chrysoprase

I.e., you might be happier on Nifty.

It seems to me that you have quite an enviable reputation on this site: many well-reviewed stories, many followers, a high ranking, signature status. A lot of authors here would love to have even some fraction of your success. Given the nature of GA - free and open to anyone with a pair of eyes and a keyboard - one can expect what happens when work is presented at no cost to the consumer: some license seems tacitly granted to the consumer to criticize, harshly, that for which he has not paid and cannot do himself. Those who do not write do not understand how difficult storytelling can be; some works seem to write themselves, while others take long, agonizing months (or years) to complete. Those stories are often the better ones. Again, given the nature of GA, one - in the end - must write only for oneself and hope to find an audience. One either accepts the constraints of GA or one does not; I could not and no longer write for this site. One technique I used was to write the story to its end before I published any of it; I could update it steadily and bring it fairly swiftly to its conclusion, with whatever reception it might receive. I've never tried writing a story chapter-by-chapter and publishing each one on the fly. I understand your frustration, but I implore you to persist. This is by far one of the better sites for publishing gay fiction; there is at least some attempt to filter out some of the worst excesses of gay writing and that you have found a home here says a lot about your work.

I would offer "Six Feet Under" as a television program that portrayed a very well-written gay character as part of an ensemble cast. In literature, you might read some of the work of Michael Cunningham, especially "The Hours," as well as "Maurice" by E. M. Forster.

Gorgeous poem ... thanks for sharing it.

Well, maybe chalk it up to the vagaries of grammar; English, at least, describes a noun as "a person, place or thing." Intrinsic differences exist between each of those "things", but English grammar treats them as the same thing and the same rules of description and qualification apply to all such things. I must use the same adjective to say "my husband" and "my car", but I feel differently about my husband than I do about my car. I wish I knew more about linguistics - I'm sure that there are theories that describe things like this - but we all understand this difference even as we may not be able to explain it. Moreover, we must - and do - take into account the person speaking about these things; we all have subjective reactions as well as objective ones when we listen to someone. I guarantee you that each of us - no matter which end of the spectrum we inhabit - will have varying degrees of interpretation if, say, Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton say the same thing in the same context. We import understanding and relevance into our speech and while some people you have heard might lay claim in a materialistic way to a spouse or a child, not all people do, even if they are forced to use the same grammatical conventions.

I could have understood your point more easily if you'd used as examples people who insist on saying "THE wife" or "THE kid", perhaps un- or subconsciously not using their names. This, to me, objectifies and "depersonalizes" the person being discussed. To me it almost puts that person on the same level as saying "the car" or "the house." My brother always referred to his first wife as "the wife this" and "the wife that". They are now divorced. He's much more careful with his current wife. Your example of the man with the really hot wife and smart kid says to me that this is a man who is proud of his beautiful spouse and his intelligent child, nothing more and nothing less. Were they in the same room with him and you, I'm sure he'd take the time to introduce both of them to you. My husband and I refer to each other as "my husband" all the time; using the possessive to me indicates how much that person treasures having you in his life.

This work, and the author's similarly themed "319 Winesap Lane," bring to the forefront two issues, one specific and one general. The specific one is this: how does one write about adult/youth sexual relationships without descending into prurience or violating GA proscriptions against such issues ... something I'm not quite sure this author has yet done successfully. The general issue is this: how does one review a work in progress without knowing where the author is taking it? Right now, I'm reading both stories with a cautious kind of curiosity; the one question that repeatedly comes to mind is "is this how people would act/react in the real world?" Intergenerational relationships and ones based on abuse are worth studying and I hope that both stories attempt to shed some insight on these ideas without descending into thinly-disguised pornography. Perhaps pulling away from graphic "who is sticking what into whom" descriptions and focusing more on how these acts affect those who are involved in them might help. Again, both stories are just barely out of the gate; I hope time will redeem them.

What was the initial motivation behind choosing this publishing method instead of presenting completed works for a reader to enjoy? I understand that some writers work that way, but others might like an option to present a complete work to their readers without being forced to space it out over a period of time; I suppose e-books would be the way to go for those authors. I wonder if the "dribs and drabs" method also leads some authors to churn out 300K/400K/500K-word gobstoppers; one novel on this site clocks in at just over 1,000,000 words, which is insane.

I have to say that this not the usual genre for me, but I love your style of writing - very concise and to the point, and very exciting! Looking forward to a good story, well-told.

Thanks for all the encouragement; I've "republished" all of my stories (probably not the same as unarchiving and - I hope - not something that causes trouble for the site admins).

(Chapter 1 - more of a prolog, really - is so short it might be easier just to post it here; thanks for your interest in reading it!) He awakens into vague disorientation and a room dim with the grey light of morning. He cannot immediately remember where he is - the chemical smell of new paint and carpet is heady and cloying - but then he does, and remembers as well the evening before. He lies very still in the bed, staring up at the grey-white ceiling, as last night comes back to him in a kaleidoscope of images and sensations and emotions. There is the sound of liquid, somewhere, a rattling splash of wind-driven rain against the glass doors of the hotel. He glances over at the mounded and humped bedclothes beside him, but there is little trace of last night’s exertions in them. He throws back the sheets and - naked - stands up and steps over to the curtained window and throws the heavy drapes open. The grey light washes over his gaunt, thin frame. He runs a hand through his lanky hair and slips his glasses on. He has little concern that anyone from outside will see him standing undressed at the window. The heat from yesterday has broken and a thunderstorm washes across the city. Below, in the Plaza, cars and people execute an unrehearsed gavotte as they hurry to work in the storm. This city is not a stranger to him, but he still marvels at the elegant architecture facing him across the creek; it’s a far cry from his current home, a drab and workaday midwestern city only two hours away. He wonders if he could be happy here. He glances to his left, at the graceful arc of this building - brand new - swinging away from him. The college - small, Jesuit, known for the quality of its education - has been generous in putting him up here overnight in preparation for the interview later this morning. News of the position had come via a phone call from a former classmate who’d ended up there in the English department. He’d leapt at the chance even without consulting Julia; even now, her displeasure at possibly being uprooted from Springfield is telegraphed in her moody silences and aloof detachment … but those are things to which he has long been accustomed, no longer paying them any heed, knowing that she would tacitly follow him only because she had no choice. He’s overslept; in an hour he will be sitting down with the department head and the Dean. He turns away from the window to prepare for the day and, in doing so, dislodges a scrap of paper that falls leaf-like to the carpet. He bends to pick it up; on the front is a sketch - economical, quick, executed in blue ballpoint - and he smiles at the image. He turns the scrap over. On the back is a name, and a telephone number. He stares at the paper, his hand shaking, and he can feel his body responding as last night again floods his memory. He knows now that he will do anything possible to relocate to this city and accept the implied promise of the words on the paper.

Surprised to see my name come up in a post; still here .. mostly reading stories. I tend to archive my stories when they seem to have run their course and I'm taking a bit of a break from writing. Trying to figure out what constitutes "gay" writing, mostly, trying not to fall into clichéd coming out/coming of age stories, some of which I've been responsible for. I'd be interested to hear other's takes on what makes writing specifically "gay", if that hasn't been handled in another forum. I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and offer criticism of my stories here on GA; everyone has been very kind in what they've said. I can unarchive my work if anyone is still interested, but I thought that was a "no-no".

Cute enough ... but if you're serious about writing, please find someone who can edit what you've written.

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Intriguing, powerful and well-written beginning!