M/F & M/M/F Interracial D/s Romance anyone to Beta?

M/F & M/M/F Interracial D/s Romance anyone to Beta?
Hello anyone! This is my site cherry on offer! This is the first 1k words of a series I am looking to turn into a short Novel (50k word) there are about another 15k written and another 5 k in planning. Rich Powerful Black business man takes a fancy to petite white younger woman for fun, meals, chats and nights out. The heat level grows and there are elements of BD and M/M/F etc later. None of that in this post! I am waiting access to the Secret Workshop. ****************************************** A quiet Italian dinner for two. By Smotp© I had to ask myself, ‘Did that really happen?’ We met at a conference in the City, I forget the seminar we both attended. I spent it watching you. I was there as a consequence of my financial contribution, a ‘show the face’ obligation to demonstrate commitment to some shared social value or other, I forget which. What I noticed first were your neat ankles and those evocative shoes you wore as you sat listening. From the back you seemed too young to be attending such a gathering, I imagined you to be still in high school, so petite in a neat black skirt suit, your luxurious hair tumbling down your back like a bitter chocolate waterfall. I was sitting five rows behind you and I watched your delicate pale hands flit about your conference pack, plucking at papers then scribble notes as the speaker droned. PowerPoint slides marched by unheeded, I saw only your legs. You wore killer heels, I supposed to give you height but it was the ankle bindings that enticed me, black patent leather straps with gleaming metal buckles. They encircled the ankles of your tiny arched feet. Hinting at darker sensual bindings. You looked like a little doll, a plaything that any man would want in the worst way. I suddenly realised that I would have to pay attention to the speaker or it would be quite difficult to get up and walk out without being embarrassed. Not very dignified for the chief sponsor to walk out with an obvious erection! Later, at coffee, I saw your face. You were in animated conversation with a badly dressed young man who I knew to be a fool and an incompetent ass. It was your laugh that drew my look, rich and throaty, too mature to have come from such a petite form. Your deep brown eyes sparkled and your generous autumn coloured lips were parted as you listened to whatever rubbish the worthless idiot was spouting. The cardinal red blouse you wore was startling against your creamy white skin and the jet of your single button jacket. A top striking not only in its rich colour but for the dangerously plunging neckline that exposed the entire inside curves of a deep cleavage almost to your navel. Prominent, firm breasts thrust your jacket into exciting contours without the benefit of support. It was very evidently impractical for you to have worn a bra under such a blouse. I wondered if a surgeon had helped and imagined cupping you with my hands, examining those magnificent mounds to discover what, if anything a surgeon had done. I walked up and spoke to the idiot boy who did not deserve your attention. “Hello Rupert, are you getting anything from the conference?” but it was your eyes I looked and held as I half listened to his wittering response. “Hello Sir John, yes actually it’s quite good.” There was a pause as I continued to stare into your enchanting eyes and you began to half smile. “I uh, you know..? I should introduce you?” “Yes you should,” I said trying not to return your smile. “Sir John, I would like you to meet Sarah Weston. Sarah this is Sir John St.John, his investment Company is sponsoring the conference.” I held out my hand and you slipped your small and vulnerable hand into mine. I looked at it lying in my palm, pale and almost translucent against the deep espresso of mine, utterly in my power to be crushed painfully or tenderly caressed. Instead we calmly shook hands and I released you, though I felt there was the briefest pause before you withdrew from my touch. You peered at my name badge and said, “Sinjun? Your name tag says Saint John.” “My father’s little joke, he said he liked the palindrome, although a purist would argue that point.” Your puzzlement was exquisite. “John St. John,” I pronounced it as it was written. “Ah,” you said and looked up into my eyes. I did not hesitate to penetrate your gaze, I felt I was boring into your mind, spreading your thoughts open before me. “Perhaps we could talk some more a little later? You could tell me all about,” I paused to bow my head and peer at the nametag on your lapel, lingering overlong to drink in the delicate pale satin sheen of the exposed skin of your breasts. “Sarah Weston of Flyte Promotions?” I eventually finished. Your knowing smile was a treat. My poor subterfuge was no secret and you seemed to enjoy my scrutiny. “But of course Sir John, how could I refuse the opportunity to lay my wares before you?” It was my turn to smile at your flirting. “This evening, before the conference dinner, at seven in the hotel bar?” I suggested. “I’ll look forward to it,” you said with a lopsided saucy smile. I left the conference for the afternoon to catch up on some tedious work. All the while I was reviewing contract documents and drafting letters of instruction I kept pausing to think of you, a pert little minx with great breasts. I took time to plan the evening and made some necessary calls. ****** The sweating glass was cool in my hand, the dark honey colour of the Southern Comfort, pale gold around the ice cubes. I took a sip and rolled the thick sweet fluid over my tongue, the alcohol burned a little on my throat and I watched the door in the mirror behind the bar. My reflection was a distraction and I checked the fit of my black linen jacket and burgundy shirt, I liked the compliment the colour struck against my own coffee and plum skin. I didn’t like to acknowledge my diminishing grey hair and I had years ago shaved it from vanity to the smooth satin skin that reminded me of my maternal grandfather. All help gratefully accepted. Smotp

I like the setup, and the certain little details that you put in it, how John pays careful attention to some parts, but not others. *Grins* How like a man to notice how far her neckline plunges, but fails to mention the color of her eyes beyond enchanting. It gives it realism for me. I liked his banter with Sarah too. I always have a hard time with conversation when characters first meet. Probably because I'm so shy when I first meet people.

I’m no expert in the art of reviewing, but I’m always keen to read new fiction, and I’d like to give you a bit of feedback on your story. Firstly, there was only one small detail that troubled me, and that’s the description of the girl’s hair as a ‘bitter chocolate waterfall’- all I could think of was that chocolate isn’t water, I know the effect you were trying to achieve, but I’m not sure that ‘waterfall’ fits. It jarred with me, but that’s just my opinion, and I could be wrong :) I also love the finer details noticed by the male character in his observations, and all I would add is that you might like to include a sense of smell in there somewhere, when he meets the girl, just to add some extra depth. The narrator is engaging and I was amused by his dismissal of the 'idiot boy' as he finally meets the object of his lust. The dialogue is realistic and flowed around the underlying chemistry going on. I’m definitely intrigued enough by the characters and situation to want to read more.

I'm gonna be a bitch...kind of... I cannot stand second person. I can't read it. I'm very sorry, but it irritates me so terribly much that I can't even read it to give feedback. Second person is the most hated voice to use. May I ask why you use it instead of first? Please, help me understand. I'm really not a bitch! Honest. I'm not! Gee...what a wonderful way of me welcoming you to our forums. >.<

Shame on me for not noticing this was in second person. But it is kind of an unusual view to tackle, and I’d like to ask the author whether there was any particular reason you chose that over the more conventional third person for the female character?

Shame on me for not noticing this was in second person. But it is kind of an unusual view to tackle, and I’d like to ask the author whether there was any particular reason you chose that over the more conventional third person for the female character?Hello Cupnjava, Ash This first installment of around 4k words is primarily in first person POV I thought. the very first sentence establishes that this is a flashback in the MC's head that ties up with the last sentence of the episode not posted here. I am using Sir John's POV in retrospect as he seeks to Dominate Sarah. She has not realised she is a Sub and her education is his delight. The second installment is written in alternate 1st person POV as is the third. I keep to just their two POV's throughout to show the development of their relationship. Why is it so unusual? I confess I just write it as it comes. I don't analyse. I am always amazed in what others see and I have to go back and look. I like to set up my characters in depth before I begin writing and then let them play together. The dialogue flows from them. I have a general idea but frequently they express themselves and go off where I had not thought to explore. This one I took some advice on as it has interracial elements, I made some offensive mistakes that my colleague corrected and I have tried to present as realistic a scenario as possible. I can't post all the rest here, the heat level is fairly high and the next two episodes are warmer still. I post below the rest up to where it all kicks off! The beneficient Wizard has yet to grant me the boon of access to the Secret Place. If anyone wants, I am happy to send them a complete copy of the first and other episodes? Please let me know. By the way I did describe Sarah's eyes, they are deep brown. Thanks so much for the feedback. I think I am going to like it here. Warm regards Smotp *********************************** The rest less the nookie! plus the last sentence for clarity. The sweating glass was cool in my hand, the dark honey colour of the Southern Comfort, pale gold around the ice cubes. I took a sip and rolled the thick sweet fluid over my tongue, the alcohol burned a little on my throat and I watched the door in the mirror behind the bar. My reflection was a distraction and I checked the fit of my black linen jacket and burgundy shirt, I liked the compliment the colour struck against my own coffee and plum skin. I didn’t like to acknowledge my diminishing grey hair and I had years ago shaved it from vanity to the smooth satin skin that reminded me of my maternal grandfather. He had returned to Jamaica when Grandmother had passed, heartbroken that she had left him behind and gone before him. He had an air of happy sadness in that environment which had been different to the depressed sadness when he was still here. I don’t know why I thought of him now as I waited for you. Perhaps it was the young European woman he had living in his house when we last visited before he died. Mother had clucked, clearly annoyed that he was with someone younger than her. He had just nodded to me in that way he had and languorously winked. “Her meat is sweet boy and she makes me feel young,” he had said quietly to me when we were alone. I just laughed, later watching them together I think I knew what he meant. I saw you in the mirror, framed by the doorway, looking around the scattered figures with a delectable little crease between your eyebrows. I turned to greet you and saw the crease iron out and the sun come up on your face as you saw me. I swore silently at my gallant reaction and covered my burgeoning erection by meeting you halfway at an empty table. “Snap!” “Pardon?” "Jinx!" You pointed at my shirt then smoothed your hands along your hips to your thighs, arching slightly to lift your chest, smiling broadly as you watched my eyes crawl over your body. Your dress was a sheath of burgundy linen almost the exact match to my shirt, except it must have been blended with something like Lycra. The cloth had the elasticity of latex as it moulded to your every luscious curve and swelling. The neckline was more restrained than earlier but the square cut bodice was low enough to bisect your bust at a point that could not have been much above your nipples. If there was a support it was minimal and there was not a crease or line in the clinging skirt to suggest any undergarment. “Ah yes, I see. It is a rather nice colour, but I fancy it is far nicer on you,” I said. “Most men don’t choose to have much colour in their clothes, you are unusual. It suits your complexion.” That made me smile, your choice of words was measured and delicate, complexion not skin or colour, Sarah Weston I think I like you. I seated you and asked, “What do you drink?” You turned in the chair to look up at me standing behind you and treated me to the sight of your breasts constrained by the neckline of your dress, mounding into plump hills, as the cloth was pulled taut by your movement. Your hand flitted to rest lightly on mine on the chair back as you looked up into my eyes, a blue veined white butterfly against the dark backdrop of my skin. “I’ll have whatever you’re having, may I taste?” Your plump glossed lips sipped from my glass and I watched the sharp tip of your pink tongue slip between them and sweep the droplets of thick liquor back into your mouth. “Mmmh, I love Comfort, but may I have a little lemonade with it?” “But of course.” “Thank you.” I watched you in the mirror; you sat calmly and didn’t fidget, patiently waiting. I didn’t hurry to be served, I wanted to observe you a little longer. Your legs were as I remembered smooth and firm, now encased in sheer black hose over lithe muscles that spoke of regular exercise, either walking or gymnasium. Your dress ended mid thigh and when you crossed your legs I imagined I saw a sliver of black lace tops. You were wearing the same strapped shoes from earlier and the overall image was sensuous and bold. Unable to delay further I returned and offered you your glass. Your fine fingers wrapped around mine as you took it and I let my hand linger until you chose to break the contact. "Sir John? You have a Knighthood, they don't give those away with breakfast cereal?" You looked at me quizzically as you sipped your drink, "What was it for?" "Just something I thought was obvious, I have young black adults from the UK on sponsored development schemes in Africa and the West Indies. They get a better understanding of their cultural backgrounds and Africa gets the benefit of their educated skills and enthusiasm." We talked for a little while of contemporary news as we sipped our drinks and watched each other. Finally I said, “The food at these conferences is always dreadful, I have booked us a table at a little place I know where we can talk comfortably and you can tell me everything.” “Everything?” you said, smiling that wicked lop sided grin I was growing to like. “Everything you wish, about you and your business,” I rumbled “You have me at your disposal for the night.” I saw your expression change, from teasing to something else, a slight uncertainty around the eyes, a delightful crinkling that spoke of your maturity but also your uncertainty. “I promise to have you back safe and sound in good time.” I stifled a smile at your expression, part disappointment and part relief. “The food is excellent there and I would very much enjoy your company as we ate.” I stood up and held out my hand, “Shall we make a move?” You drained the last sip in your glass and took my hand, holding it as we left the hotel. ****** “This is a wonderful car,” you said. I looked at you strapped into the leather seat beside me, small and vulnerable, the seat belt pulling your dress tight around your breasts, your nipples surprisingly thick peaks through the cloth from the cooler evening air. “I prefer Jaguar to BMW, too much of a cliché.” I heard you chuckle, that attractive deep throated sound, which at the conference had made my groin lurch. “I can’t imagine a man like you would ever have any difficulties because of your colour?” “I have had experiences which I dearly wish had never happened, in this country and abroad.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be, unless you share those prejudices?” “I don’t, you are just the same, I mean there is nothing.. Oh damn! I am sorry I don’t know what to say?” “Say what you feel. I have black skin you have white, I am a man and you are a woman, we are very different.” “I know, I meant. Oh I don’t know what I meant.” “Do you find me distasteful to look at?” “God no! I mean..” you laughed then, at yourself and took a deep breath. “I find you very attractive. You are tall, broad shouldered, you seem quite fit and you're mature, a man of the wide world. I love the way the light shines on your skin like a bronze sculpture, the different tones and colours that I can see as your muscles move under your skin." You looked away, suddenly reticent and asked, “What about me, do you find me attractive?” It was my turn to laugh and ask, “The soft or hard core version?” “You choose,” you still avoided my eyes. I thought for a few seconds, enjoying the feel of the road under me, the fat tyres clinging to the surface as the powerful motor thrust us forward, cocooned in expensive technology, polished wood and fragrant leather. “You are very beautiful, your hair is thick and rich and it tumbles over your shoulders like a flood. I would like to run my fingers through it and twine it around my hand to gently tug on it,” I glanced at you from the corner of my eye but you were staring through the windshield unmoving. “Your face is fine boned and elfin with eyes so large and equally rich in colour that I should like to see them express great pleasure. Your mouth is generous and your lips lush, I should like to cover them with mine, taste and enjoy exploring you, perhaps a gentle bite might excite? Your shoulders are smooth and soft as are you, your white skin thrills me to my core. I love the contrast between us in colour and stature, I would see more of you against more of me." I wondered if I had gone too far and looked over at you. Your chest was rising and falling in a fast rhythm as your breath came in deep draughts and you stared through the windshield with eyes that looked as though they were moist with tears. It was your breasts that told me what I wanted to know. Your nipples were hard and long, thrusting through the fine linen in hard peaks, aroused and excited. “Have I offended you?” It seemed you paused to catch your breath, “No. No not at all. Is it far to the restaurant?” I saw the small sign and swung into the entrance, the tyres crunching on the deep gravel of the forecourt. “We are there.” ****** You gasped when we entered the glass enclosed balcony. The road up to the restaurant was on the eastern landward side of a rising hill, the evening sun hidden behind. In front of us the land fell away to the west in sheer cliffs and the burnished sea was a red gold molten lake to the horizon. The roiling ball of flame that was the setting sun just kissed the sea as I seated you. "You like it?" "It's beautiful, like another world. I would have thought people would flock here to eat and see this." You were looking around the glass veranda with several bare tables, just ours set for two. The main restaurant had been full as the solicitous Maitre d’escorted us through. "I asked for privacy, so we could talk." "I'm impressed, the owner must be a very good friend?" "We do know each other quite well, yes." I smiled and settled into the seat opposite you. You looked for a menu but finding none you sat as you had in the hotel bar, patient and waiting. I delighted in that quality of yours to be accepting, near submissive on occasion. I filled the silence with explanation. "I first ate here a few years ago and just such a sunset made me buy the place. The original chef and his partner still run it, they have no money worries and we share the healthy profits. I get the private use of this observation balcony when I wish as a perk of my investment.” "Do you eat here often?" "I own a place less than half a mile from here along the cliffs, I had it built for the same views. I eat here most evenings when staying there. I like eating with company and there is only my housekeeper." "I can't imagine you ever being without a companion?" "I choose my friends carefully." "Am I a friend?" "I don't know you well enough yet, Sarah Weston. We should explore each other first to see if we are a compatible fit, don't you think?" "I should like that Sir John." We both laughed at the unstated meaning behind our words. A waiter appeared and set food on the table, accompanied by the sommelier with a bottle of wine in a silver bucket beaded with condensation. They left without speaking, as I preferred. I enjoyed your puzzlement, the slight crease between your brows making me want to smooth it away with my lips. "We haven't ordered yet?" "I took the liberty of ordering for us both, I wanted us to experience a meal together." As I hoped, you visibly relaxed into accepting my dominance in these small things. "Try the Sauvignon. It is a fine Marlborough white, one of New Zealand's best." I poured for you and then a half glass for myself. "I hope you're not trying to get me drunk?" "Not at all, I would wish both of us to be able to enjoy the evening fully, I just prefer the red we are having with the main course." You looked at the table full of piled plates, and back to me with that exciting questioning expression. "This is just the first course, I want us to share and I will discover your tastes." Your almost shy smile in response thrilled me and stiffened my resolve to guide you further. I reached for the grilled butterfly prawns and lifted a succulent shellfish to your lips. "Try this." This was the moment that would set the tone for our evening and I held my breath. Like a baby bird you opened those lush lips and took the food from my fingers. You sat still with your hands passive on the tablecloth as I fed you from each of the plates in turn. We talked of the flavours and texture as well as the spice and seasoning as the sun went down. You didn't ask, but I lifted your glass for you to drink the cold sharp wine when I wished. No cutlery was touched, just my fingers fed you. You're eyes were moist and glittering with an uncertain emotion and my erection was uncomfortable when I judged we were ready for the next course and rang a small silver bell. "That was wonderful," you said in that low throaty voice that only made my condition worse. "I am glad you enjoyed the food." "Yes, that too," you said and the wicked smile that transformed your face caught my breath. The waiters cleared and reset the table, bringing a mature Barolo red wine to accompany the rich beef ragout and linguini pasta. We ate and talked, you about your family and place in the Home Counties near London and I about my hopes for the future of my work. "You have no partner, no wife?" "I was married, Eloise died a few years ago." "I'm sorry" "It was quite bad. We made the mistake of being in Rwanda at the wrong time promoting my project. We were taken by a faction who saw us as meddling in their genocidal plans. They took particular exception to my Eloise being French and white. Five of them took her in front of me and then decapitated her. That was their favourite way of dealing with women." "Oh my God, how awful." "Just hours later the UN troops overran the compound where they held us. I found three of the bastards." Your expression was a mixture of horror, distaste and something else. "What did you do?" "Not anything I will ever regret." We drank silently for a moment, then your small hand crept into mine and held it, warmth and comfort seemed to flow from you. I stood up and came around the table to place my hands on your shoulders. You looked up into my eyes, compassionate tears making your eyes glisten. I gripped your arms and lifted you from your seat, crushing you against my chest, covering your mobile mouth with mine. I devoured you, thrusting my tongue between your soft parted lips to swirl in your mouth, tasting you, the wine and food transformed by your own delightful sweetness. Your trembling body and quick breaths only excited me more and I spun you around to stoop, brushing aside your hair to kiss your neck and shoulders. I crushed your breasts quite cruelly in my hands, relishing the textures of your dress, smooth flesh and the urgent hardness of your nipples in my palms. The contrast of my hands against the burgundy of your dress and creamy white skin was exciting, sending electric shocks to the tip of my erection pushing against the firm globes of your bottom. "Are you still hungry?" "God no," you said, laying your head back against my chest. "Shall we go?" "God yes!" We both laughed and stood apart, strong emotion in our breathing. ****** The short walk along the cliff path was a torture of anticipation. Your small hand buried in mine as we strolled, hearing the sea below rumbling the shingle beach and the seagulls on the dark breeze. I bent to kiss you again and felt your hands crawl under my jacket to press against my back, your breasts crushed hard to me You moaned into my mouth for the first time and I wanted to throw you down onto the coarse sea grass and take you right there. Instead I ran my hands over you and gripped your round bottom, kissing your mouth as though I was entering you more intimately. You rewarded me with a seductively accepting whimper. ****** A slight breeze stirred the filmy curtains of the French doors open to the balcony and the night calls of seabirds floated in. I saw your silhouette against the dimness turn and I heard you breathe in sharply. "The bed! It’s fantastic!" "A replica I'm afraid, the original is still in Hampton Court." "I've always wanted to sleep in a four poster bed!" I liked that you were not coy about our circumstances. "I don't intend for us to sleep much." You laughed in that way you have that connects with my groin and I felt you fill my arms, hot mouth searching for and finding mine. "I'd like some light to see you better," I reluctantly left you at the foot of the bed and turned up the lamps, slipping off my jacket before returning to undress you. You stood placidly as the dress slid from your alabaster shoulders exposing your proud breasts tipped with the blush pink nipples of the childless, confections like fingertips that demanded to be suckled. I bent and took a resilient teat into my mouth and was a child again. Your hands crushed my head to your chest and your moan as my teeth nipped gently demanded much more. I eased the dress over your flaring hips and it pooled at your strapped ankles. Standing back to admire you, kneading one breast and holding a hand in mine, I drank in the vision of the tiny black satin thong cupping your sex and the black lace of your hose tops encircling the white flesh of your thighs. "You are very beautiful, so palely delicate and petite." "I'm no china doll, I won't break and you can be firm with me." "We have not yet begun, I intend for you to remember this night." “I am yours.” CUT HERE We slept then, wrapped in damp exhaustion until I woke and left you to stand on the balcony in the dim pre dawn chill. Looking out over the oily calm sea I asked myself, was all that a dream? I turned to look in at you spread across my bed asleep, small, pale and delicate but capable of such sensual strength in your lovemaking. No it had all happened and I smiled at a sudden thought, there were so many more things I wanted to do to you and explore your capacities in so many ways. I stalked back to you on the balls of my feet as the day brightened behind me. I wonder if I can bring you to orgasm before you fully wake?

The second installment is written in alternate 1st person POV as is the third. I keep to just their two POV's throughout to show the development of their relationship. Why is it so unusual? Pick a POV (1,st, 2d or third) and stick with it. This is done for clarity, flow and a whole host of other reasons. If you think that passage is first person then let me ask you something... Who is the you that John keeps talking about? If the shoes "you" wore are atually the shoes Sarah wore then it needs to be the shoes Sarah wore or she wore NOT you. As this is written it's a bastardized form of first and second person. And a note for the future, it's easier on the eyes when reading on the screen to add a line between paragraphs. *whine* I promise I'm not a bitch. >.< Even if I seem like one right now.

Pick a POV (1,st, 2d or third) and stick with it. This is done for clarity, flow and a whole host of other reasons. Understood, thanks. If you think that passage is first person then let me ask you something... Who is the you that John keeps talking about? As this is written it's a bastardized form of first and second person. I guess I was thinking the MC was adressing Sarah in his mind as he reprised their meeting in flashback. Standing at his bedroom window looking in at her, how he was thinking? However I understand your point, thanks. And a note for the future, it's easier on the eyes when reading on the screen to add a line between paragraphs. Oops sorry will sort it. :oops: *whine* I promise I'm not a bitch. >.< Even if I seem like one right now. I don't think you're a bitch Cupsy, I am grateful for your comments, thanks again :wink: Warm regards Smotp

Pick a POV (1,st, 2d or third) and stick with it. This is done for clarity, flow and a whole host of other reasons. Understood, thanks. If you think that passage is first person then let me ask you something... Who is the you that John keeps talking about? As this is written it's a bastardized form of first and second person. I guess I was thinking the MC was adressing Sarah in his mind as he reprised their meeting in flashback. Standing at his bedroom window looking in at her, how he was thinking? However I understand your point, thanks. And a note for the future, it's easier on the eyes when reading on the screen to add a line between paragraphs. Oops sorry will sort it. :oops: *whine* I promise I'm not a bitch. >.< Even if I seem like one right now. I don't think you're a bitch Cupsy, I am grateful for your comments, thanks again :wink: Warm regards Smotp WHEW! Cuz, honest, I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm just trying to be helpful. There's so very much to learn it writing. It can be overwhelming at times.

WHEW! Cuz, honest, I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm just trying to be helpful. There's so very much to learn it writing. It can be overwhelming at times. Hi Cupsy I'm just trying to get my work published and you are already successful. Any help and advice you can give is warmly received. How can I return the favour? Regards and respect Smotp

WHEW! Cuz, honest, I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm just trying to be helpful. There's so very much to learn it writing. It can be overwhelming at times. Hi Cupsy I'm just trying to get my work published and you are already successful. Any help and advice you can give is warmly received. How can I return the favour? Regards and respect Smotp I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I'm still learning too. The absolute best piece of advice I could ever offer anyone is this: Anyone, regardless of success or experience, can be wrong.

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