This is the third time we have done this.
The idea is simple: I write the first three sentences of a story; someone else writes the next three sentences; someone else writes the next three; and so on. In the end, we (hopefully) have a cohesive story.
The Rules:
1) Your contribution must consist of exactly three sentences. No more. No fewer.
2) You must wait until at least three other people contribute before you contribute again.
That's it!
You may introduce new characters, new ideas, and new directions to the story. Do whatever you want - as long as you follow the rules!
A tip: When you write your three sentences, refresh this page in another window before posting. This will allow you to see whether someone else has posted a continuation to the story before you finished yours - which will keep the story as cohesive as possible.
Another tip: Spread the word about this project. Use your Twitter, your blog, your facebook, and any writing forums you frequent. The more voices we have echoing through the thread of this story, the more epic it will become.
*
An Important Note:
The first installment of The Storyteller Project was a grand success - an honest-to-by-gosh story - while the second one (to put it mildly) failed to fly...and eventually splattered.
One of the reasons the second story failed to work was because too many people failed to read the important note!
The important note that time was the same as the important note this time: Let's see if it is possible for us to avoid Gabriel Garcia Marquez-esque supernatural twists and turns. The first story was great (in a "community-created Gabriel Garcia Marquez knockoff" sort of way), but after the first story, a lot of Readers/Writers chimed in with the opinion that it would be cool if the next story tried to avoid the supernatural craziness...and for us to see if the story still worked. Maybe it would have worked, but we never found out; too many people pulled the story in too many different directions.
Let's try that again, shall we?
Think Hemingway.
Think Steinbeck.
If you want to get crazy, think Hunter S. Thompson.
Think Pynchon.
Think Eggers.
Think of stories where real-life things happen to real-life people (even if the "real-life things" are crazy real-life things)...and let's see if we can write one such story together.
Think...
*
You can share your thoughts and discuss the story right here.
The story will end on Thursday June 30 at 6:00 P.M. (EDT)
The story begins right now.
*
You can share your thoughts and discuss the story right here.
The story will end on Thursday June 30 at 6:00 P.M. (EDT)
The story begins right now.
*
A Good Day For Learning
(Photo courtesy of The Shutterbug)
He faced the window with his hands clasped behind his back, and he spoke to his son. "It looks like today is a good day for learning."
Jackson jumped up so quickly his plate of pancakes rattled right off the table and onto the floor.
[be a pal. follow me…]
*on this website*
*on twitter*
*on facebook*
As I watched from my seat at the table my mind was pulled in two directions. I was astonished at the boy's reaction and wondered about the meaning of his father's statement. At the same time I was horrified at the mess Jackson had made, knowing I would be the one responsible for the cleanup.
ReplyDeleteBetween the Mrs. Butterworth's and his father's plans, Jackson was in pretty a sticky situation. The syrup would come out fine in the wash. I'm not so sure about the boy.
ReplyDelete"I'm sorry about the plate, Dad."
ReplyDelete"The plate? Oh, who cares about that!"
"But I spilled syrup all over the place!"
ReplyDelete"You can't cry over spilled syrup - how about we call that the first lesson of the day?"
I watched, and I could not help but smile as my husband threw his arm over my son's shoulders and led him out the front door, down toward the docks at the base of the hill.
I knew in the beginning that Jackson was special - walking, talking, and reading at such a young age. Those genes come from my husband, the most brilliant man I know. Not a day passes without remembering how he saved me.
ReplyDeleteAnd that same brilliant man who saved my life all those years ago by teaching me the most important lesson about how to succesfully noodle without losing my arm, was going to teach our son a lesson of equal or greater importance on this very day. Let the learning begin, I thought to myself, as I watched them go.
ReplyDeleteAs they disappeared around the corner I began to clean up the mess.
ReplyDelete"It just doesn't seem right that I have to stay behind," I mused. "It just doesn't seem right.
"I'm going to tell you the same thing my father told me as a boy," the father says to his son as they step onto the dock. "There's two kinds of people in this world, those who sink," he places his hand in the middle of the boy's small back, "And those who learn how to float." And he shoves him off the dock.
ReplyDeleteSommerset Cove was typically a picturesque setting - Black-Eyed Susans gently blowing in the southern breeze, rolling waves caressing the sandbar, and birds chirping somewhere off in the distance. At this moment in time, however, the failing arms and piercing screams of a lesson being leaned ripped the serenity from the bay.
ReplyDelete"Dad..(gulp)...I'm (gulp)...sink..." - the boy's shrieks become inaudible above the surface of the water.
Coldly the father gazed on as his son helplessly, wordlessly sank beneath the water. It was like a dream, slowly unfolding before the man's eyes. He had always felt a deadly impulse to unexpectedly murder someone; the fact that it was his own son somehow made it much more satisfying.
ReplyDeleteBut then the unexpected: the boy began to rise. His arms syncronized beneath the water, and as slowly as he had sunk, but inexorably, he drifted as though by accident toward the surface. When his face broke through it was accompanied by an explosive inhalation.
ReplyDeleteThe father’s satisfaction slipped away, replaced by rage. As he stood frozen with indecision, he heard his wife’s footsteps behind him. She came to stand beside him, and he erected a proud smile, pointing to the floating boy.
ReplyDelete"Look, the boy's a natural," he said through gritted teeth.
ReplyDeleteThe boy continued to cough and sputter, fighting to keep himself afloat.
The wife shot him a horrified look before racing to the end of the dock, hand extended to her little boy.
Mere inches separated Jackson's hands from his mother's until her husband pulled her from the end of the dock - "He'll never learn to float if we help him every time he struggles."
ReplyDelete"Charles, he obviously can't swim," the wife scorned. "Now release me so that I may save MY son from senselessly drowning."
Charles let her go; his arms dropped heavily to his side, guilt beginning to sting beneath the irritation at his failure. Jackson was stronger than either of them thought, though; his hands were already searching for a hold on the rough cement while his legs kicked awkwardly in the water. His mother reached down, lying on her stomach, her dark curls blowing across her face.
ReplyDeleteHer slender hands shot into the water and wrapped themselves around the boy's small shoulders. With one, desperate hoist, both mother and son tumbled back onto the dock. "Wh- why did you do that?", she panted. "You could see he needed help. Answer me!"
ReplyDelete"It's okay," Jackson said to his mother. "I'm okay."
ReplyDeleteThe boy grinned wide as his slender shoulders heaved as he tried to catch his breath.
"See," his father replied as he fixed his face with a proud smile.
"Can we do it again?" Jackson looked up at his father with earnest.
Charles avoided his wife's grueling stare, "Maybe tomorrow," he said, "today we have other lessons to learn."
ReplyDeleteWhile mother and son rested wet and exhausted on the weathered boards of the dock, Charles searched the landscape for more suitable deathtrap.
With his eyes chasing circles all around the dock, his foot caught on a loose board. He tumbled forward. He crashed into the water.
ReplyDeleteJackson and his mother started at the splash, scrambling to their feet. They watched, curious, as Charles disappeared below the surface.
ReplyDelete"Don't worry, he's fine."
As Charles writhed below the water, Ava suggested to Jackson, "why don't you run up to the car right quick - grab the camera. We've got to get a picture of this for our yearly scrapbook!"
ReplyDeleteJackson chuckled with delight and skipped off to the car. Ava chuckled with delight as she smashed Charles' fingers that frantically gripped the dock with every last ounce of effort in his body.
With time and oxygen escaping Charles began to loose consciousness. With one final hit from Ava he lost grip of the dock and began to sink. A tear filled her eye as the adrenaline started to fade.
ReplyDeleteI let him sink, while Jackson ran to the station wagon. "Our sense of humor is pretty sick", I thought.
ReplyDeleteWe'd done it every year, and every year the dear, old Snodgrasses tipped their walkers over trying to rush to the phone. We'd always stopped them before they actually dialed 911, but it was amusing to here the conversation beforehand. They shouted loud enough through the screened porch, every trout in the cove could here them.
"Bob...Bob! One of those young people's drowning,again!"
"What the hell do you want me to do about it, Marianne?...The Price Is Right is on.."
This year, Jackson had begged to be in on the fun. I, of course, had discouraged it.
As Jackson arrives at the car to fetch the camera, to his surprise.. "Uncle Michael!" "Hi!" Little Jackson's face lit up with delight at the site of his favorite uncle.
ReplyDelete"Hey, little guy! Did I miss the fun?"
ReplyDelete"No, you're just in time, I'm just getting the camera, come on!"
Charles floated to the surface with a huge grin just as Marianne arrived at the dock, arms flailing. Jackson snapped the photo, and Uncle Michael broke into a huge belly laugh at the sight of the frantic woman. "Now what lesson have we learned here, Jackson?"
ReplyDeleteJackson looked from Marianne--Mrs. Snodgrass, remembering his manners—to his father, unsure if he should answer his father’s question in front of her.
ReplyDelete“What lessons did he learn,” shrilled Marianne. Are you people absolutely nuts?
Jackson suddenly couldn't remember what his father had told him. "Old people are fun to tease?", "A Bradford always has the last laugh?"...oh, wait..
ReplyDelete"Daddy always says, you gotta have a little fun before you die....right Dad?"
Jackson cracked a grin, knowing he pulled off the best prank in his short lifetime. I love being smarter than adults, he thought, even though the adults he thought of had not set the bar particularly high that day. And with the smile of a caricature, he cannonballed into the water.
ReplyDeleteThe End.
ReplyDelete(Pretty good... I had my concerns at one point.)
ReplyDelete