gardentuber

Was it really a supernatural visitation?

Karl has something new to think about after a chance encounter while driving across southern Wyoming.

Monday morning on the South Fork of the Boise River and Rence and I were finally alone together (if that makes any sense). He stood knee deep in the cold, quiet water. I was up to my thighs downstream of him. We, the both of us, were working out the kinks in our casts, barely having begun our day of fishing. While I'm not bad at the motion of casting, I'm not remarkable by any stretch. Maybe it's a lack of talent; maybe it's a lack of practice. Rence appeared to either have a natur

“Babe, I need to shower first. Gimme fifteen. Actually, we can’t leave Butch in the room. I can shower first and head down to pick up some food while you shower; then we can have a leisurely breakfast here in the room.” “I’d love to, but today’s not gonna be a day of leisure for me. I’ve got a series of meetings scheduled in the AM and one for the PM. Remember when I mentioned it being a working weekend promoting our sheep products? It’s not gonna take much time after today. You gonna be alri

I like my music. I pride myself on the diversity of my tunes. They’re enjoyable and intriguing, to me at least. There are songs in my collection, however, that scare me. I love them and I fear them. Or rather, I love them and I fear the state of mind they elicit. I’m thinking: Kate and Anna McGarrigle, Rosalie Sorrels, Bonnie Raitt. Funny, I look at that list and realize… all women, all singer/songwriters, all sing about regret. I suppose I should spend some time with a therapist explori

It was as I was settling into the guestroom at my friend, Gary’s, house that I realized that I was lost. Only then did I realize that I was crushing on Rence. My first thought following the realization was, ‘I’m far too old to be feeling all warm and squishy!’ My second was, ‘This feels good!’ I had been unpacking my suitcases, putting things away in my home away from home in LA. Butch had been underfoot as I crossed between the bed (my suitcases) and the dresser or closet. Only whe

What a horrible, tumultuous, baleful day. Thank god it was over. But what a sweet ending! I shifted my thoughts from the horrific events of the day to more pleasant imagery: the beauty of the landscape surrounding the ranch, the thought of spending time with Rence in this rural retreat, the idea of joining my future to his: sharing his home, his ranch, his body. I got carried away on that vein of thought: loving his body, licking his body, nibbling his nipples; running my fingers down

I woke with a start after hearing a thud and muffled “Shit” from down the hall followed eventually by the sound of a guy peeing in the toilet. My neck was stiff from sleeping sitting up. My arm was numb where Rence was slouched against my side. He started and sat up suddenly, looked around, uncertain of his bearings. He directed a “Mmph!” at me and then lurched towards the wood stove. He fiddled a bit, opened the door and threw in a couple logs and then fiddled some more. When done, he rea

Ugh! Driving once again! I was headed north again on Interstate 25 again, in Colorado again, heading to Wyoming again. Only, this time, I was driving a strange sedan, some small Chrysler byproduct that didn’t seem well suited for the conditions I was certain I’d be encountering in Wyoming. It had plenty of power, but I wasn’t confident it wouldn’t be overpowered in the slick, icy dirt roads in the wilds of Sweetwater County, where I was headed. Or, maybe I was just a car snob and cou

I knelt on the bedroom floor, sorting my dirty laundry. I don’t know why, but Butch takes this as an invitation to play. Maybe it’s being on his level. He began by knocking me sideways with a hit from his hindquarters, then he threatened me with a facial lick. He lay down and pawed me, then rolled on his back and demanded a belly rub. While rubbing his belly, I looked at his happy dog smile, mostly big teeth. It’s remarkable how coy his toothy grin could be, well, threatening and endearing and c

“Look at that! There must be 8, 9 inches on the railing. Are you going to be OK driving? You could wait another day, you know.” “Ally, I should be fine. I’ve got all wheel drive and studded snow tires I bought just for these trips. I’ve got chains, a shovel and sand if I skid off the road and a sleeping bag if something goes wrong. So far, I’ve never had trouble I couldn’t get out of. The most difficult driving will probably be getting to the bottom of the driveway.” “Alright. If you say s

I slowed carefully before taking the exit ramp off I-80 down towards “Cody’s” gas station. I took it slower than the previous time. I had to. The winter storm that had dumped snow from Seattle to St Louis and that was now shutting down the Atlantic states, the storm that had closed Snoqualmie Pass and had forced me to postpone leaving home for 24 hours, had left the ramp deep in new powder. I crept through the crud so I could refuel at Cody’s station and try to resolve my curiosity about the

Back on the road again, behind the wheel of my little white Subie, making time on clear roads as I left Boulder and headed north on I-25 towards Cheyenne. Butch was in the back and was quiescent for the time being. The radio shared the news of the day: wars in the middle east, political maneuvering in the various centers of power, degradation of the environment in the cities and the countryside throughout the planet. I listened with half an ear while reviewing the past week’s events within th

“Cuantas cosas quedaron prendidas, hasta dentro del fondo del alma? Cuantos luces dejaste encendidas? Yo no se como voi apagarlas.” The sympathetic, melodic guitar contrasted the tragic lyrics torn from Chavela Vargas’ aged vocal cords. My sobs echoed her cries. I’m afraid I’ve never been able to simply shed tears. I’ve wailed, sobbed and keened but I’ve never simply cried. I reached for the CD player’s controls, realizing that her songs were not the best for me to be

Gayle settled into bed. He struck a match and lit the candle on the nightstand to remember Jim, his deceased partner. It was early, but after trying days at work, well, he found he was spending more and more time in bed. He picked up his book and opened to where he’d left off that morning before he left for work. He settled in further and began to read. Dauphin, his cat, jumped up on the bed, padded on and then snuggled into his lap and began a rumble in expectation of a rub behind the ears.

I invite discussion on my first attempt at a self-contained short story. It's a bit of a leaden subject - life, death, human existence and all that - but I hope it's sufficiently entertaining. Yours... Brook A Ghost of Halloween Present

J'ai Perdu mon Euridice, sung by Maria Callas. Holy Sh*t! She could sing! Gets your heart thumping and your eyes leaking.

Yup, got a little teary and smiled a lot. Thanks for sharing it with us!

'Anabis'=Chucho Valdes just finished, shuffling along to: 'Goin' up to the country-Gonna paint my mailbox blue'=Taj Mahal

Hey, Rilbur! Consider me! If there were a group... six folks? Something like that would be really great. I'm working (very slowly) on a story currently and could use feedback before putting it up online. So, a writer's group could be really valuable.

Thanks for the reminder, HH5. This is a support group for aspiring writers in addition to being a site to read homoerotic fiction. That brings up the question: what's the best way to support an aspiring writer who doesn't know about/care about the norms of usage in the language? That's a question that's a bit off the original topic, but, to my mind, bears discussion. You mention scanning a story (for plot and rather than the use of language?). I'm going to be didactic here. Forgive me, please. Fiction is formed from a number of elements: plot, characterization, language usage... um... there's gotta be more. The point is: fiction depends on lots of separate and independent aspects. It's best when it excels in each of those aspects. Have you prioritized plot in your appreciation of a story? I suppose there are those of us who prioritize use of language. Takes all kinds and all that... Back to my question... how do we best support new writers to do their best in all aspects of their writing? Through gentle critiques? Through overlooking their specific errors? Through making general comments/complaints? Through the 'review' system? Threats of corporal punishment, maybe? :mace: Ideas?

I believe it's important to make a story sensible and "digestible" to the reader. Too many plot lines can muddy the water, too few make for a quick read (or a boring one). So, how 'bout organizing your story ideas, choosing which warrant being primary plots and which are better as subplots. And remember: the story you're currently writing won't be your final one. Save up those other stories. Make notes as suggested. (I have a document that is a collection of plot synopses waiting in the wings. Occasionally, I take a look at it and polish up a plot or add a new one or fill one out further.) It's nice to know you're not a one trick pony.

I'm so glad to see I'm not the only fuddy-duddy on site. I'm afraid I've given up on reading much that appears here. I hate to say that. I do. I've started and then quit reading innumerable stories here and elsewhere. Why do I stop? Poor grammar... poor spelling... trite plots... too familiar tropes... But that's off topic. The topic is spell checking and then rereading. The salient point is: do a spell check and then -- do a final proof! Writing readable prose takes effort. Slapdash work is lazy and an insult to the reader. OK, that's a bit melodramatic, but it's not entirely untrue either. Writers make errors, even during final proofing. In published work, it's a question of degree: a rare goof or constant mistakes. The examples provided illustrate the second situation. Of course, the people who need this remonstrance won't be reading this dry subject. So, we can enjoy preaching to our fellow choir members. Hey there, members of the choir! Praise the word and pass the alliteration!!

Genre: Informal Female = 10413 Male = 10050 Difference = -363; 49.11% Verdict: Weak FEMALE Weak emphasis could indicate European. Genre: Formal Female = 7361 Male = 6552 Difference = -809; 47.09% Verdict: Weak FEMALE Weak emphasis could indicate European. Elsewhere: "While Gender Guesser may be 60% - 70% accurate, it is not 100% accurate. This is better than random guessing (50%), but should not be interpreted as "fact". In particular, men should not be offended if it says you write like a girl." OK... I hate this thing! It says I write like a girl! A girl!!! Then there's this thing: Gender Genie BTW... I hate this thing too (it's another version of the same algorithm)! It says I write like a girl, too!!!! Girls! I hate girls!!!

Interesting... or not! I uploaded around 175 words, four separate excerpts and was analyzed as three different writers. If I uploaded dialog, I was Kurt Vonnegut (2 times). If I uploaded description, I was Steven King. If I uploaded a mix, I was Dan Brown. Who's Dan Brown? edit: Dan Brown -- oh, him -- never mind--