Mark Arbour
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Everything posted by Mark Arbour
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Hey Matt...posted a greeting on your profile but missed this thread. I'll chime in here, belatedly, as well. Did you have a good birthday?
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I posted Chapter 53, but there's a bug in the new software that makes quote marks into gibberish. I tried to unpublish it so you guys wouldn't have to deal with that, but since there doesn't seem to be an immediate fix, we're stuck with it that way. In the meantime, if you'd prefer to read it at my Yahoo Group, you can find it here. Like I said before, there will be a few bugs along the way, but we'll work through them.
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I'm sorry about the problems. I posted 53, but there's a bug in the new software that makes quote marks into gibberish. I tried to unpublish it so you guys wouldn't have to deal with that, but since there doesn't seem to be an immediate fix, we're stuck with it that way. In the meantime, if you'd prefer to read it at my Yahoo Group, you can find it here. Like I said before, there will be a few bugs along the way, but we'll work through them.
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Thanks to both of you! Thanks. It comes from reading lots of books and novels. CS Forester's Hornblower is still my favorite. It will be a bit before I bite into HMS Belvidera again. I'm finishing up Millennium first. Check in from time to time, though.
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It isn't posted on my page, but that's because I posted it on GA Stories instead. I did that so I could post it faster. Now if you want to wait longer.... Like you, though, I'm frustrated by the fact that it's much harder for me to direct readers to stories/announcements. As I mentioned before, though, this is just a transition phase. Let's see what it looks like when it's done. My mind wanders like that too. It's entirely possible that there are others out there, and they could feasibly surface in the future, but at this point, I don't have anything planned. At this point.
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I have that problem too. I just can't bring myself to type "what r u doing?" instead of "what are you doing?" I think it's because Sharon is my editor. I see her there with her whips and chains, and it scares me. If I was in the car with your boyfriend, I'd be too busy staring at him.
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This is my first review on this new system. I'm so glad you got my cherry, Tiger. ;-)
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The New System (GA Stories)
Mark Arbour replied to Mark Arbour's topic in Mark Arbour Fan Club's Topics
Why thank you. Don't worry about me and my rep though. What you guys think (my readers) is what's important anyway. -
The New System (GA Stories)
Mark Arbour replied to Mark Arbour's topic in Mark Arbour Fan Club's Topics
You two pretty much summed up how I felt. Flattered, in a twisted way, that someone would go to such efforts to neg a nice guy like me while simultaneously concerned for their sanity. -
All the spaces are my fault. When I type in Word, I put a space between paragraphs. I'll have to fix it eventually. Just remember that there's a lot of work still to do on the new system, but it's nothing compared to what's already been accomplished. Another way to get to my stories is to click on my profile. You'll notice tabs up there (Recent Status Updates is usually the one open). The one on the far right says "Stories", click on it. They're working on skins for us so we can keep our "look." Rich people do fun, casual things too.
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Actually, it wasn't Johnny Rockets. The prototype was Ellen's Stardust Diner.
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September 28, 1793 Winkler and Lefavre returned with a boat full of foodstuffs. Granger decided it would be easier to haul the whole boat aboard, an evolution that took the muscles of the entire crew to achieve. “Mr. Carslake, have the boat's crew clean up under the wash deck pump,” Granger ordered. They stared at him, puzzled, until Carslake explained what was required. Lefavre was most adamant about not doing it, but he finally understood that orders were orders. Wink
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September 25, 1793 “Signal from Vesuvius, sir,” Chilton said. “Ready.” “Very well. Mr. Carslake, topsails only. Steer a course parallel to Vesuvius,” Granger said. Carslake yelled up at the yards and the men let the sails fall. The other part of his small crew was in the bow, heaving away at the anchor. “Mr. Wilson, don't cat the anchor. We'll need it soon enough again,” Granger called to the forecastle. He strode over to the railing and watched the Vesu
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October 23, 1793 Granger climbed the side of the Victory and paused to catch his breath before following Nelson through the entry port. With Knight's animosity at bay, he was much less apprehensive about returning, but it was tough to leave the Agamemnon behind. Nelson, with his characteristic drive, not to mention winds made perfectly to speed Agamemnon along, had made it back to Toulon in record time. Granger allowed himself a sigh, and then strolled onto the Victory to find Capt
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October 8, 1793 Granger and his crew had spent the previous evening gathering their gear, their personal possessions together from the Aurore. Granger stood on her quarterdeck watching the sun come slowly up in the east, and sighed out loud, then reproached himself. He had grown to think of Aurore as his own ship, despite his knowledge that she wasn't, so leaving her was really traumatic. He looked across the deck at the men, at his crew, huddled together for warmth in t
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January 14, 1794 They'd hit adverse winds shortly after leaving Port Mahon, winds that had dogged them all the way to Gibraltar and left them tacking about for two days trying to clear the Straits. Now, finally out in the Atlantic, they were able to catch a fair slant to make their northing, but the concern over the wind was replaced by concern over the weather, for the seas had grown much bigger, and the Commerce de Marseilles was exhibiting all the problems her officers had promise
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February 12, 1794 Granger strode into what had been his room, but was now Caroline's. He'd been in a foul mood since Travers left, and had stayed away from her, away from everyone, to sulk and wallow in his own misery. Why was this departure different? They'd been apart before. Why did this one seem so much more significant? “George, how are you doing?” Caroline said, greeting him and inquiring about him at the same time. Granger reached deep within himself
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December 19, 1793 Granger stood in Hood's cabin in between Travers and Smith as they reported to the admiral. Granger tried to find joy in their success, and in the cum dripping out of his ass from his brief encounter with Travers this morning, but the loss of Shafte made that seem hollow. “Report gentlemen,” Hood said. “Where is Mr. Shafte?” Hood seemed to suddenly realize that his efficient flag midshipman wasn't there, not surprising since Shafte blended into the bac
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December 20, 1793 Granger awoke abruptly and sat up in his cot, sensing something was wrong. He thought he'd heard a cry. Then he heard it again. He jumped up, pulled on his pants, and charged out of his sleeping cabin into the dining cabin, listening. Then he heard sobbing and followed the noise. It was coming from the chartroom. Bentley. Winkler was already there, about to open the door. “I'll handle him Winkler,” Granger said. “Yes sir. Thank you sir,
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February 8, 1794 They rode northeast from London, sheltering themselves from the miserably cold weather as best they could. It was a small party, just Granger, Travers, and Winkler, but they were all equally frigid. Travers had approached their journey with some skepticism, but Granger was adamant, determined to finally see this estate that his father-in-law had deeded over to them. Granger glanced over at Travers and grinned. Travers most definitely did not grin back.
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February 6, 1794 Granger sat in the waiting room with a leather portfolio containing all of his notes and journals from his voyage to Portsmouth. He'd already given Sir Phillip his dispatches, which included reports from Hood and Trogoff. He had grown to like the little French admiral, but he was a fickle man, and Granger was unsure what he would say about him. He stared at the huge clock. 9:30am. It was expected that he would have to wait, a mere lieutenant coming to see the Fir
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November, 1793 “Come on, it's just over this hill,” Granger insisted. “I shouldn't be away from the ship,” Travers groused. Granger understood that Travers' ship was like his child, but he was being just a little ridiculous. “Even captains are allowed an afternoon off. I want you to see this place.” Granger spurred his horse into a slow canter, forcing Travers to stop talking and focus on trying to keep up with him. Granger grinned to himself. Travers was at
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February 15, 1794 Granger entered the familiar building and signed in at the register: Lieutenant George Granger to see Lord Chatham by appointment. He wrote ‘by appointment’ with relief as he looked around the busy waiting room, full of officers seeking assignments, promotions, or any number of favors. Most of them would wait here for hours and never get an audience, but if they had no influence, no one to pull strings for them, there was very little alternative other than to sit a
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The idyll, the honeymoon was almost over. Granger sat in Travers' cabin, having just finished their goodbye fuck, trying not to cry, and failing miserably. “We're with the same fleet George. You can come over to the Vesuvius for dinner once in a while can't you?” Travers said. His tone was so pleading, so condescending in his attempt to bring Granger out of his bad cheer, that it reminded Granger that he still had his pride. Crying was not an allowed emotional response.
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June 1, 1793 “I now pronounce you man and wife,” the Bishop of London said. Granger smiled across at his bride, then allowed his eyes to take in once more the sheer beauty of St. Paul's Cathedral. It seemed ridiculous to Granger to be married in this massive church when there were less than one hundred people in attendance, but that was the way everyone seemed to want it, and Granger decided it was best not to argue about things that weren't really important to him. Gran
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