New Chain Story – join in and take it to new and interesting places
Everyone can have a go and you can have as many turns as you like, but they can’t be consecutive – in other words you have to wait for someone else to contribute before you add to the story again.
But this time I thought a couple of variations might be fun.
You can only write ONE sentence at a time.
If it gets stuck for a while I’ll chip in just to get it moving again rather than wait for the end. But I will try not to dominate or twist and turn it – that’s your job.
It closes midnight Saturday December 19th (GMT) and I’ll stick the whole magnificent work together and post it here so we can see it in all its glory.
The opening line comes from a wonderful exercise which ensures that you never have to say again what shall I write about…
This is how it works. Go to your bookshelf and pick a novel at random. Turn to page at random and find the first complete sentence that doesn’t mention a character by name. That’s your first line.
This opening sentence comes from page 101 of The Last Winter of Dani Lancing by P.D.Viner (recommended: ghosts + crime fiction + great story telling).
Start writing. (Note present tense – that’s a challenge in itself)
On the table the superskinnysoymoccacinolatte is cold, a film formed over the top.
photo credit: L1001962.jpg via photopin (license)
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I’d been so well and truly preoccupied clicking on law firms I thought could put the frighteners on troublesome Zirconnia Bennet and offer ‘go away’ money that I’d forgotten about what was right in front of me, and now as usual, first world problems were beginning to pile up all around me.
The most pressing of which is, of course, the shift back to present tense and that film forming on top of the coffee – is it Dr Zhivago perhaps, or the new Star Wars?
Latte art may have been a pleasant distraction but now I had the name of the city’s top ‘Philly’ lawyer Rushmore Knight lighting up my phone screen and I truly hoped breakfast was about to go all prima facie.
It’s a law film indeed, that one based on a book by John Grisham, what’s it called, the book that’s all in present tense and not a lot to do with giving presents…
“She’s a stone in your shoe we’ll be able to take care of nice ‘n good,” promised Knight in his best non-conciliatory-crisp suit-thousand dollar-an-hour voice, turning my eyes wide with what I was fairly certain would have been the accompanying grace of a wrecking ball.
Ok, so I’m soon going to be free of Zirconnia, but there’s one little problem with that.
Before she is disposed of, I need to find those files. She says she doesn’t have them, that she destroyed them, but I don’t believe that for one second.
(Ooops, sorry, I didn’t spot there had been a change of rule. It’s late in the UK, I should be in bed. Apologies.)
Covert remote computer hacking has never really been a quiver in my bow, making me imagine how a one armed chef in charge of a twenty burner stove might feel, but those precious files needed to be retrieved one way or the other and I now set myself to this task with all the urgency of someone fighting for breath.
I got up, leaving a generous tip on the check tablecloth.
With a quick wave of a hand I found myself in the back of a cab and en route to a face to face with the underground computer whiz they called The Dreamweaver.
I didn’t know much about Dreamweaver except that he was young, expensive and infallible.
I found him secreted within his security camera protected backstreet lair, somewhat bizarrely propped up in what looked to be a coin operated, oversized leather massage chair, banks of flickering computer terminals the likes of which NASA would have been proud to call their own all around, and, after the initial quickly exchanged pleasantries, talk quickly turned to the less than charming possibilities afforded by malevolent Trogan e-worms.
Zirconnia was going down big time because of a tasty virus I selected that would do something very strange to her own files and to those belonging to anyone who had liked her on facebook.
Once the party in my head had died down I began to luxuriate in thinking about the object lesson this would serve to Ms Bennet and anyone else contemplating frivolous litigation aimed at the commercial airline industry.
Paul Felloes was new to the travel industry, he knew practically nothing about abta and even less about crossrail, although he had spent a gap year on a round-the-world ticket gift from his father; what he did know, as he trawled through the photos offered as friends on his Facebook, was that a certain Ms Bennet looked very tasty and had an intriguing name so, just as the boss came to see how the new boy was getting on with the city-deals, he clicked liked and switched websites.
(Oh dearie me! I reverted to 3rd person. I could transpose but expect you all can do that yourselves. Blushing embarrassed. )
Thanks Gail, you’ve given the story new life so I’ve blogged it again. Please come back and add some more. I kept the third person in your contribution, but made it part of the ‘I’character’s stream of conciousness. Hope you think it works.