Dear Writers and Readers,

We noticed some less-than-exemplary behavior on Prose today, which forced us to take action against some users. This is a gentle reminder that, while we try to remain as uncensored as possible, some forms of content are simply intolerable. Please note the following passage from our Terms of Service, under Prohibited Content:

Content that is unlawful, libelous, defamatory, obscene, pornographic, indecent, lewd, suggestive, harassing, threatening, abusive, inflammatory, fraudulent or otherwise objectionable, or invasive of privacy or publicity rights;

In today’s case, harassment was the keyword. We have taken steps to punish infringing users, and prevent future infringements. Note that we will not be adjudicating arguments, disagreements, or squabbles between users, unless we deem the language used to be grossly abusive or inflammatory.

1. We have added a report button to all posts. You’ll find the button in the lower-right options menu (indicated by an ellipsis icon) of every post. If you encounter a post that violates the Terms of Service, please report it.

2. We have instituted a temporary posting restriction policy against first-time offenders. If we find that you have been harassing folks, spamming, or posting any other sort of Prohibited Content, you will be prevented from posting, commenting, and sending messages for a minimum of three days. Repeat offenders will be permanently banned.

3. We have added an internal feature to remove offensive posts. Posts that violate our Terms of Service, or that provoke grossly abusive or toxic comment threads, will be marked as such and removed after 24 hours. During that period, commenting on such posts will be disabled.

Refer to Section 10 of our Terms of Service for all forms of Prohibited Content: https://theprose.com/p/legal/terms

Happy Writes,

The Prose Team

Readers and writers, angels and demons, ladies and gentlemen: we’ve long kept you waiting to see what Prose has in store for you. Today, we hope to satisfy your curiosity with the introduction of Prose Gold and a host of new updates. We created Prose with lofty ambitions: to invigorate the digital landscape with a love of literature, and to revitalize an aging publishing industry. Prose Gold is our next step on that path.

What is Gold?

Prose Gold is a subscription service, which affords readers a near unlimited selection of content at a flat monthly price. We track the number of readers and time spent reading each piece, and distribute earnings to authors. Anyone can publish on Gold to earn a piece of the pie. Gold is available to the first thousand or so Prose loyalists at a never-again price of $5.99/mo.

Publishing to Gold.

We allow everyone to publish on Gold, though Gold subscribers will enjoy a few extra perks. When publishing a new piece, simply check the “Gold (Open)” or “Gold (Restricted)” option before hitting publish. Gold (Open) will leave your post open to the public. Anyone can read it, and any Gold subscriber who reads it will contribute to your monthly earnings. Gold (Restricted) will lock your post, making it available only to Gold subscribers. Anyone can publish to Prose Gold once every 30 days, though Gold subscribers are allowed as many Gold publications as they wish. Further, subscribers publishing to Gold (Open) or Standard are able to set a purchase price on their work.

Payments

We’re moving away from PayPal in favor of credit cards, processed via Stripe. We anticipate that this will lead to a much smoother experience when buying content or sending donations on Prose. Prose “Coins” have been converted into account credit, which you can use just as you would have in the past.

Partners

The “Partners” program is being discontinued for the time being. The features of the Partners program are being moved to Gold. Namely, the option to set a flat price on your post or book and the option to suggest pieces for the spotlight.

Under the Hood

We’ve rebuilt the website from the ground up, to offer a much snappier experience on Prose, and to make way for some of the cool things we have in store.

Portals

We’ll soon be offering Gold subscribers the option to create and curate their own portals. We want to offer expanded flexibility and customization of portals, allowing folks to read, write, and share in their own personalized corner of Prose.

The Bookstore

The Prose Bookstore has a long way to go. We’re working on a number of updates and improvements. Stay tuned.

Prose for iOS

We’ve been so busy on the new website, that we’ve let the iOS app lag behind a bit. We’re working on offline reading functionality, progress tracking, and a number of improvements to the user interface. There’s a big update soon to come.

This is a small taste of all we have in store for you with Prose. Until next time, happy scribbling.

You can check out Gold or subscribe here: https://theprose.com/p/gold

     Rome. 2016, March. Hadn't seen him since the '90s. Drunk on being away from the States, drunk on red and white wine, and a stomach gorged with in-house pasta, bread, and anything else I could get my hands on. Alley, restaurant. Trevi fountain checked off. Young Italian girls waving Americans in to their restaurants. A brothel feel. I want to go into the story about the two Italians fighting over the check. The owner and a drunk patron. I want to go into the gelato after, the air of Rome, the bricks of the alleys. But I can't. Rare to see this profile written in first person, but this is different. Like Rome is different. Lost there. Must gaze upon the Pantheon during the first rays of moonlight. 

Lost there. Around a blind corner I nearly walked into Cornell. The man was tall. I'm 6'1 and he loomed over me. We glanced at each other, I registered the situation, and kept moving. GPS called me a moron in code, so I followed Cornell and his wife, and their little girl. I wasn't listening but I was. He was telling his girl about how life is in Italy. I heard, "In Italy..." then the crowd around us absorbed the rest. A few people took fast second looks, and then went back to their tables, their drinks, their own trips and lives.

     In Rome no one cares who you are. 

     Quite a beautiful feeling.    

     Rome is different.

    Crossing back toward where I had to go. Losing light. The Sun becoming the Moon, and I'm standing there then, staring at the street that I would cross to my hotel, to give up, but I'm feeling too fine, and I'm in Rome. I'm in fucking ROME. Not to sound incredulous. I put my phone to my ear to hear the directions, looked down the street. Cornell. Giving me a skeptical but not-so-sure stare, a sideways check. It would appear I was following them, but I wasn't. It didn't bother me. I laughed ahead. Rome is different. He disappeared down the street with his family, and I realized I'd been going the right way the whole time. Turned back, walked and thought about it. I could have had a conversation with him, I could have dropped one name. His parents lived next door to my friend's parents here in West Seattle. He'd skated with Cornell, and once told me he and his parents would watch Cornell mowing his parents' lawn from upstairs, even after Soundgarden took off. We could have had a conversation away from the music, the words, just two dudes from here laughing about the suddenness of meeting in Rome with such far-reaching connections to the past. What stopped me from shaking his hand? I would like to fall back on ego, but it was only ego in the sense that I didn't want to be a fan, a number, even with a rare connection. 

     But the truth is I am a fan. And though I don't believe in regretting something you've already done, I should have shaken his hand. I didn't have to tell him that his lyrics were brilliant, his voice one of the most distinctive in all remembered time, or any of that bullshit people like him, the few of them, hear and have to deflect or appropriate when they're out in the world. I also simply didn't want to interrupt him or his family while they walked in peace as the Moon rose over Rome. 

     I found the Pantheon, young moonlight. Breath stolen. 

     This morning I awoke to a text from my buddy, Dave. Four words and an abbreviation: Dude, Chris Cornell died. WTF?

     Tap google. 52. Suspected suicide. No matter, he's gone. They all go, they don't live long enough to see themselves shine like the rest see them. And they don't care. Sitting here now, blasting Louder Than Love, and sending my best thoughts to his family. 

     Bukowski once said in a letter, "Death isn't a problem for the deceased, it's a problem for the living." Or something like that. Looking back on the dead artists of the last few years, Cornell hits pretty hard. 52 years old.

     Much love to his people. Hands All Over just started. I need more coffee, and to kiss my dogs. 

     Outside it's grey and bright and warm.