems to me like you have the right attitude, Val. Letting practicality win the day is probably the best option any of us can take.

Kiddos on moving the story along so well. I will say I could stand for a bit more length each chapter (as others do) but I'll take quality over quantity any day. I repeat... really great progression of the story and that's become more apparent as I read it again.

Apparently dead bodies are being found (one in MA) along with the various game finds, and there has been at least one poisonous snake bite (TX). Play on!

Season 1 of Sense8 on Netflix was exceedingly good. It's about a group of people who 'borrow' each other's skill set when faced with dire situations, though that's a simplification. Of course there is the seemingly all-powerful entity looking to end them. As if the situations they find themselves in aren't enough problem. This show won the GLAAD Media Award for Outstanding Drama Series due to the show's gay themes. It looks like season 2 is coming soon and I'm looking forward to watching it.

There is a reason they call an orgasm the 'little death.' Some people are just wiped out after an orgasm. I'm thinking you have a better understanding of what that saying means than you used to. And maybe a greater appreciation for your skills, W_L.

Nope, glittery, you're not the only caffeinated person here. I drink four to five cups of coffee a day on average. Usually, I make it myself using an aeropress and 16 grams of finely ground (though not Turkish fine) beans for hot and 17 grams for cold -- there is usually more water involved when icing coffee. No milk is added because milk adds another dimension to coffee beyond its inherent sweetness that isn't always desired, beyond the occasional foray into some of Starbucks offerings. I do add artificial sweetener to cut coffee's bitterness. I drink Diet Pepsi during the day, too. All of this changes after 6pm, no caffeine after that, I sleep to lightly otherwise. For every article that I have read (I read all that I spot on the subject), one will be negative for every ten that reads more positively about coffee and caffeine. Cheers.

I agree with you that having a place to go can be comforting. I wish more people had those places, too. Now, you're ten years older than me, you have a different perspective than I do. That perspective covers not only years but geography as well, and then there is the additional difference of self defined sexuality. What do L.G.T.B. spaces mean to you personally. If comfort alone is your answer, I think it a fine response. If you'd care to offer further insight toward the topic, it would be most welcome. In any event, I have no desire to pressure you or anyone else. Thank you for your response, Bill.

A recent New York Times article titled “Finding ‘My Most Authentic Self’: What L.G.B.T. Spaces Mean to You” posed a question. I thought it a good question to ask and I took time to think of just what answer to offer, if only for myself. Then again, I thought that it was a good question to ask here on GA as well. WHAT DO L.G.B.T. SPACES MEAN TO YOU? I grew up in a small town in Ohio during the 60’s and 70’s, and what I knew about being gay amounted to very little. What I did know was only what I heard, mostly overheard, from family members who often had gained the knowledge from someone else. All of the information had a scandalous quality, which, to a young boy, made it very interesting and made for big eyes, an occasional hand over mouth moment, and called for lots of giggles. And not much other thought. It was when I grew into my teenage years that things changed for me (as it does for so many) and by then I knew that what I was feeling wasn’t something that could be shared. I did the girlfriend thing, it wasn’t difficult; I liked them; they were fine. I learned how to kiss. I learned how to kiss well, so I’ve been told. The few fumbling acts of actual sex with a female convinced me that this was not for me. What’s a boy to do? I was twenty-one when I stepped into my first gay bar, my first L.G.B.T. space. The bar happened to be located in our county seat which was only a thirty-five minute drive away. Lambda Bar was located in the ground floor of one of the downtown city buildings. The entrance was a single, nondescript door and every window (storefront size) was boarded up halfway and blacked out. The sign was a pink triangle having the bar name above it, not too big. I drove past the place during the day. I came back one night and parked, watched the place, and for the people that might come and go. Finally, one night after building up the courage, I walked in the front door of my first gay bar. I walked directly into what might generously be called a closet (no pun intended). When the door closed behind me I was standing in a small square space with a sliding glass window in front of me and having a locked second door to my right. The window slid open. An older woman, in her late 40’s I later learned, stood behind the window. She looked me up and down before asking ‘You know this is a gay bar, right?’ I think there may have been a gulping sound heard coming from me, certainly a hard knot went down as I swallowed before nervously nodding my head, yes, and paying the cover charge of two dollars to get in. I didn’t care what those two dollars bought for me, I wanted out of that closet. I wanted something bigger. What I found inside of that bar was something bigger than I had ever imagined. The bar itself wasn’t bigger than any of the local bars in my hometown. From the front you could easily see all of the way to the back where the dance floor and a raised deejay booth was located. What was most different was that the place was packed wall to wall with people. I remember feeling overwhelmed, not a little awestruck, by the loudness of the music and even of those people that were dancing and socializing like it was the most normal thing in the world. Gravitating to the quietest corner seemed like the best move ever and there is to where I made my way. There, in the quietest corner, is where I knowingly met the first man who was just like me. My kind! I went back to that bar, again and again, for years. It was in Lambda Bar's second location (a few buildings away) that I met the first man I was to fall deeply in love with. I branched out and visited other bars and clubs in other cities. Every single one of those places offered me the same thing. I could be me; no hiding. What do L.G.B.T. spaces mean to me? Freedom! Every time, I'm free.

Oh, the drama! Nicely done. I like how you start with a little relationship angst, move on to evasion with family and friend and add mystery into the fold, and then follow through with a full-blown drama. Exciting!

I offer a different take for comparison's sake. Force yourself to write out of your comfort zone. You'll write differently, sure, but perhaps not as poorly as you think. In addition, you might find yourself paying closer attention to the page than you normally would—not a bad thing. As a result of these efforts, you may create something unexpected and wonderful.

I'm thinking that worries about popularity and readership regarding sexual quantity on Nifty isn't really worth your time—but to each their own. You can always write two versions. Sexual acts in a story aren't necessarily a death knell. You can include a sexual act or scene just fine if it's integral to the story or the needs of the characters. Of course, you can also write sex peripherally, that is, by acknowledging that the act took place but not delving into detail. Sex is a part of life, whether that be included as part of a space opera, drama, or detective story, etc. The point, as it were, is not making the sexual act the point of the story, or, in fact, the specific scene—but another facet of the whole—you see? Sorry your get-together was a no-go.

Yes, I'll watch it if/when it shows up on Netflix and I'm bored.

It's almost easy to believe that not much time has passed for these two characters. We all know how easy it is in the beginning, how impossible it is, to not be able to get enough of one another. Yet, here we are and a considerable amount of time has passed and the same can be said: they can't get enough of each other. This chapter sort of, kind of, is where the jello begins to set, for me. This is where the bond—the cohesion—if you follow the metaphor, really locks into place. These two are in for it, now, no doubt. Though sex might have seemed the glue, I didn't find that to be the case. It is a fine testament to your writing that the sex was proof rather than reason. Well done!