CasualWanderer82

I get what you’re saying, and I don’t disagree with the idea that authors carve their own path there. That part feels fair. I suppose where I stumble a bit is that promoting myself has never really been my natural habitat. I tend to keep my head down, write what I can, and let the stories speak for themselves. The only reason I even chimed in is because this topic drifts across my feed every now and then, and today I actually stopped long enough to read through it. What caught on me, more than anything, was the word “promising.” It carries a certain implication, of potential being noticed, of something being encouraged before it fully blooms. If the underlying expectation leans more toward self-promotion and visibility, then the label feels slightly out of step with what it suggests. That said, I don’t take issue with the community itself. Quite the opposite, I’ve genuinely enjoyed the interactions I’ve had with readers, and there’s something quietly rewarding about sharing stories and seeing them resonate. I’m just not approaching it as a platform to market myself so much as a space to write, when time allows, around a full-time job and everything else life insists on throwing into the mix. If anything, my grand promotional strategy seems to be: accidentally exist and hope someone trips over a story. Not exactly a masterclass in branding, I admit. 😅

I see what you’re getting at, but framed that way, it starts to sound less like a recognition of promise and more like a reward for visibility. If a “Promising Author” has to already be embedded in the community, commenting regularly, building rapport, becoming a familiar name, then the title isn’t really functioning as a spotlight for overlooked talent. It’s reinforcing the presence of people who are already, to some degree, seen. And that shifts the purpose quite a bit. A label like that naturally suggests discovery, the idea of elevating someone whose work speaks loudly even if their name doesn’t yet carry far. But if nomination hinges on being known, then it introduces a kind of circular logic: you have to be visible to be recognized, and you’re recognized because you’re visible. At that point, quality alone isn’t the determining factor, it’s quality plus social footprint. And while community engagement is valuable, tying it too closely to recognition risks blurring the line between merit and popularity. There’s nothing inherently wrong with rewarding active, engaged members, it strengthens the ecosystem, keeps conversations alive, and fosters connection. But calling it “Promising Author” implies something slightly different, something closer to potential being identified and nurtured, not simply acknowledged after it’s already gained traction. So yes, it can start to feel less like a mechanism for lifting emerging voices and more like a reflection of who has already managed to carve out space for themselves within the platform.

It’s difficult not to notice a certain lack of transparency in how “Promising Authors” are selected on the GayAuthors platform. While I fully understand that any form of recognition inevitably involves a degree of subjectivity, the criteria as they currently stand feel somewhat indistinct. Speaking from personal experience, I have met, and in some cases exceeded, the outlined prerequisites, with multiple stories reaching the most-read lists across several genres. That said, recognition itself has never been my primary motivation for writing. What does give me pause, however, is the apparent disconnect between the stated guidelines and the outcomes they produce. There are many writers within the community whose work demonstrates consistency, audience engagement, and clear narrative growth, qualities one would reasonably associate with “promise”, yet they seem to remain outside the scope of consideration. This raises a broader question about whether the existing parameters are as clear or as consistently applied as they could be. Greater transparency around the selection process would not only help manage expectations but also reinforce a sense of fairness and trust within the community. At present, the ambiguity leaves room for uncertainty, particularly for those who are actively contributing, evolving, and resonating with readers in measurable ways...

Thank you @dboggs9700 for giving the story your time! 🩵

Thank you @Modified Cub for always being so kind and championing my work.

Enjoy the story!

Such a beautiful thing to say @redw18 thank you...

Daniel crossed the street. It took four seconds. His feet found the opposite pavement. His hand found the door. The buzzers were brass, old, the names beside them handwritten on small, yellowed cards. He didn’t read the names. He didn’t need a name. He needed a floor. Third. The balcony with the plant. He pressed the buzzer. The intercom crackled. Nothing. The static of an old system processing a signal it had not expected on a morning that had been, until four seconds ago, a

I said surprised, not upset. 😉 Having a side of you that enjoys being submissive in bed doesn't necessarily make you a..."bottom". You didn't. I appreciate these discussions. They're important. And I'm happy to have them with my readers. 😘

I'm surprised by this comment... Daniel isn’t “becoming” gay over the course of the narrative, nor is he shedding one label in favor of another. What you’re witnessing is not a transformation of orientation, but an excavation of it, an uncovering of parts of himself that had always been present, even if they weren’t fully lived or understood before. His attraction to men, the intensity of that experience, none of it erases what came before. Nora was real. His past was real. And those things don’t suddenly lose their legitimacy simply because another facet of him has come into sharper focus. Bisexuality doesn’t disappear just because one side of it is, for a time, more vividly expressed. There’s also a subtle but important distinction between behavior and identity. The story leans into Daniel’s sexual awakening with men because that is where his internal conflict, curiosity, and vulnerability are most alive, but narrative focus shouldn’t be mistaken for total definition. To say “he’s gay now” risks flattening something that is deliberately written to resist flattening. Bisexual people exist. And as for calling him a “bottom”...that’s precisely the kind of shorthand the story is trying to move away from. Those labels can be useful in certain contexts, but they can also become reductive when applied as identities rather than dynamics. Daniel’s relationships aren’t meant to be decoded into fixed roles. They’re meant to be felt, questioned, and, at times, left unresolved. On Nora, yes, she is older, and that detail matters, though perhaps not in the way one might initially assume. Their dynamic isn’t there to “explain” Daniel’s sexuality, but it does speak to how he relates to intimacy, to guidance, to emotional safety. Age, in that sense, becomes less about influence over orientation and more about the shape of connection, who he feels seen by, and how. Ultimately, the story resists neat categorization because Daniel himself does. And that’s not ambiguity for its own sake. It’s a reflection of a truth that’s often simplified in fiction: identity, especially sexual identity, is not a box you step into once and for all. It’s something lived, contradicted, rediscovered...

Daniel Beaumont is a man who was built by other people. His mother designed the architecture. His father modelled the charm. His career rewarded the performance. His marriage confirmed the blueprint. For thirty years, every room he entered had already decided who he was before he walked through the door, and he was so good at being the person the room expected that he forgot there was someone else inside the suit. The story's inciting event, is not a sexual awakening. It's an archaeological one. Malik's hands don't create something new. They uncover something that was always there, buried under thirty years of compliance so total it had become indistinguishable from identity. What Malik finds, in one night, is the person Daniel truly is: a man whose spirit is fundamentally, constitutionally free. The freedom is the core. Not the bisexuality, not the openness, not the specific bodies or the specific loves. Those are expressions. Freedom is the source. The journey is not Daniel learning to love men, or learning to love at all. It's Daniel learning to refuse the architecture. Every chapter strips a wall. And the last chapter will, hopefully, break the most important one...

I'll have to revisit this comment...after I post the final chapter. 😉

It's wrapping up, yeah. Excited for you guys to read it. I'm in the process of editing, but I'm purposely taking my time with it. This was a "meeting" nine chapters in the making, so...

Are we talking fruit...? 😜 Thank you @Scrounger62 😘