Do Traffic Swarm.com really work!!?

Have any ever tryed TrafficSwarm.com ?..Do it really work? Do anyone have any comments on this site..if its good or bad?…I have an Online Store..and i need the word to get out…do u think Traffic Swarm is a good free site?

How would I get more targeted traffic to my new dating website?

Hi there,

I have started a new dating website and I would like to ask how I would be able to get more targeted traffic either free or on a very tight budget.

I have submitted it to several search engines and in the process of writing a blog and some articles.

I have heard about traffic swarm but I can’t see how it would bring the traffic that I need, as I have used it before, and admittedly when I was using it I just tried to get as many points as possible not even concentrating on the websites I was viewing.

I have also heard that SEO is a good way to get traffic but I have not got a clue where to start when it comes to that.

Thank you in advance for any help anyone can provide.

What can I do to promote my website www.freewebs.com/starspics ?

I want free ways to promote my website which deals in picture collections. I don’t want to join any traffic swarm type websites, anyone have any good tips ? Also what is not acceptable when promoting websites ?

Can some give me a nice review on the story below.?

One may hope, in spite of the metaphorists, to avoid the breath of the deadly upas tree; one may, by great good fortune, succeed in blacking the eye of the basilisk; one might even dodge the attentions of Cerberus and Argus, but no man, alive or dead, can escape the gaze of the Rubberer.
New York is the Caoutchouc City. There are many, of course, who go their ways, making money, without turning to the right or the left, but there is a tribe abroad wonderfully composed, like the Martians, solely of eyes and means of locomotion.
These devotees of curiosity swarm, like flies, in a moment in a struggling, breathless circle about the scene of an unusual occurrence. If a workman opens a manhole, if a street car runs over a man from North Tarrytown, if a little boy drops an egg on his way home from the grocery, if a casual house or two drops into the subway, if a lady loses a nickel through a hole in the lisle thread, if the police drag a telephone and a racing chart forth from an Ibsen Society reading-room, if Senator Depew or Mr. Chuck Connors walks out to take the air–if any of these incidents or accidents takes place, you will see the mad, irresistible rush of the “rubber” tribe to the spot.
The importance of the event does not count. They gaze with equal interest and absorption at a chorus girl or at a man painting a liver pill sign. They will form as deep a cordon around a man with a club-foot as they will around a balked automobile. They have the furor rubberendi. They are optical gluttons, feasting and fattening on the misfortunes of their fellow beings. They gloat and pore and glare and squint and stare with their fishy eyes like goggle-eyed perch at the book baited with calamity.
It would seem that Cupid would find these ocular vampires too cold game for his calorific shafts, but have we not yet to discover an immune even among the Protozoa? Yes, beautiful Romance descended upon two of this tribe, and love came into their hearts as they crowded about the prostrate form of a man who had been run over by a brewery wagon.
William Pry was the first on the spot. He was an expert at such gatherings. With an expression of intense happiness on his features, he stood over the victim of the accident, listening to his groans as if to the sweetest music. When the crowd of spectators had swelled to a closely packed circle William saw a violent commotion in the crowd opposite him. Men were hurled aside like ninepins by the impact of some moving body that clove them like the rush of a tornado. With elbows, umbrella, hat-pin, tongue, and fingernails doing their duty, Violet Seymour forced her way through the mob of onlookers to the first row. Strong men who even had been able to secure a seat on the 5.30 Harlem express staggered back like children as she bucked centre. Two large lady spectators who had seen the Duke of Roxburgh married and had often blocked traffic on Twenty-third Street fell back into the second row with ripped shirtwaists when Violet had finished with them. William Pry loved her at first sight.
The ambulance removed the unconscious agent of Cupid. William and Violet remained after the crowd had dispersed. They were true Rubberers. People who leave the scene of an accident with the ambulance have not genuine caoutchouc in the cosmogony of their necks. The delicate, fine flavour of the affair is to be had only in the after-taste–in gloating over the spot, in gazing fixedly at the houses opposite, in hovering there in a dream more exquisite than the opium-eater’s ecstasy. William Pry and Violet Seymour were connoisseurs in casualties. They knew how to extract full enjoyment from every incident.
Presently they looked at each other. Violet had a brown birthmark on her neck as large as a silver half-dollar. William fixed his eyes upon it. William Pry had inordinately bowed legs. Violet allowed her gaze to linger unswervingly upon them. Face to face they stood thus for moments, each staring at the other. Etiquette would not allow them to speak; but in the Caoutchouc City it is permitted to gaze without stint at the trees in the parks and at the physical blemishes of a fellow creature.
At length with a sigh they parted. But Cupid had been the driver of the brewery wagon, and the wheel that broke a leg united two fond hearts.
The next meeting of the hero and heroine was in front of a board fence near Broadway. The day had been a disappointing one. There had been no fights on the street, children had kept from under the wheels of the street cars, cripples and fat men in negligee shirts were scarce; nobody seemed to be inclined to slip on banana peels or fall down with heart disease. Even the sport from Kokomo, Ind., who claims to be a cousin of ex-Mayor Low and scatters nickels from a cab window, had not put in his appearance. There was nothing to stare at, and William Pry had premonitions of ennui.
But he saw a large crowd scrambling and pushing excitedly in front of a billb

Criticism On My Writing, Yes?

Critism, yes? And for visuals, my character is only twelve to thirteen (haven’t decided which one yet). Enjoy (if that’s even possible). =]

~~~~~~~
It was merely a mask to hide behind to play make-believe with, to look into the mirror and prove to myself I was just like everyone else and I was not alone, to wear and pretend like I was like I wasn’t any different than my friends at school. A monster rejecting the reality and truth of their nature by wearing a gleaming halo and the white dress of purity, a pitiful attempt to protect themselves from their own being. The cloak, an object used to hide the real character of their being. A pretender. A liar. A monster. And after ten years of playing the same game, it’s effects began to wear off. I was still the same no matter how bright a smile I beamed across the room. I was still the same fiend despite how many helpful hands I gave. Still the same. Always the same.
The praise—like mockery, haunting me and pestering me until my walls of fairy tales came crashing down to reveal the reality I had hid behind it until I rebuilt it again from more bricks made of comforting lies I had told to make myself feel better.

Hiding from your own self is never an easy thing to do.

***

The car jostled softly with the occasional blemishes in the asphalt. My view remained in darkness from behind my closed eyes, shrouding myself in a world where to learn your environment, you had to use your other four sense. I laid back against the head rest of the passenger seat, drowning out Linda’s constant garble. The soft hum of the tires on the asphalt filled the car underneath of her talking.

“I think they really liked me message,” she announced, a tinge of pride was a bit the obvious in her tone.

It had been approximately seven minutes of driving since leaving Fawne Church of the Nazarene, low traffic. If anything, we would be passing by the pastures, just another ten minutes until we arrived at the house.

“Darcy, honey, what did you think of the message?” she said a bit softer.

“It was great, mom,” I mumbled. After listening to the same sermon four times in a row, it really loses its initial impact, which was poor to begin with due to the fact that I was too lazy to help her out and tell her what needed to be worked on before presenting. A fault on my part, but not every sermon can be in the best. Now there was one thing: she always dragged me along to church to listen to something I had already listened to half a dozen times before simply for the purpose to be complimented. Another part to it was that I hadn’t even been Christian, an Atheist under the Christian clothing, the simple fact that gnawed on my relationship with my mother, being a proud Christian and preacher.

The incline of the car steepened as we chugged over the only hill in all of Fawne as we broke through the grove of trees and welcomed the warmth of the midday sun as it danced upon my face. I let a soft smile tug at one corner of my lips, a habit I was fond of due to the wonderful way to show how you felt without having someone else know. A sense of privacy, almost, in this world of exploitation of one’s emotions. I let myself drift as we rolled down the incline, butterflies swarmed in my stomach. I liked that hill.

Linda zoomed the car left and surged onto the chalky gravel. I remained in my tomb of darkness, left to discover the world without the help of my eyes and a secret lair to think in peace. Amazing what the mind can do when trained.
~~~~~~~

I know it cuts off really abruptly and that it’s kind of boring, but it’ll get better as it proceeds, it’ll it better quickly, as soon as they arrive home. But before I get that far, I want to know if it’s any good. It’s just a draft and I don’t mind changing things or starting completely over or anything, so feel free to be as harsh as you’d like when critisizing. And when giving feedback, I’m not fishing for compliments so don’t give me the usual, “I like it!” run down.

P.S. I’m only twelve, so do realize I may not be very good yet. Ahaha, I like giving my age at the end so then it won’t be a turn off when someone first clicks on this post. XD