Project

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Wed, 2001-04-11 12:22

Project

I used to do a writing exercise called 2-H, where two people take it in turns to write a story. They usually turn out dreadful, but it's quite fun to pick up what someone has started and turn it in a different direction - especially if they then try to rescue it in their reply.

Anyway, based on the wonderful entries in the worst opening line competition, and a virtual novel website I saw - what about beginning a story, with people then posting the next portion. The portions should be short, all in third person and in past tense. It is considered a cop-out to use 'it was just a dream' or 'John finished reading the story and then...' as ways of getting the story to be what you want it to be, you have to be more creative.

It is supposed to be a bit cheesy, not serious writing. Just for fun, not reflective of the rest of your work on the site.

Putting my head above the paraphet, I'll start us off - at present the story is a James Ellroy meets Roy of the Rovers thing, but it can (and should) switch genres very rapidly.

In replies, anything which isn't story should go at the bottom in brackets, to avoid confusion...

The electronically distorted voice, as always, put him off his pasta. Bobby had been hoping for a light meal and then to hit the treadmill for an hour. The game of his life was coming up and he was trying hard to get focussed for it. The last thing he wanted was for the blackmailer to get in contact again.

"How is my favourite left-back ? " Valerie asked, after she had reminded him just what a strong bargaining position she was in.

"Wing-back, " said Bobby, automatically, "I'm a wing-back now. "

What Valerie had to say startled Bobby, even in the light of what had gone before. Valerie told him that she was representing a Far East gambling syndicate now.

"You think I'm going to throw the cup-final for you ?"

Valerie laughed and the distortion made it seem frightening and erotic all at the same time. Would Bobby ever get to meet her ?

"No, I want you to win the FA cup, Bobby. That's the only way you'll get close enough to kill Princess Michael of Kent for us. "

Wed, 2001-04-11 18:14

Mississippi

[ We've only had two partcipants so far and already someone wants to give it to Princess Michael and someone else wants to kick some balls! Is this really the kind of thing we should be teaching the children? I'll buy a pint for anyone that gets photos of these dastardly deeds.]

Thu, 2001-04-12 14:30

Taj Hayer

It was five years ago that Bobby first became addicted to sea bass. A friend had offered to supply him, but Bobby refused as he had seen what exposure to deep sea fishing could do to normal sociable people; they became fish-driven, slightly whiffy recluses in a world of their own. Then his boyhood friend, Colin the Hamster, died tragically young in a freak parachuting accident. The tragedy pushed Bobby towards that first fatal fish. Suddenly everything revolved around sea bass; he would even drop lines in the toilets of the celebrity bashes he attended. He was hooked.

Thu, 2001-04-12 18:19

stormy_petrel

"59, 60, 61, 62...... Noooo! you idiot" Bobby's coach shoved his face so close Bobby could smell the Prep H the guy used to keep a wrinkle free face. "What the hell's the matter with you today huh? You'll never make World Keepy-uppy Champion with a score like that!" Bobby lowered his head and flicked imaginary mud off his boots while his coach ranted. There was little point in responding. He would only did a larger hole for himself. It was at times such as this that Bobby thought of Colin. The corners of his mouth twitched as he remembered the good times before that fateful day. "You think this is funny do ya?" His coach was purple in the face. "The biggest match in your life is only a few days away and you seem to be lacking in motivation chummy. Get down and give me 50!" Bobby could normally do keepy ups all day long without much effort even with a sea bass hidden in his shorts. Today was different though but he couldn't tell his coach why. The press-ups were much easier - he didn't have to bend his legs so could feel no pain where the instrument of death was chaffing. Back in the locker room he stared at the picture of the Princess taped to the inside of the door. He was trying to memorize her face. Killing the wrong person was not his sport. It was just a matter of timing and the getaway plan to sort out now, he thought, as he removed the Walther PPK from his underpants and hid it back under the small box of sea bass in the bottom of his locker.

Thu, 2001-04-12 18:55

Taj Hayer

Jocky McScot had been coach of Mudchester now for the past 50 years, taking them from the third to the first, back to the third then to the second division for a few decades before arriving at the pinnacle of the premier league. He was still to win a major trophy; something that angered him. Jocky McScot was an angry man most of the time, but that angered him even further. His temper was famous; more famous than his managerial skills. Some say he had often held on to his position because chairmen were too scared to sack him. Most managers would stop at rebuking their players, but Jocky went as far as flagellation. Yet, he maintained their repect and fear because he was a true man's man. Of course if anyone said that to him, Jocky was likely to respond in various manners: A) say "I gut noo interes' in men 'tall. Yooo think 'ahm a jessie?" B) Deny fervently that he only enjoyed football because of the sight of young men in their shorts. Or C) if he felt threatened, respond with his whip.

Thu, 2001-04-12 21:50

andrew pack

Sometimes Bobby felt that he should open up with Jocky, tell him about his love for sea-bass. He had tried to tell his brother once, but the situation had turned very ugly. His brother had suspected something when he found the backseat of the car covered in flakes of fish-food. It was love though, Bobby knew that. While each relationship lasted, it was intense and vivid, realer than anything else he had known. Sure, ever morning, his sea-bass love was dead on the pillow beside him, blank eyes gazing up, but it stopped the love turning sour. It was much more healthy than his previous interest in kippers. He still remembered the time he had woken to find his love gone and a strange frying odour wafting up the stairs, his housemate, Davy the goalie singing happily from the kitchen. But enough of the past. Bobby rang his friend Knees, the bookie. He learned with interest that the hypothetical odds on Princess Michael being assassinated were substantially lower than on an attempted murder and her eventual recovery. Was there a way out ? (I'm enjoying this so far, but I wasn't expecting that like Luca Brasi, Bobby the wingback sleeps with the fishes... It occurs that any Americans reading will have no idea who Princes Michael of Kent is... )

Fri, 2001-04-13 13:22

Emily Dubberley

'Hey you' Jocky McScot burst into the locker room, telling himself he was relieved to find Bobby sat there fully dressed in his kit, rather than catching him getting changed. 'Time to get 'oot on the field. We've got a cup to win.' Bobby readjusted his instrument of death and headed out on to the pitch. A tear welled in his eye, not just at the thought of the terrible deed he was about to undertake, but at the death of Maud, his beloved sea bass of last night. 'Pull yourself together.' he thought 'There are plenty more fish in the sea.' (sorry, but someone had to be the first to get that one in...)

Fri, 2001-04-13 13:38

Mississippi

Look you lot, if someone doesn't give it to Princess Michael soon I'm going to stop reading this multi-authored epic! For God's sake everyone knows that a bit of sex and debauchery sells. How do you think Jeffrey Archer has become so successful?

Mon, 2001-04-16 21:14

andrew pack

(Sorry Mississipi, but I guess we're going for the Anglers Today market... I'm no poet by the way, but maybe this idea could work for poems too - I'd love to see Liana and Auntie Jackie alternating lines. )

Mon, 2001-04-16 21:20

#10

Mississippi

Don't you bloody start, I've got enough trouble on my hands as it is keeping those two apart without you trying to get them to collaborate. Hey, you're not one of those undercover agents from Carly's site are you?

Wed, 2001-04-11 13:34

#11

Taj Hayer

"Princess who?", said Bobby trying not laugh at the thought of a bloke who was a princess. "Michael", said Valerie in a voice that could crack walnuts at fifty paces. "Isn't he Liverpool's striker?" said Bobby, demonstrating that his neurologist was completely wrong in supposing that heading the ball had given him permanent brain damage. "Listen Booby, Princess Michael is a female member of the Royal family. We want you to kill her". "I suppose I could always do it when the ref's not looking..."

Wed, 2001-04-11 17:34

#12

Timothy Spore

"No you fanny! If you win the cup, then you collect the cup, and when you collect it; well, Princess Michael will give it to you. Then, you can give it to her. "Give what exactly?" This was all becoming a bit too surreal to young Bobby, who just wanted to kick some balls. "Look Bobby, don't play the wide eyed innocent, you've got to kill her, or, we might have to share with the rest of the country your penchant for Sea Bass!" Bobby gasped in horror, "I'll do it!

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