Just my two cents. Nice one Chris. Another great exercise in an evolving writing style where the consciousness stream is thrown unapologetically at the reader as the author relays their interpretation of the scene precisely as they alone experience it, no explanation just the protagonist reacting to his environment within his own head,, forcing the reader to decipher it and try to make sense of both the scenario and the authors warped viewpoint of the situation. It has an unnerving quality and we are left with a sense of the authors helplessness and isolation as he finds himself powerless and slightly paranoid in a chaotic scenario populated by grotesque indifferent characters with whom he has nothing in common and though he must, he feels unable to communicate with.
The closing paragraph is both kind of depressing and disarmingly honest and I feel that it is coming from the author himself rather than the protagonist (who may be the author in earlier stage of life.)
This part jumped off the page, pointing to a poignant component of the authors sense of isolation, of disappointment and a disconnect with a past and family life that has been broken...
"My dreams. My losses. My failures. This child of a father whose land is no more. This other. This man who writes"
You. Nailed. It. Thank you so much for putting in the work, it is a fairly demanding piece of writing. Thank you for taking the time to think about it and write a detailed reply - really - that's pure gold for me. You can't get anything wrong here as the story is yours, not mine. I gave you some signposts, some clues, perhaps - I think all writing does this - but I didn't want to read it for you, which most writing seems to want to, like an overload of signposts and clues, leaving the reader with a map that is - predictably - the territory, rendering both obsolete in a certain way.
It's really interesting to read your version of what's going on, and one of the great things about Substack. There's no right or wrong story to be extrapolated, and you join the dots as you choose. One of the first things I thought about reading, at school, was "Where's the writer?" and then predictably, "Where isn't he?" It felt like a bit of a con, no, not a con, but certainly some kind of ruse. Interestingly, the word 'ruse' comes from the Latin, 'recūsāre', meaning to refuse and/or reject. The Old French 'ruse' was used to mean 'trick', or 'dodge', and wonderfully poetic and on the money here at least, was used in hunting when the hunted animal doubled back on its hunters to elude capture - like words - like meanings. Like authors. Thanks again, your reply made my day.
You are most welcome Chris. Your writing is interesting to me because you don't paint (write) detailed descriptive overall pictures for the reader but place little succinct details (often plot irrelavant) here and there so the reader must work to piece them together to understand the scenario. This approach (at the expense of losing less imaginative readers) means that every reader mentally views the story differently in their minds eye anchored around your offered titbits of vivid description.
(Lol -Wasn't 'Titbits' a Lucy Pinder type lads mag back in the day?)
Anyway, thanks for putting your work out there for all and sundry to disect (that takes balls) and keep at it mate, you have real talent.
HOIT o7
P.S bet you're thinking about Lucy Pinder right now ..
I remember the barbers my mum took me and my brother to had a stack of Titbits, and I thought I was onto something while waiting for my brother to get his 'feather cut' (which my mum always said to the barber and he just cut our hair like all kids had in those days. Feather cut? Is that a thing? Thanks again for your kind words. Much like music, what you leave out (the silences, musically) are often more important than what you write. Not only does it leave the reader something to do, but it will affect them on a more profound level, as they use their own experiences to fill in the gaps - or connect the dots - making it about them, the reader, in the world the story places them. Nice one for another well considered reply. And I'm always thinking about Lucy Pinder.
"Wife of the Midnight Teeth" took a fu**ing age to come up with. Weird eh? I just needed to get it so wrong, yet so.....no, just wrong. Young Eliza, are you suggesting my story left you feeling like you were bludgeoned around the head by some kind of blunt weapon. Were you wandering around the damp smelling halls of almostness? Please say yes. Thank you for giving it your time and effort, appreciated as ever. Best wishes.
It reads as fluently as a stream of consciousness, yet in whose darkest regions will be found hilarity, delivered with that sharpest and punchiest of couriers: truth. I could say that about your remarkable writing in general. For this particular one - in a close Dangerfield of competition - the bit about the speech impediment was the winner.
Thank you, Nianthos. I'll save you my endless ramblings about how I'm trying to nudge the Western literary canon in a slightly different direction. I will ask this though - what is 'stream of consciousness' and what isn't? When you speak, do you think about the words as you speak? I can't remember who it was who said it, maybe Lacan, but the line "What I write takes me by surprise and teaches me what I think," something like that anyway. Interesting point though, as obviously I know what you mean, but I probably spent more time getting this one right (whatever that means) than most of the shorts on here.
A stammer is socially brutal, perhaps worse than being mute. I might have to interview someone with a stammer. Just turned 06:00 AM - Apocalypse now in the background, time for bed. Thanks again - don't underestimate what it means to me.
Hey Matt - long time no see/read. I hope you're well. As I said to Nianthos, I probably put more effort into structuring this one (not to be confused with plotting; I do not do that) than most of my shorts. Thanks for your time and effort. Boring is a risk when the story isn't being spoon-fed, but as a culture, we sit and wait for the entertainment to slap us in the face, sprint across the room, and jump into the bin. Some will be bored, though. It's not for everyone, thank God. Thank you for reading it, Matt. It's much appreciated, as always.
Dexys Midnight Runners - Jackie Wilson Said. I spent far too much time trying to get that right, and truly believed there was a chance you might get it. Reading it now, what was I thinking?
You don’t know me, but I’ve been following your work ever since I stumbled upon one of your YouTube videos and saw your Substack ad. I’ve been hooked ever since! Every time I read one of your short stories, it makes me even more pumped to eventually dive into your novel—you’ve hinted at it a few times, and now I can't wait. I imagine if all your shorts were pieced together with their different but somehow cohesive styles, they’d form something like that novel, and honestly, I'd be all over it.
I’ve re-read most of your stories multiple times—Lizard Jane at least five, and Letter To My Dead Dad, I’ve lost track. That one really hits home for me. You must have balls of steel to put something so raw and personal out there. When I got to the end of this one, the line ‘This other who writes,’ struck a chord. I’m not a writer, just an avid reader, but I never really thought about what it must feel like to write, especially with so much of yourself in it. Feels like a glitch in the system, in the best way.
Anyway, keep doing what you're doing. It’s clear you’ve got something rare and unique. I’ve checked out a bunch of other Substacks, and honestly, most of them feel kind of samey—not a knock on them, they just don’t bring anything fresh or thought-provoking. Yours, though? It's on a different level. I’m not a fan of the term “avant-garde,” but if literary fiction is going to stay meaningful, we need creators like you pushing the envelope. Your awareness of the act of writing within our cultural context is up there with Don DeLillo and Jonathan Franzen, while still being anchored to everyone's favorite mess, Charles Bukowski.
I can imagine it must be tough working in an industry that doesn’t quite know what to do with you, but hey, most of the greats from the last century were in the same boat. Hang in there.
Whoa! I just replied to your reply on Lizard Jane, and rambled on about my novel. And now I find out you already know about it. So it goes. (name that author).
it's funny you mention DeLillo, Franzen and then Bukowski. It was reading Post Office at about aged 16 that made me think I could write novels. And although I rate DeLillo an Franzen (and Pynchon and DF Wallace - although apparently that's not cool (ridiculous) - Bukowski has a charm that I identify with more than most other writers. In this comment and the Lizard Jane one you've said some very encouraging words, and made some interesting (well, indulgent, for me) observations. I was a stand-up comedian for 10 years and comedy agents would regularly come to my shows and they all said pretty much the same, "You're obviously a great (they probably said 'good') comedian, but what can we do with you?" That's because they're not looking for comedians, they're looking for celebrities, people to put on panel shows, 8 out of 10 cats etc., and they're not really the place for my schtick.
I set up my Substack to advertise my novel really, but surprisingly its become something that stands alone, and since I've been feeding on the crumbs of minor literary successes for the last 30 years, it's nice to get some more substantial portions. It really does mean a lot to me. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work and leave a very encouraging comment.
I felt I had to conjure up some courage to ask for permission to enter into Mr Honestly It Is Not’s mind, he couldn’t physically stop me now could he but he gave me the nod to enter in. I appreciated Mr H’s trust and I felt like I was in a maze…
Like the one at Hampton Court, every left turn and right turn showed me a different character or scenario but I wasn’t sure who was real or what was fake, living up to his name… I’m really glad I ‘met’ the homeless veteran, I wanted to give him a cuddle for all he’d risked for our country, most people if they’re still human like a proper cuddle along the rocky road of life to make it worthwhile… wow, I’ve gone off on one there Chris! Well, I decided to take my leave and Mr H helped me return to the front door of his mind, I thanked him on my way out and promised I would pay him another visit if he didn’t mind me being there.. Thank you Chris for the creation of such a character, I’ll definitely knock again.
Great stuff Sheila. I'm going to guess you read a lot - perhaps even write. Hmm, maybe diaries? Anyway, thank you so much for taking time to read the story. From your comment I can tell you actually did read it too, putting in the work to make some sense out of a piece that's fractured and like you said, 'Who was real or what was fake,' that's interesting, the who/what distinction. I like that a lot.
I think there's a chance he doesn't get out of bed for long periods, stuck with himself and his memories. Not. Sleeping. When he does venture out, the world around him blends with his memories leaving him no longer aware which is what or what is which. But I can't be sure. I guess all writing is a maze, and it's whether the author accepts that - or is aware of it - or tries to fight it and make it the crappiest maze ever, like forward 20 steps, left 5 steps, and that's it. What's the point? I know what the point is really, some people don't want to work when they're reading, but make that decision at quite a cost. This happened, then this, this happened earlier than the last bit, but it's OK cos then this happened and everyone lived miserably ever after. Thank you for your time and thoughts, it means so much to me. I write to be read, and to get feedback, truly a gift it is.
I enjoyed this, although in a good way, I wasn't quite sure what I was enjoying. This story is a chaotic ride to nowhere. Like a fairground ride maybe? It reminds me a bit of Pynchon’s style, with its quirky characters and over-the-top situations. The way you capture the madness of modern life, where we’re constantly bombarded by information from the internet, ads, and media, is spot on. It’s like the story itself is mirroring the whirlwind we live in—wild, funny, and a little overwhelming in the best way possible! Keep it up. I always look forward to your Substacks
Thank you Gayle for giving this a read, really appreciated. Funnily enough I've been dipping back into Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow recently. It's in my toilet for such purposes. A very different book than when I first read it. I am over the moon after reading you thought it 'mirrored' our hectic, lives. For literary fiction to have a role of any substance, I think form should have that familiarity. When I was writing this I wanted it to have a sense of someone flicking through a hotel telly with a remote control, but refusing to stop on anything for longer than a few seconds. Until the end (which may as well have been the start, Anyway, thanks again for reading it and leaving a really interesting comment.
Hello Jim, thank you very much. I think 'most delightful' is in my novel. I can't be sure as I haven't finished writing it, and therefore, reading it. What a character Steve was: "There's a dog in the house, Steve", (there wasn't) "I think I'll go swimming", (he didn't), ripping long fart, "Delightful!" Another, longer, ripping fart, "Most delightful!". For two ten year old boys, hearing that coming from a man alone in his room, was, well, delightful. Thanks again, Jim.
Thanks for the reply. I very much look forward to reading said novel when it's finished. I have also passed the link to your substack to my brother who also enjoys your literature...many thanks campervanjimbob
That's very kind of you, it's good to hear. The novel is nearly there, it really is, but so is my day job that feels like it's slipping away, which will put me in a spot of bother. I'm sure I'll sort something out, I love my GF too much to let her down by not being able to provide. Best wishes, Jim. Say hello to your brother from me.
Nice one, Tige. Your comment is almost sensual - sounds like something I'd say to a Laotian lady of easy leisure in a room full of balloons and a bottle of vodka. Not joking aside, thank you for giving your time to quite a demanding piece. The 'rules' provide easy results. They make you want something, deprive you of it, then dangle it tantalizingly close, and finally, if you're till alive, they give it to you. Play, on the other hand, requires a change in the reader/writer contract, and if you're prepared to go with it, you just might get something more. One of the reasons children learn s easily is play, and one of the reasons adults don't is rules. Thanks for your kind words, it sincerely means a lot to me.
Just my two cents. Nice one Chris. Another great exercise in an evolving writing style where the consciousness stream is thrown unapologetically at the reader as the author relays their interpretation of the scene precisely as they alone experience it, no explanation just the protagonist reacting to his environment within his own head,, forcing the reader to decipher it and try to make sense of both the scenario and the authors warped viewpoint of the situation. It has an unnerving quality and we are left with a sense of the authors helplessness and isolation as he finds himself powerless and slightly paranoid in a chaotic scenario populated by grotesque indifferent characters with whom he has nothing in common and though he must, he feels unable to communicate with.
The closing paragraph is both kind of depressing and disarmingly honest and I feel that it is coming from the author himself rather than the protagonist (who may be the author in earlier stage of life.)
This part jumped off the page, pointing to a poignant component of the authors sense of isolation, of disappointment and a disconnect with a past and family life that has been broken...
"My dreams. My losses. My failures. This child of a father whose land is no more. This other. This man who writes"
That's pure gold right there.
You. Nailed. It. Thank you so much for putting in the work, it is a fairly demanding piece of writing. Thank you for taking the time to think about it and write a detailed reply - really - that's pure gold for me. You can't get anything wrong here as the story is yours, not mine. I gave you some signposts, some clues, perhaps - I think all writing does this - but I didn't want to read it for you, which most writing seems to want to, like an overload of signposts and clues, leaving the reader with a map that is - predictably - the territory, rendering both obsolete in a certain way.
It's really interesting to read your version of what's going on, and one of the great things about Substack. There's no right or wrong story to be extrapolated, and you join the dots as you choose. One of the first things I thought about reading, at school, was "Where's the writer?" and then predictably, "Where isn't he?" It felt like a bit of a con, no, not a con, but certainly some kind of ruse. Interestingly, the word 'ruse' comes from the Latin, 'recūsāre', meaning to refuse and/or reject. The Old French 'ruse' was used to mean 'trick', or 'dodge', and wonderfully poetic and on the money here at least, was used in hunting when the hunted animal doubled back on its hunters to elude capture - like words - like meanings. Like authors. Thanks again, your reply made my day.
You are most welcome Chris. Your writing is interesting to me because you don't paint (write) detailed descriptive overall pictures for the reader but place little succinct details (often plot irrelavant) here and there so the reader must work to piece them together to understand the scenario. This approach (at the expense of losing less imaginative readers) means that every reader mentally views the story differently in their minds eye anchored around your offered titbits of vivid description.
(Lol -Wasn't 'Titbits' a Lucy Pinder type lads mag back in the day?)
Anyway, thanks for putting your work out there for all and sundry to disect (that takes balls) and keep at it mate, you have real talent.
HOIT o7
P.S bet you're thinking about Lucy Pinder right now ..
(I know I am )
.the power of words..
I remember the barbers my mum took me and my brother to had a stack of Titbits, and I thought I was onto something while waiting for my brother to get his 'feather cut' (which my mum always said to the barber and he just cut our hair like all kids had in those days. Feather cut? Is that a thing? Thanks again for your kind words. Much like music, what you leave out (the silences, musically) are often more important than what you write. Not only does it leave the reader something to do, but it will affect them on a more profound level, as they use their own experiences to fill in the gaps - or connect the dots - making it about them, the reader, in the world the story places them. Nice one for another well considered reply. And I'm always thinking about Lucy Pinder.
Wife of the Midnight teeth 😁 so did you get a whack round the head or what? Feel like I just have,long time can't see lol, see ya later Master Bater x
"Wife of the Midnight Teeth" took a fu**ing age to come up with. Weird eh? I just needed to get it so wrong, yet so.....no, just wrong. Young Eliza, are you suggesting my story left you feeling like you were bludgeoned around the head by some kind of blunt weapon. Were you wandering around the damp smelling halls of almostness? Please say yes. Thank you for giving it your time and effort, appreciated as ever. Best wishes.
It reads as fluently as a stream of consciousness, yet in whose darkest regions will be found hilarity, delivered with that sharpest and punchiest of couriers: truth. I could say that about your remarkable writing in general. For this particular one - in a close Dangerfield of competition - the bit about the speech impediment was the winner.
Thank you, Nianthos. I'll save you my endless ramblings about how I'm trying to nudge the Western literary canon in a slightly different direction. I will ask this though - what is 'stream of consciousness' and what isn't? When you speak, do you think about the words as you speak? I can't remember who it was who said it, maybe Lacan, but the line "What I write takes me by surprise and teaches me what I think," something like that anyway. Interesting point though, as obviously I know what you mean, but I probably spent more time getting this one right (whatever that means) than most of the shorts on here.
A stammer is socially brutal, perhaps worse than being mute. I might have to interview someone with a stammer. Just turned 06:00 AM - Apocalypse now in the background, time for bed. Thanks again - don't underestimate what it means to me.
Th-Th-Th-Th That was a nice r-r-r-r-r-read, D-d-d-d-danger!
Now d-d-d-d-do a stream!!
Lots of love, JP.
There might be some more Bullseye over the weekend. Look after yourself, mush - and have a cracking weekend.
We got a bit of bully in the end.
Funny enjoyable creative chaos. Never boring.
Hey Matt - long time no see/read. I hope you're well. As I said to Nianthos, I probably put more effort into structuring this one (not to be confused with plotting; I do not do that) than most of my shorts. Thanks for your time and effort. Boring is a risk when the story isn't being spoon-fed, but as a culture, we sit and wait for the entertainment to slap us in the face, sprint across the room, and jump into the bin. Some will be bored, though. It's not for everyone, thank God. Thank you for reading it, Matt. It's much appreciated, as always.
De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da, they're meaningless and all that's true.
Nothing is meaningless, even nothing. What's this one: Ba da ba do ap bap ba da ba do ahh.
The Scatorial Sequence you have provided could be interpreted in many ways.
I put it to Supper's in the Kitchen by Genesissy
Dexys Midnight Runners - Jackie Wilson Said. I spent far too much time trying to get that right, and truly believed there was a chance you might get it. Reading it now, what was I thinking?
Mine was an easier task
You don’t know me, but I’ve been following your work ever since I stumbled upon one of your YouTube videos and saw your Substack ad. I’ve been hooked ever since! Every time I read one of your short stories, it makes me even more pumped to eventually dive into your novel—you’ve hinted at it a few times, and now I can't wait. I imagine if all your shorts were pieced together with their different but somehow cohesive styles, they’d form something like that novel, and honestly, I'd be all over it.
I’ve re-read most of your stories multiple times—Lizard Jane at least five, and Letter To My Dead Dad, I’ve lost track. That one really hits home for me. You must have balls of steel to put something so raw and personal out there. When I got to the end of this one, the line ‘This other who writes,’ struck a chord. I’m not a writer, just an avid reader, but I never really thought about what it must feel like to write, especially with so much of yourself in it. Feels like a glitch in the system, in the best way.
Anyway, keep doing what you're doing. It’s clear you’ve got something rare and unique. I’ve checked out a bunch of other Substacks, and honestly, most of them feel kind of samey—not a knock on them, they just don’t bring anything fresh or thought-provoking. Yours, though? It's on a different level. I’m not a fan of the term “avant-garde,” but if literary fiction is going to stay meaningful, we need creators like you pushing the envelope. Your awareness of the act of writing within our cultural context is up there with Don DeLillo and Jonathan Franzen, while still being anchored to everyone's favorite mess, Charles Bukowski.
I can imagine it must be tough working in an industry that doesn’t quite know what to do with you, but hey, most of the greats from the last century were in the same boat. Hang in there.
You’ve got this!
Whoa! I just replied to your reply on Lizard Jane, and rambled on about my novel. And now I find out you already know about it. So it goes. (name that author).
it's funny you mention DeLillo, Franzen and then Bukowski. It was reading Post Office at about aged 16 that made me think I could write novels. And although I rate DeLillo an Franzen (and Pynchon and DF Wallace - although apparently that's not cool (ridiculous) - Bukowski has a charm that I identify with more than most other writers. In this comment and the Lizard Jane one you've said some very encouraging words, and made some interesting (well, indulgent, for me) observations. I was a stand-up comedian for 10 years and comedy agents would regularly come to my shows and they all said pretty much the same, "You're obviously a great (they probably said 'good') comedian, but what can we do with you?" That's because they're not looking for comedians, they're looking for celebrities, people to put on panel shows, 8 out of 10 cats etc., and they're not really the place for my schtick.
I set up my Substack to advertise my novel really, but surprisingly its become something that stands alone, and since I've been feeding on the crumbs of minor literary successes for the last 30 years, it's nice to get some more substantial portions. It really does mean a lot to me. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work and leave a very encouraging comment.
I felt I had to conjure up some courage to ask for permission to enter into Mr Honestly It Is Not’s mind, he couldn’t physically stop me now could he but he gave me the nod to enter in. I appreciated Mr H’s trust and I felt like I was in a maze…
Like the one at Hampton Court, every left turn and right turn showed me a different character or scenario but I wasn’t sure who was real or what was fake, living up to his name… I’m really glad I ‘met’ the homeless veteran, I wanted to give him a cuddle for all he’d risked for our country, most people if they’re still human like a proper cuddle along the rocky road of life to make it worthwhile… wow, I’ve gone off on one there Chris! Well, I decided to take my leave and Mr H helped me return to the front door of his mind, I thanked him on my way out and promised I would pay him another visit if he didn’t mind me being there.. Thank you Chris for the creation of such a character, I’ll definitely knock again.
Great stuff Sheila. I'm going to guess you read a lot - perhaps even write. Hmm, maybe diaries? Anyway, thank you so much for taking time to read the story. From your comment I can tell you actually did read it too, putting in the work to make some sense out of a piece that's fractured and like you said, 'Who was real or what was fake,' that's interesting, the who/what distinction. I like that a lot.
I think there's a chance he doesn't get out of bed for long periods, stuck with himself and his memories. Not. Sleeping. When he does venture out, the world around him blends with his memories leaving him no longer aware which is what or what is which. But I can't be sure. I guess all writing is a maze, and it's whether the author accepts that - or is aware of it - or tries to fight it and make it the crappiest maze ever, like forward 20 steps, left 5 steps, and that's it. What's the point? I know what the point is really, some people don't want to work when they're reading, but make that decision at quite a cost. This happened, then this, this happened earlier than the last bit, but it's OK cos then this happened and everyone lived miserably ever after. Thank you for your time and thoughts, it means so much to me. I write to be read, and to get feedback, truly a gift it is.
Best wishes, Sheila.
I enjoyed this, although in a good way, I wasn't quite sure what I was enjoying. This story is a chaotic ride to nowhere. Like a fairground ride maybe? It reminds me a bit of Pynchon’s style, with its quirky characters and over-the-top situations. The way you capture the madness of modern life, where we’re constantly bombarded by information from the internet, ads, and media, is spot on. It’s like the story itself is mirroring the whirlwind we live in—wild, funny, and a little overwhelming in the best way possible! Keep it up. I always look forward to your Substacks
Thank you Gayle for giving this a read, really appreciated. Funnily enough I've been dipping back into Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow recently. It's in my toilet for such purposes. A very different book than when I first read it. I am over the moon after reading you thought it 'mirrored' our hectic, lives. For literary fiction to have a role of any substance, I think form should have that familiarity. When I was writing this I wanted it to have a sense of someone flicking through a hotel telly with a remote control, but refusing to stop on anything for longer than a few seconds. Until the end (which may as well have been the start, Anyway, thanks again for reading it and leaving a really interesting comment.
A most delightful read..thoroughly enjoyed it 😊
Hello Jim, thank you very much. I think 'most delightful' is in my novel. I can't be sure as I haven't finished writing it, and therefore, reading it. What a character Steve was: "There's a dog in the house, Steve", (there wasn't) "I think I'll go swimming", (he didn't), ripping long fart, "Delightful!" Another, longer, ripping fart, "Most delightful!". For two ten year old boys, hearing that coming from a man alone in his room, was, well, delightful. Thanks again, Jim.
Thanks for the reply. I very much look forward to reading said novel when it's finished. I have also passed the link to your substack to my brother who also enjoys your literature...many thanks campervanjimbob
That's very kind of you, it's good to hear. The novel is nearly there, it really is, but so is my day job that feels like it's slipping away, which will put me in a spot of bother. I'm sure I'll sort something out, I love my GF too much to let her down by not being able to provide. Best wishes, Jim. Say hello to your brother from me.
Exceptional, (as always).
It's always a pleasure to enjoy your creativity.
Nice one, Tige. Your comment is almost sensual - sounds like something I'd say to a Laotian lady of easy leisure in a room full of balloons and a bottle of vodka. Not joking aside, thank you for giving your time to quite a demanding piece. The 'rules' provide easy results. They make you want something, deprive you of it, then dangle it tantalizingly close, and finally, if you're till alive, they give it to you. Play, on the other hand, requires a change in the reader/writer contract, and if you're prepared to go with it, you just might get something more. One of the reasons children learn s easily is play, and one of the reasons adults don't is rules. Thanks for your kind words, it sincerely means a lot to me.