Rincewind Posted 4 May 2007 Posted 4 May 2007 of this messageboards or send it down the drain in the gutter. The idea is for a story to be written as a group one sentence at a time. Each new poster adds one sentence (and one only) to the previous post. Hopefully at some point we will have a piece of fiction that is readable, entertaining and intelligentlly written. Realistically we we end up with a mish-mash garbage with loads of sexual inuendos poorly written in bad grammar. But I have to have faith in something so lets make this a classic and Booker prize winner. I'll start the next poster uses my opening sentence and adds his/her own to follow on. It was a dark wintry night as a lonely figure struggled against the howling wind, holding his coat close to himself with bare frost bitten hands that held a single piece of paper.
The People's Hero Posted 4 May 2007 Posted 4 May 2007 The paper, like the silhouetted figure, lacked rigidity, it flapped in the breeze as if taunting his lack of backbone. He'd tried to serve them well though... hadn't he? He looked down at the paper he held and read it once more... he must have read it 100 times or more by now. In truth, he'd known what it would say before he'd even read it for the first time for it bore the seal, the seal he'd grown to despise and fear.
Daggers Posted 4 May 2007 Posted 4 May 2007 The paper, like the silhouetted figure, lacked rigidity, it flapped in the breeze as if taunting his lack of backbone. He'd tried to serve them well though... hadn't he? He looked down at the paper he held and read it once more... he must have read it 100 times or more by now. In truth, he'd known what it would say before he'd even read it for the first time for it bore the seal, the seal he'd grown to despise and fear. It read "Only do one sentance at a time!"; what could it mean he pondered?
The People's Hero Posted 4 May 2007 Posted 4 May 2007 It read "Only do one sentance at a time!"; what could it mean he pondered? Ooops.
Smudge Posted 4 May 2007 Posted 4 May 2007 It was a dark wintry night as a lonely figure struggled against the howling wind, holding his coat close to himself with bare frost bitten hands that held a single piece of paper. The paper, like the silhouetted figure, lacked rigidity, it flapped in the breeze as if taunting his lack of backbone. He'd tried to serve them well though... hadn't he? He looked down at the paper he held and read it once more... he must have read it 100 times or more by now. In truth, he'd known what it would say before he'd even read it for the first time for it bore the seal, the seal he'd grown to despise and fear. It read "Only do one sentence at a time!"; what could it mean he pondered? It was time to make tracks and he headed for the tram stop where his contact would be waiting.
Daggers Posted 4 May 2007 Posted 4 May 2007 It was a dark wintry night as a lonely figure struggled against the howling wind, holding his coat close to himself with bare frost bitten hands that held a single piece of paper. The paper, like the silhouetted figure, lacked rigidity, it flapped in the breeze as if taunting his lack of backbone. He'd tried to serve them well though... hadn't he? He looked down at the paper he held and read it once more... he must have read it 100 times or more by now. In truth, he'd known what it would say before he'd even read it for the first time for it bore the seal, the seal he'd grown to despise and fear. It read "Only do one sentence at a time!"; what could it mean he pondered? It was time to make tracks and he headed for the tram stop where his contact would be waiting. Oddly, it transpired his contact was a wizened old man with a white beard shifting uncomfortably on the seat, muttering about taking Leeds into administration and then chuckling to himself.
James. Posted 4 May 2007 Posted 4 May 2007 It was a dark wintry night as a lonely figure struggled against the howling wind, holding his coat close to himself with bare frost bitten hands that held a single piece of paper. The paper, like the silhouetted figure, lacked rigidity, it flapped in the breeze as if taunting his lack of backbone. He'd tried to serve them well though... hadn't he? He looked down at the paper he held and read it once more... he must have read it 100 times or more by now. In truth, he'd known what it would say before he'd even read it for the first time for it bore the seal, the seal he'd grown to despise and fear. It read "Only do one sentence at a time!"; what could it mean he pondered? It was time to make tracks and he headed for the tram stop where his contact would be waiting. Oddly, it transpired his contact was a wizened old man with a white beard shifting uncomfortably on the seat, muttering about taking Leeds into administration and then chuckling to himself. The old man glanced at the lonely figure and the chuckling ceased, not even taking Leeds into administration was enough to prevent the scream that suddenly pierced the evening gloom, rising above the howling wind like a soprano over her choir.
Smudge Posted 4 May 2007 Posted 4 May 2007 It was a dark wintry night as a lonely figure struggled against the howling wind, holding his coat close to himself with bare frost bitten hands that held a single piece of paper. The paper, like the silhouetted figure, lacked rigidity, it flapped in the breeze as if taunting his lack of backbone. He'd tried to serve them well though... hadn't he? He looked down at the paper he held and read it once more... he must have read it 100 times or more by now. In truth, he'd known what it would say before he'd even read it for the first time for it bore the seal, the seal he'd grown to despise and fear. It read "Only do one sentence at a time!"; what could it mean he pondered? It was time to make tracks and he headed for the tram stop where his contact would be waiting. Oddly, it transpired his contact was a wizened old man with a white beard shifting uncomfortably on the seat, muttering about taking Leeds into administration and then chuckling to himself. The old man glanced at the lonely figure and the chuckling ceased, not even taking Leeds into administration was enough to prevent the scream that suddenly pierced the evening gloom, rising above the howling wind like a soprano over her choir. The tram had run over the foot of a passing Irishman; he knew he was Irish, by the shamrock he had flamoyantly pinned to his turban.
Alexikokopops Posted 5 May 2007 Posted 5 May 2007 You're all missing out my vital and important part of the story!! I often ponder this when I'm not sure what something means It was a dark wintry night as a lonely figure struggled against the howling wind, holding his coat close to himself with bare frost bitten hands that held a single piece of paper. The paper, like the silhouetted figure, lacked rigidity, it flapped in the breeze as if taunting his lack of backbone. He'd tried to serve them well though... hadn't he? He looked down at the paper he held and read it once more... he must have read it 100 times or more by now. In truth, he'd known what it would say before he'd even read it for the first time for it bore the seal, the seal he'd grown to despise and fear. It read "Only do one sentence at a time!"; what could it mean he pondered? "Suck a dick?" It was time to make tracks and he headed for the tram stop where his contact would be waiting. Oddly, it transpired his contact was a wizened old man with a white beard shifting uncomfortably on the seat, muttering about taking Leeds into administration and then chuckling to himself. The old man glanced at the lonely figure and the chuckling ceased, not even taking Leeds into administration was enough to prevent the scream that suddenly pierced the evening gloom, rising above the howling wind like a soprano over her choir. The tram had run over the foot of a passing Irishman; he knew he was Irish, by the shamrock he had flamoyantly pinned to his turban.
gazzer Posted 5 May 2007 Posted 5 May 2007 It was a dark wintry night as a lonely figure struggled against the howling wind, holding his coat close to himself with bare frost bitten hands that held a single piece of paper. The paper, like the silhouetted figure, lacked rigidity, it flapped in the breeze as if taunting his lack of backbone. He'd tried to serve them well though... hadn't he? He looked down at the paper he held and read it once more... he must have read it 100 times or more by now. In truth, he'd known what it would say before he'd even read it for the first time for it bore the seal, the seal he'd grown to despise and fear. It read "Only do one sentence at a time!"; what could it mean he pondered? "Suck a dick?" It was time to make tracks and he headed for the tram stop where his contact would be waiting. Oddly, it transpired his contact was a wizened old man with a white beard shifting uncomfortably on the seat, muttering about taking Leeds into administration and then chuckling to himself. The old man glanced at the lonely figure and the chuckling ceased, not even taking Leeds into administration was enough to prevent the scream that suddenly pierced the evening gloom, rising above the howling wind like a soprano over her choir. The tram had run over the foot of a passing Irishman; he knew he was Irish, by the shamrock he had flamoyantly pinned to his turban. There was a tine when this would have brought a rush of concerned onlookers, eager to administer first aid or at least provide considered advice, but since the events of the previous year attitudes had changed, and people hurried on their way, looking neither left nor right.
Webbo Posted 5 May 2007 Posted 5 May 2007 It was a dark wintry night as a lonely figure struggled against the howling wind, holding his coat close to himself with bare frost bitten hands that held a single piece of paper. The paper, like the silhouetted figure, lacked rigidity, it flapped in the breeze as if taunting his lack of backbone. He'd tried to serve them well though... hadn't he? He looked down at the paper he held and read it once more... he must have read it 100 times or more by now. In truth, he'd known what it would say before he'd even read it for the first time for it bore the seal, the seal he'd grown to despise and fear. It read "Only do one sentence at a time!"; what could it mean he pondered? "Suck a dick?" It was time to make tracks and he headed for the tram stop where his contact would be waiting. Oddly, it transpired his contact was a wizened old man with a white beard shifting uncomfortably on the seat, muttering about taking Leeds into administration and then chuckling to himself. The old man glanced at the lonely figure and the chuckling ceased, not even taking Leeds into administration was enough to prevent the scream that suddenly pierced the evening gloom, rising above the howling wind like a soprano over her choir. The tram had run over the foot of a passing Irishman; he knew he was Irish, by the shamrock he had flamoyantly pinned to his turban. There was a tine when this would have brought a rush of concerned onlookers, eager to administer first aid or at least provide considered advice, but since the events of the previous year attitudes had changed, and people hurried on their way, looking neither left nor right. The beturbanned Irishman lay there in agony, wondering what he had done to deserve such a fate, when a smartly dressed young woman approached. 'Can i help you?
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