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Post by Nalkarj on Sept 12, 2017 18:07:33 GMT
This idea struck me while mecano04 , BATouttaheck , alfromni , and I were discussing some of my stories ( not written with a quill pen by candlelight--at least, not for the most part...): what if, for a game, we all collaborated on a story? By "collaborate," I don't mean that we all work on it together; rather, we all add to the previous person's writing in a round-robin format. Your contribution can be as long or short as you'd like, and the only rule is that you can't blatantly contradict someone else's previous contribution. Also, it should, of course, follow logically from the last person's contribution. OK? I'm starting with a mystery because (1) I know the genre well and (2) it's easy to write for these things, but you can take this story in any direction you'd like...
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Post by Nalkarj on Sept 12, 2017 18:17:46 GMT
"Write Your Own Adventure"
A Round-Robin Story by the Members of IMDb v2.0:
"John C. Higginbottom is dead."
Not a particularly frightening news report, I'd suppose, for you and me--not at all. Doesn't journalism usually consist of saying "Lord Jones dead" to people who never knew Lord Jones was alive?
For Mr. John C. Higginbottom, however, it was horrifying.
Higginbottom sat at his deck, watching the news flash across the television screen. Obviously another John C. Higginbottom, he told himself, attempting to convince himself of his thought's validity. (Because, of course, "John C. Higginbottom" is such a common name.) When he saw his picture come on the screen--when he saw his poor dear mother, in tears, tell of his horrible death--he knew that something--"something"? What, John?--had happened, something very, very wrong. He wanted to rush right down to the television studio and scream that he was alive, that he was alive and well and safe and... But what could have happened? How could they have made that drastic mistake?
Here, now! John C. Higginbottom was a regular, decent, upstanding fellow--perhaps a bit goofy at times, even as you and I are, and perhaps a bit lazy, but a good guy all the same. He had an apartment in New York, a job at one of the big advertising companies, a good income. Why this? What had happened? How did—? Wait a moment: did it have anything to do with that letter...
It was then that he noticed the door to the apartment was ajar, and the silvery barrel of a gun pointed right at him through the opening...
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Post by mecano04 on Sept 12, 2017 21:32:12 GMT
Making a post just to be able to follow what will come out of it. Literary creation (like riddle solving ) isn't my strong suit. P.S. From the tile I thought it would be like the series of books "You Are the Hero" :
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Post by Nalkarj on Sept 12, 2017 21:40:37 GMT
Making a post just to be able to follow what will come out of it. Literary creation (like riddle solving ) isn't my strong suit. P.S. From the tile I thought it would be like the series of books "You Are the Hero" : That's how I got the title. I'm fond of those books. It's similar in the sense of "you decide where the story goes from here."
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Post by BATouttaheck on Sept 13, 2017 4:38:25 GMT
quick question for the author in chief = NalkarjDoes one (if one wants to add to the narrative) C&P the previous chapters or just post the new contribution separately ?
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Post by Nalkarj on Sept 13, 2017 4:45:44 GMT
quick question for the author in chief = Nalkarj Does one (if one wants to add to the narrative) C&P the previous chapters or just post the new contribution separately ? I'd say just post the new contribution separately, so to save space, but either way works fine. Perhaps with this first one we can C&P it? Thanks, Bat!
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Post by Ass_E9 on Sept 13, 2017 5:00:42 GMT
"Choose Your Own Adventure" A Round-Robin Story by the Members of IMDb v2.0: "John C. Higginbottom is dead." Not a particularly frightening news report, I'd suppose, for you and me--not at all. Doesn't journalism usually consist of saying "Lord Jones dead" to people who never knew Lord Jones was alive? For Mr. John C. Higginbottom, however, it was horrifying. Higginbottom sat at his deck, watching the news flash across the television screen. Obviously another John C. Higginbottom, he told himself, attempting to convince himself of his thought's validity. (Because, of course, "John C. Higginbottom" is such a common name.) When he saw his picture come on the screen--when he saw his poor dear mother, in tears, tell of his horrible death--he knew that something--"something"? What, John?--had happened, something very, very wrong. He wanted to rush right down to the television studio and scream that he was alive, that he was alive and well and safe and... But what could have happened? How could they have made that drastic mistake? Here, now! John C. Higginbottom was a regular, decent, upstanding fellow--perhaps a bit goofy at times, even as you and I are, and perhaps a bit lazy, but a good guy all the same. He had an apartment in New York, a job at one of the big advertising companies, a good income. Why this? What had happened? Wait a moment: did it have anything to do with that letter... It was then that he noticed the door to the apartment was ajar, and the silvery barrel of a gun pointed right at him through the opening... CHAPTER 2: ALICE
A pro would have gotten it done.
But Alice was not a pro.
And a moment of hesitation was enough for 6458 to jump off the deck. By then it was too late even to take a few wild shots and hope that one might strike him. The only silver lining was that she didn't end up in an interrogation room, one stop before the padded room... which would have been OK if she had. Just. Gotten. It. Done.
Her father's dying request. Put in position with a clear shot. And she had cocked it up.
Only the fate of the universe hanging in the balance, Alice.
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Post by Nalkarj on Sept 13, 2017 13:44:59 GMT
Thanks, Ass_E9 . I will say that's not the direction I had in mind--but that's the point, of course! As we have so many "breaks" now in between story-segments, I think we might as well do what BATouttaheck recommended and copy and paste the last part and then add on to it. Good idea, Bat. And what should we expect of your segment?
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Post by BATouttaheck on Sept 13, 2017 19:25:45 GMT
RE: And what should we expect of your segment?
a long wait ? But seriously. The Alice chapter has thrown me for a bit of a loop as to what to do now. Is it part of the original story or .
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Post by Nalkarj on Sept 13, 2017 19:56:41 GMT
RE: And what should we expect of your segment?
a long wait ? But seriously. The Alice chapter has thrown me for a bit of a loop as to what to do now. Is it part of the original story or . It's part of the original story now, but you can return to the original segment. No need for this to be told perfectly in sequential order.
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Post by BATouttaheck on Sept 17, 2017 2:21:54 GMT
While we wait ....
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Post by mecano04 on Sept 18, 2017 12:12:20 GMT
RE: And what should we expect of your segment?
a long wait ? But seriously. The Alice chapter has thrown me for a bit of a loop as to what to do now. Is it part of the original story or . It's part of the original story now, but you can return to the original segment. No need for this to be told perfectly in sequential order. Chapter 2-Alice creates another narration line (not sure about the proper wording) so now it seems like the story is about a few characters whose destinies will be intertwined somewhere down the line. It can be like the Sin City books or like the Tarantino's movies (the chapters/acts aren't show in chronological order) or even like Bram Stoker's Dracula, (small spoiler for those who haven't read the book) in which every character narrates the same events but from their perspective . If you want another interesting narration, watch the movie L'été Meurtrier/One deadly summer (1983), with Isabelle Adjani and Alain Souchon ( www.imdb.com/title/tt0086655/?ref_=nm_flmg_act_26). Yes it's a french movie, so you get full frontal nudity at times and Adjani isn't unpleasant to look at but again the narration is great, her performance is great and to top it all, the last 30-40 minutes leads to one of one of the most crazy (but interesting) ending you'll probably ever see. Personally, I place the ending in my top list all-time, along with Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978, with Sutherland), Chinatown (1974, with Nicholson and Dunaway), House on Haunted Hill (1959, with Vincent Price) and Destiny (1921, by Fritz Lang : www.imdb.com/title/tt0012494/?ref_=nm_flmg_dr_39 ).
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Post by mecano04 on Sept 18, 2017 12:36:59 GMT
Chapter 1
"John C. Higginbottom is dead."
Not a particularly frightening news report, I'd suppose, for you and me--not at all. Doesn't journalism usually consist of saying "Lord Jones dead" to people who never knew Lord Jones was alive?
For Mr. John C. Higginbottom, however, it was horrifying.
Higginbottom sat at his deck, watching the news flash across the television screen. Obviously another John C. Higginbottom, he told himself, attempting to convince himself of his thought's validity. (Because, of course, "John C. Higginbottom" is such a common name.) When he saw his picture come on the screen--when he saw his poor dear mother, in tears, tell of his horrible death--he knew that something--"something"? What, John?--had happened, something very, very wrong. He wanted to rush right down to the television studio and scream that he was alive, that he was alive and well and safe and... But what could have happened? How could they have made that drastic mistake?
Here, now! John C. Higginbottom was a regular, decent, upstanding fellow--perhaps a bit goofy at times, even as you and I are, and perhaps a bit lazy, but a good guy all the same. He had an apartment in New York, a job at one of the big advertising companies, a good income. Why this? What had happened? Wait a moment: did it have anything to do with that letter...
It was then that he noticed the door to the apartment was ajar, and the silvery barrel of a gun pointed right at him through the opening...
CHAPTER 2: ALICE
A pro would have gotten it done.
But Alice was not a pro.
And a moment of hesitation was enough for 6458 to jump off the deck. By then it was too late even to take a few wild shots and hope that one might strike him. The only silver lining was that she didn't end up in an interrogation room, one stop before the padded room... which would have been OK if she had. Just. Gotten. It. Done.
Her father's dying request. Put in position with a clear shot. And she had cocked it up.
Only the fate of the universe hanging in the balance, Alice.Chapter 3
"BANG"
It was the only sound that could be heard across the room.
Police chief, Robert S. Turner, had just slammed his office door. As much as he was boiling of rage, he was also feeling a great sense of desperation. Tinelli and McGraw, his two top inspectors for years, had just been found guilty of fabricating evidence in the Sevil murders case and now an investigation was open to find whether or not they did same thing before.
Turner just lost face and he knew he couldn't afford to lose it again or he could forget his career and status and might as well start selling used cars for a living.
With the crisis, failure wasn't an option anymore, so Turner had to think. And think fast.
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Post by Nalkarj on Sept 18, 2017 19:29:56 GMT
BATouttaheck, Ass_E9, mecano04We need to solve (1) why everyone--including his "poor, dear mother"--believes John C. Higginbottom is dead, (2) what "that letter" was, (3) who Alice and her father are, (4) why her father's dying wish was what it was, (5) how she is "6458," which seems like a spy code, if she isn't a "pro," (6) why she wants to kill someone, (7) if Tinelli and McGraw were guilty of fabricating evidence, and (8) what Turner is going to do now. Wow. My heart goes out to the person who has to fit these disparate plot threads together-- Bat? A few thoughts, in case anyone wants to run with them: Chapters 1 and 2 could easily be tied together if Alice is shooting at Higginbottom. Chapter 3 could fit if Turner ends up investigating the apparent death of Higginbottom and later finds the apparent victim still alive (shades of Laura).
To address 3, 4, 5, and 6--the Alice questions. Let's say that Alice's father was in fact a secret agent, working for a shadowy organization (whether intra- or extra-governmental). He never wants her to find out his true profession, but when he shows up at their door, bleeding profusely, he finally tells her quickly before he dies of his wounds. Before dying, he mutters, "Find Higginbottom--he did this, he did this to me..."
The shadowy organization shows up at Alice's door and offers her a chance to get even with her father's killer. They don't want to use a real agent for this job, they explain, but they'll give Alice (who receives the code number 6458) the chance. Thus she has the spy number but is not yet a pro. She takes aim at Higginbottom (the gun pointing through the door in Part 1) and...
Naturally, questions remain. Part 1 identifies Higginbottom as "a good guy," and it doesn't seem that he'd be the killer. Could it be that said shadowy organization actually killed the father but convinced him it was Higginbottom? And why Higginbottom? And what does this have anything to do with the false report of Higginbottom's death? I've no idea, but this is just for springboarding.
Again, none of these ideas have to be followed; I've already contributed my part. But, if someone wants to go with one or more of them, you're more than welcome.
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Post by Ass_E9 on Sept 19, 2017 3:38:16 GMT
BATouttaheck , Ass_E9 , mecano04 We need to solve ... (5) how she is "6458," which seems like a spy code, if she isn't a "pro," (6) why she wants to kill someone, To address 3, 4, 5, and 6--the Alice questions. Let's say that Alice's father was in fact a secret agent, working for a shadowy organization (whether intra- or extra-governmental). He never wants her to find out his true profession, but when he shows up at their door, bleeding profusely, he finally tells her quickly before he dies of his wounds. Before dying, he mutters, "Find Higginbottom--he did this, he did this to me..."
The shadowy organization shows up at Alice's door and offers her a chance to get even with her father's killer. They don't want to use a real agent for this job, they explain, but they'll give Alice (who receives the code number 6458) the chance. Thus she has the spy number but is not yet a pro. She takes aim at Higginbottom (the gun pointing through the door in Part 1) and...
Naturally, questions remain. Part 1 identifies Higginbottom as "a good guy," and it doesn't seem that he'd be the killer. Could it be that said shadowy organization actually killed the father but convinced him it was Higginbottom? And why Higginbottom? And what does this have anything to do with the false report of Higginbottom's death? I've no idea, but this is just for springboarding.
Again, none of these ideas have to be followed; I've already contributed my part. But, if someone wants to go with one or more of them, you're more than welcome. (5) "6458" actually refers to Higginbottom, not Alice. ("Higginbottom sat at his deck."/"And a moment of hesitation was enough for 6458 to jump off the deck.") Alice hasn't been informed of his actual name, just a number (perhaps a case number in a way to dehumanize him, the target). (And an angle inspired by your P.S. "You are more than welcome to change his name to something other than 'Higginbottom.'")
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Post by Nalkarj on Sept 19, 2017 3:50:58 GMT
Ass_E9OK, that direction is fine, too, if anyone wants to go with it.
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Post by Doghouse6 on Sept 21, 2017 0:36:37 GMT
Chapter 4
The faces. The places...the names. Who were they? Where were they? This was no dream. Where were they coming to him from, and why wouldn't they leave him alone and let him sleep?
Harvey Glenville pushed himself up to a sitting position in bed, dragging his legs around to hang over the side. His body felt twice its weight. The night was sweltering, but the sweat bathing him was a cold one, in clammy and uncomfortable contrast to the warm weariness that draped over him like a heavy shroud, pulling downward at his head, his shoulders, even each of his eyes. Slowly, so slowly, the kaleidoscopic swirl of images that invaded his mind and sent it racing began to abate...retreat...dissolve. Darkness. Quiet.
But there was again to be no sleep tonight, just as there had been none the night before and the one before that.
Coffee.
Harvey resolved that he'd at least try, if desperately, to achieve something resembling a state of alertness and acuity. The struggle to his feet rewarded their bare soles with the reassuring solidity of century-old wood floors beneath them, so smooth as those feet began their shuffle to the bedroom door, through the living room and toward the kitchen beyond it. There, the overhead fixture's glare assaulted his eyes as he flipped the wall switch. He squinted against gleaming white tile and the glossy sheen of vintage cabinets whose fresh coat of paint - equally white - concealed what must have been at least a dozen layers underneath. Fingers feeling thick and clumsy set about their task.
As his reliable old coffeemaker commenced its familiar gurgling and hissing, Harvey moved back into the living room, flicking on the floor lamp that was its one source of illumination and dropping limply onto the sofa, its lone article of furniture. The back of his damp t-shirt, and legs bare below his shorts, pressed against leather at first soothingly cool, but soon warming from contact with his body. Harvey took in his surroundings.
New apartment, one of three carved from a fine old Victorian house, his a third-floor aerie whose spaciousness belied its compactness. Still-sealed moving boxes, in stacks that were neat but haphazardly placed around the room. Outside, beyond its tall windows, a new city. An old one, rather, but new to him. Three days ago, it...had it really been only three days?
It had all seemed so welcoming, so full of promise. New apartment, new city, new life. Flush with a recent inheritance which, carefully managed, could sustain him for years, Harvey was free of the burden of wage earning. Free, finally, to pursue unfettered his passion for - his dream of - writing. At any hour of the day or night, and for as many as he liked. To think, to wonder, to explore, to create...and perhaps to share something with a world as yet unaware it was waiting for his words.
And then they had begun.
Visions was too spiritual and noble a name. What to call them? Incursions. Into his brain had come the sights of people he'd never met, places he'd never been. Another apartment...a man at a desk, his alarmed gaze fixed upon a television. An office...a police station? Another man, angry and frustrated. A woman, trying to...to...fulfill a promise? A tubular, metallic object...a gun barrel? A death. And the names which meant nothing to him: Taylor...Alice...John. Just ordinary names. But they belonged to those faces, he knew. And an ordinary number, 6458, rendered mysterious by its persistence.
Over and over. Night after night. Flashes. Fragments. Disjointed yet somehow connected.
Harvey had tried to get it all down in writing, to make some sense of it, even to take inspiration from it. Were these merely creative impulses, bursting unbidden from the subconscious? Did stories actually write themselves, needing only hands to put them into print? But Harvey's fatigue-addled brain had been unable to command those hands to transmit thoughts into keystrokes, and he'd only stared into the unfilled screen of his laptop.
He fought a nearly overwhelming desire to close his eyes and drift off, but that was when they always came, those incursions, at their most vivid and relentless...plaguing him...confusing him...making sleep impossible. Difficult as it was, the effort to remain awake was proving less torturous than the cruel thwarting of seductive slumber every time he felt himself blissfully surrendering to it. The coffeemaker's beep signaled the completion of its duty.
And instantly after it, another sound, startling him to his feet: four deliberate and forceful knocks on his apartment's front door. Harvey made ten tentative steps to it. He counted them. He didn't know why. He listened. Silence.
"Yes?"
From outside the door, "Harvey Glenville?"
One of his two neighbors? They and his landlord were the only people in town who knew his name. "Who is it?"
"You don't know me, but we need to talk."
Harvey remembered glancing at the coffeemaker's clock. 2:45AM. "Do you know what time it is?"
"Yes, and I'm terribly sorry to bother you at this hour, but I've come a long way, and I need help. I think you do too, and I believe we can help each other."
"Well, who are you, dammit?"
The answer came like a powerful grip at Harvey's throat.
"My name is Higginbottom. John C. Higginbottom."
Harvey now watched as those hands, so clumsy in the kitchen moments ago and uncooperative at the keyboard yesterday, moved as though controlled by an unseen, unfelt mechanism. Turning the deadbolt. Twisting the knob. Pulling the door. Open.
He gazed into a face upon which his eyes had never fallen, but which he knew well. And in that instant, Harvey knew also that the words this man had spoken seconds earlier were the truth. It was a kind face, displaying a glint of recognition and the faintest hint of a grin...things that had never presented themselves when that face had been observed only in his mind.
Still clutching the knob, Harvey stepped aside, pulling the door with him in unspoken invitation. John C. Higginbottom walked carefully to the center of the room and surveyed its bareness before looking back to where Harvey still stood, now motionless. The voice he'd heard only through the door and the face he'd seen only in his mind were now joined as his visitor spoke, gently...ingratiatingly.
"I...could you...would you close the door please?"
Harvey did as asked, flipping the deadbolt back to locked position. Why? Habit...instinct...something else? Becoming aware of his attire of only shorts and sweat-dampened t-shirt, Harvey felt suddenly awkward.
"Uhhh...coffee?"
Not waiting for an answer, he started for the kitchen. The next words John C. Higginbottom spoke stopped Harvey cold in his tracks halfway there.
"Has there been a recent death in your family?" _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Note to Salzmank: Sorry if I got carried away. You know how verbose I can be. You should have seen the pre-edit version.
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Post by BATouttaheck on Sept 21, 2017 1:19:38 GMT
You should have seen the pre-edit version. <--- dunno what anyone else thought BUT for me, goin' by what was left in, that would have been sooooooo cool. Carried away is good ! Edge o' the seat reading ! Doghouse6 and you said you don't care for fiction !
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Post by Doghouse6 on Sept 21, 2017 3:10:46 GMT
You should have seen the pre-edit version. <--- dunno what anyone else thought BUT for me, goin' by what was left in, that would have been sooooooo cool. Carried away is good ! Edge o' the seat reading ! Doghouse6 and you said you don't care for fiction ! Ah, well, I don't read my stuff either. Seriously, thanks for the encouragement. I may never have seen your actual face, but your words present a kind one too. I could PM you the deletions, but I'm sure you'd see why they were cut.
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Post by Nalkarj on Sept 21, 2017 3:34:54 GMT
Doghouse6 said: And you said you didn't read fiction! (Ah, I see Bat's already beaten me to that one. Steal my very thoughts, will ya?) Seriously, Doghouse, thanks a million for your contribution. Very well-written and gripping, even reminding me of early Cornell Woolrich. Really marvellous work. As for verbosity... Me lord, matey, if I criticized verbosity, it would be akin to the Devil rebuking sin or St. Vitus giving up the dance!
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