It's been a crazy last couple of months, and I haven't had a chance to update that we didn't have a submission for Part IX of our story. This story is turning out to be really interesting - don't miss your chance to add your portion. You can continue with the way the story is currently headed, or completely change it up - it's up to you. You're the writer.
To read the current story in it's entirety, click here to view the Google Document.
Email your continuation by following these easy steps. Remember, if we have multiple submissions, we will open up the submissions for our readers to decide who's addition will be picked.
You have until 12:00 AM, EST on 3/9/2012. Let's keep the story going.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Monday, September 12, 2011
Part IX is open & Part VIII posted
EDITED: The incorrect entry was originally pasted into this blog post. This has been updated. Thanks!
Deadline for submissions for Part VIII is: Saturday, September 24, 2011 at 11:59 PM, Eastern Time.
Visit this post for more information on submitting content.
Deadline for submissions for Part VIII is: Saturday, September 24, 2011 at 11:59 PM, Eastern Time.
Visit this post for more information on submitting content.
Part VIII has been added to the Google Document. You can click to read the entire story or scroll down to read this week's submission.
There was one submission this week - by Maria Fisher.
There was one submission this week - by Maria Fisher.
*~*
“She held the hat directly in front of me, showing me white satin interior, then turned it around and put it on her head.”
“‘I’m thinking of something’ she said, tapping the hat with a short-nailed finger. ‘You will see.’”
“I shivered then, the way you do right before a sneeze. She took off the hat, flipped it toward me, and inside was a large, round gold coin.”
“‘You take,’ she said. I reached for it, but the weight was all wrong, like it was made out of wood.”
“‘Chocolate,’ she said, and laughed. ‘It is my favorite. The only thing I can make.’”
“I opened the foil wrapper and took a bite. It was fantastic chocolate, rich and smooth with a slight cayenne kick at the end.”
“‘It’s a cute trick,’ I said, but I’m not much of a magic man.”
“‘You try it,’ she said. ‘Try now.’”
“I shook my head but put the hat on anyway.”
“‘Now, think of something,’ she said. ‘It has to be what you love most of all, but it can’t be a living thing. Those do not work.’”
“I thought about my father then. About the evenings on the porch when I was a child. We sat around his feet listening to the adults talk, listening to the radio play the ball game or the radio shows. But my favorite was the music. Sometimes my father would sing along, his voice a strong low bullfrog call in the night.”
“Rita shivered. ‘It is done,’ she said. I took off the hat, and looked inside. There at the bottom was a fine silver comb.”
“She looked at the comb then at me. ‘You want to be...’ she waved her hands vaguely at her head ‘... hair … cutter?”’
“‘Well, no ma’am,’ I said, chuckling. ‘I’ve always hoped to be a musician.’”
“Rita furrowed her brow for a moment. ‘Can... piene... play music?’”
“'Yes, I suppose, when held to a newspaper,'” I told her.
“‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You play this then. Very good music come from this.’”
“You’re letting me keep the comb?” I asked. “Si. Comb, hat, it is for you. But now you go.”
“She’d given me a good story to tell and a very fine comb I was sure I could hock for a week’s pay, so I left. I liked Rita, although how a housekeeper ever picked up such subtle slight-of-hand, I couldn’t imagine.”
“Did you ever play the comb with a newspaper?” Shannon asked.
“Well, now, that’s a funny story, too.” Nomad replied.
“‘I’m thinking of something’ she said, tapping the hat with a short-nailed finger. ‘You will see.’”
“I shivered then, the way you do right before a sneeze. She took off the hat, flipped it toward me, and inside was a large, round gold coin.”
“‘You take,’ she said. I reached for it, but the weight was all wrong, like it was made out of wood.”
“‘Chocolate,’ she said, and laughed. ‘It is my favorite. The only thing I can make.’”
“I opened the foil wrapper and took a bite. It was fantastic chocolate, rich and smooth with a slight cayenne kick at the end.”
“‘It’s a cute trick,’ I said, but I’m not much of a magic man.”
“‘You try it,’ she said. ‘Try now.’”
“I shook my head but put the hat on anyway.”
“‘Now, think of something,’ she said. ‘It has to be what you love most of all, but it can’t be a living thing. Those do not work.’”
“I thought about my father then. About the evenings on the porch when I was a child. We sat around his feet listening to the adults talk, listening to the radio play the ball game or the radio shows. But my favorite was the music. Sometimes my father would sing along, his voice a strong low bullfrog call in the night.”
“Rita shivered. ‘It is done,’ she said. I took off the hat, and looked inside. There at the bottom was a fine silver comb.”
“She looked at the comb then at me. ‘You want to be...’ she waved her hands vaguely at her head ‘... hair … cutter?”’
“‘Well, no ma’am,’ I said, chuckling. ‘I’ve always hoped to be a musician.’”
“Rita furrowed her brow for a moment. ‘Can... piene... play music?’”
“'Yes, I suppose, when held to a newspaper,'” I told her.
“‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You play this then. Very good music come from this.’”
“You’re letting me keep the comb?” I asked. “Si. Comb, hat, it is for you. But now you go.”
“She’d given me a good story to tell and a very fine comb I was sure I could hock for a week’s pay, so I left. I liked Rita, although how a housekeeper ever picked up such subtle slight-of-hand, I couldn’t imagine.”
“Did you ever play the comb with a newspaper?” Shannon asked.
“Well, now, that’s a funny story, too.” Nomad replied.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Part VIII is open & Part VII posted
Deadline for submissions for Part VIII is: Saturday, September 10, 2011 at 11:59 PM, Eastern Time.
Visit this post for more information on submitting content.
Visit this post for more information on submitting content.
Part VI has been added to the Google Document. You can click to read the entire story or scroll down to read this week's submission.
There was one submission this week - by Rob Ferguson.
There was one submission this week - by Rob Ferguson.
*~*
“I give to you the magic.”
“What?”
“Si, it’s magic I give to you. Come, follow me.”
She started walking away but I just stood still, dumbfounded.
“Come, come,” Rita insisted, motioning me forward with her hand. Curious, I followed. She lead me
along more narrow hallways and dusty old passages that smelled of moldy potatoes. After several
twists, turns, and long straight passages, Rita stood infront of an old white door. The white paint of the
door was chipped and pealing in long curling strips that exposed a dark, redish-brown undercoat. Rita
stood in front of the door with her hand on the knob. “This is the room I stay,” she said in her heavy
accent. “Please, you wait me here.” Rita opened the door, darted over the threashold and close the
door with a quick snap. I heard shuffling and the sound of what I assumed to be boxes or crates being
pushed along the floor. I could make out a few words as I heard her mumbling in Spanish: “Mala. Verde.
Aciago.” Eventually she emerged from the room. Even in the dim light of the hallway I could see beads
of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. She was breathing heavily and forced herself to smile. “Aquí,”
she said, extending her hands forward. “For you.” In her hands she held this green bowler (Nomad
tapped the hat he now wore). I just looked at her, and laughed.
“Uh huh,” I said. “I suppose this is a magic hat?”
“Magic! Si, it’s magic. For you, for you. Now you leave and never come back.” Rita literally put her hand
on my back and started pushing me up the passage from which we’d just came.
“Sorry, sister,” I said, resisting her. “I’ve seen plenty of strange things in my day, but I’m not one to
believe in magic.”
“This hat is magic,” Rita insisted. “Here, I show you.”
“What?”
“Si, it’s magic I give to you. Come, follow me.”
She started walking away but I just stood still, dumbfounded.
“Come, come,” Rita insisted, motioning me forward with her hand. Curious, I followed. She lead me
along more narrow hallways and dusty old passages that smelled of moldy potatoes. After several
twists, turns, and long straight passages, Rita stood infront of an old white door. The white paint of the
door was chipped and pealing in long curling strips that exposed a dark, redish-brown undercoat. Rita
stood in front of the door with her hand on the knob. “This is the room I stay,” she said in her heavy
accent. “Please, you wait me here.” Rita opened the door, darted over the threashold and close the
door with a quick snap. I heard shuffling and the sound of what I assumed to be boxes or crates being
pushed along the floor. I could make out a few words as I heard her mumbling in Spanish: “Mala. Verde.
Aciago.” Eventually she emerged from the room. Even in the dim light of the hallway I could see beads
of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. She was breathing heavily and forced herself to smile. “Aquí,”
she said, extending her hands forward. “For you.” In her hands she held this green bowler (Nomad
tapped the hat he now wore). I just looked at her, and laughed.
“Uh huh,” I said. “I suppose this is a magic hat?”
“Magic! Si, it’s magic. For you, for you. Now you leave and never come back.” Rita literally put her hand
on my back and started pushing me up the passage from which we’d just came.
“Sorry, sister,” I said, resisting her. “I’ve seen plenty of strange things in my day, but I’m not one to
believe in magic.”
“This hat is magic,” Rita insisted. “Here, I show you.”
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Let's get this rolling...
I have neglected to update this blog since June and I would love to get it rolling again.
Please submit your update by Friday, September 2 at 11:59 PM, EST by following these instructions: http://collaborwriter.blogspot.com/2011/02/emailing-content-for-submission.html
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Part VII is open & Part VI posted
Choose your own adventure at it's best... just write your own version of where the story goes next.
Deadline for submissions for Part VII is: Saturday, June 18, 2011 at 11:59 PM, Eastern Time.
Visit this post for more information on submitting content.
Deadline for submissions for Part VII is: Saturday, June 18, 2011 at 11:59 PM, Eastern Time.
Visit this post for more information on submitting content.
Part VI has been added to the Google Document. You can click to read the entire story or scroll down to read this week's submission.
There was one submission this week - by Tanya Hofford.
There was one submission this week - by Tanya Hofford.
*~*
Part VI - by Tanya Hofford
The girls had settled in to the comfort of the story, not minding the company of the strange man nearly as much as before, and actually starting to loose track of how long he’d been riding with them.
Nomad continued, “After making sure that Peepsie’s cage was fastened tightly, I turned back to the vacuum to reassemble it back to it’s original state, when I saw several hundred dollar bills crumpled and slightly torn.
“Now, I don’t often get surprised by things, but it’s not often that you come across someone with so much money they’re willing to throw it away in that quantity. So, I looked up at Rita and began to ask, ‘Do you realize that there’s money in h-?’ When she cut me off, running over and pushing her way between me and the vacuum. She began to talk quickly in her thick accent again, as she began to try to push me out the door. Curious why she would be trying to get rid of me so quickly and intrigued by my findings, I planted my feet against the old, slightly worn hardwood floors. I again asked ‘Do you realize that there’s money in the vacuum?’
“Rita looked up at me with her eyes wide, tears forming in only the corners and began to explain that the people who owned the house had inherited it from their ancestors, and hired her nearly two years ago. As it turns out, she was vacuuming behind an ancient china cabinet in the main dining room when she found a crack in the wall. To ensure that the walls were clean behind the cabinet, she ran the vacuum hose over the crack and heard something get slurped into the vacuum. When she went to empty the bag later, she noticed three one hundred dollar bills. After surveying everything that had happened that day, she realized that the money came from a hole in the wall. As it turns out, in place of insulation, this old mansion is insulated with money. And everyday since she had originally discovered this, she’s been going through the building finding every crack there was, and secretly pocketing her findings.
“Now that I knew her secret, Rita became nervous and began offering me things to ensure that I didn’t tell the owners of her findings. She offered up everything from the money in the vacuum bag to her first born child. Just when I didn’t think that the situation could have gotten any stranger, she said the craziest thing...
The girls had settled in to the comfort of the story, not minding the company of the strange man nearly as much as before, and actually starting to loose track of how long he’d been riding with them.
Nomad continued, “After making sure that Peepsie’s cage was fastened tightly, I turned back to the vacuum to reassemble it back to it’s original state, when I saw several hundred dollar bills crumpled and slightly torn.
“Now, I don’t often get surprised by things, but it’s not often that you come across someone with so much money they’re willing to throw it away in that quantity. So, I looked up at Rita and began to ask, ‘Do you realize that there’s money in h-?’ When she cut me off, running over and pushing her way between me and the vacuum. She began to talk quickly in her thick accent again, as she began to try to push me out the door. Curious why she would be trying to get rid of me so quickly and intrigued by my findings, I planted my feet against the old, slightly worn hardwood floors. I again asked ‘Do you realize that there’s money in the vacuum?’
“Rita looked up at me with her eyes wide, tears forming in only the corners and began to explain that the people who owned the house had inherited it from their ancestors, and hired her nearly two years ago. As it turns out, she was vacuuming behind an ancient china cabinet in the main dining room when she found a crack in the wall. To ensure that the walls were clean behind the cabinet, she ran the vacuum hose over the crack and heard something get slurped into the vacuum. When she went to empty the bag later, she noticed three one hundred dollar bills. After surveying everything that had happened that day, she realized that the money came from a hole in the wall. As it turns out, in place of insulation, this old mansion is insulated with money. And everyday since she had originally discovered this, she’s been going through the building finding every crack there was, and secretly pocketing her findings.
“Now that I knew her secret, Rita became nervous and began offering me things to ensure that I didn’t tell the owners of her findings. She offered up everything from the money in the vacuum bag to her first born child. Just when I didn’t think that the situation could have gotten any stranger, she said the craziest thing...
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Part VI is now open for submission
The more entries the better the potential of the story. Make your voice heard.
Deadline for submissions for Part VI is: Saturday, April 9, 2011 at 11:59 PM, Eastern Time.
Visit this post for more information on submitting content.
****UPDATE: Deadline extended to Saturday, April 16 at 11:59 PM, Eastern Time.****
Visit this post for more information on submitting content.
****UPDATE: Deadline extended to Saturday, April 16 at 11:59 PM, Eastern Time.****
Part V - Story 1
Part V has been added to the Google Document. You can click to read the entire story or scroll down to read this week's submission.
There was one submission this week - by Maria Fisher.
-by Maria Fisher
...a large house in old Hollywood. Most of those places have been done
and redone, with each new big shot tearing out the old stuff to put in
new old stuff. But this one still had the golden-age feel. It was the
little touches--the windows and electrical outlets. You could tell, if
it ever got cold in SoCal, it would have been a drafty place.
“A little spitfire maid named Rita met me at the servant's entrance.
She had the look and attitude of a terrier, and you could tell that
she ran the rest of the staff by sheer will. But today she was
spooked, showing too much white around her eyes.
"So I introduce myself, say, 'You must be Rita,' and ask what's the
trouble. She says, 'It's Peepsie.'
"Now, she's got a pretty thick Spanish accent, and she's nervous, so
she's talking too fast. I had to have her repeat herself a couple
times. 'It's Peepsie. It's Peepsie.'
"So I say, 'Your name's Peepsie?' She loses patience and starts
jabbering in Spanish, but the she stops and talks to me really slowly.
"'No, I'm Rita. You come this way.'
"She pulls me into the house through the kitchen and a bunch of these
really narrow halls, these servant halls that are really dark and the
wood floor creeks. When she stops me at the end of the hall, it's in
front of this tiny old door.
"You could tell the door had been there forever because the doorknob
had all these ridges on it, so you could see all the colors it had
been painted over the years. So I grab the handle, but before I open
it, I turn to Rita.
"’Peepsie is in there,’ she tells me. I say to her. ‘Look, Rita, what
exactly is Peepsie?’
“She struggles for a minute, then says, ‘He's a little...uh... little bird.’
“I look at the door again and say, ‘A little bird. And it's trapped in here?’
"’Yes,’ she says, ‘Peepsie. He needs to go back to his cage.’
“So I said, ‘You need me to catch your canary?’
"’Oh, no,’ she says.
"So now I don't know what to think. I open the door, and it's a small
library with a large window seat and a bird cage. You can see Rita's
been cleaning the cage, because it's open and there's a couple
newspapers and a vacuum right there.
"So I slip into the room, careful not to open the door too wide in
case the bird flies past me, but I don't see him. I look at all the
shelves and think, ‘This bird could be anywhere.’ I'm sort of creeping
into the room, trying to find the bird, when Rita opens the door wide
behind me and stares.
"’Careful woman,’ I say, then look around for the bird, but I don't
see it. Now Rita's just standing in the door, and I see where she's
looking. I think she's looking at the cage."
"Then I hear the vacuum chirp."
The women all start laughing. "Oh no!" Shannon said.
Nomad, also laughing, confirmed. "Yep, that poor woman was using the
hose attachment to vacuum up the bottom of the cage, then she must
have gotten distracted, waved the hose around, and sucked up poor
Peepsie."
"So I got the vacuum all broken down and open the bag, and there's
this dusty little canary hopping around. The poor thing didn't even
try to fly away. I just scooped him up and put him on his perch."
"Was he ok?" Pamela asked, once they stopped laughing.
"Seemed to be," Nomad said. "But you better believe that bird got the
ride of his life."
They all laughed again.
"But the really odd thing about that, was what else I found in the vacuum."
There was one submission this week - by Maria Fisher.
~*~
PART V-by Maria Fisher
...a large house in old Hollywood. Most of those places have been done
and redone, with each new big shot tearing out the old stuff to put in
new old stuff. But this one still had the golden-age feel. It was the
little touches--the windows and electrical outlets. You could tell, if
it ever got cold in SoCal, it would have been a drafty place.
“A little spitfire maid named Rita met me at the servant's entrance.
She had the look and attitude of a terrier, and you could tell that
she ran the rest of the staff by sheer will. But today she was
spooked, showing too much white around her eyes.
"So I introduce myself, say, 'You must be Rita,' and ask what's the
trouble. She says, 'It's Peepsie.'
"Now, she's got a pretty thick Spanish accent, and she's nervous, so
she's talking too fast. I had to have her repeat herself a couple
times. 'It's Peepsie. It's Peepsie.'
"So I say, 'Your name's Peepsie?' She loses patience and starts
jabbering in Spanish, but the she stops and talks to me really slowly.
"'No, I'm Rita. You come this way.'
"She pulls me into the house through the kitchen and a bunch of these
really narrow halls, these servant halls that are really dark and the
wood floor creeks. When she stops me at the end of the hall, it's in
front of this tiny old door.
"You could tell the door had been there forever because the doorknob
had all these ridges on it, so you could see all the colors it had
been painted over the years. So I grab the handle, but before I open
it, I turn to Rita.
"’Peepsie is in there,’ she tells me. I say to her. ‘Look, Rita, what
exactly is Peepsie?’
“She struggles for a minute, then says, ‘He's a little...uh... little bird.’
“I look at the door again and say, ‘A little bird. And it's trapped in here?’
"’Yes,’ she says, ‘Peepsie. He needs to go back to his cage.’
“So I said, ‘You need me to catch your canary?’
"’Oh, no,’ she says.
"So now I don't know what to think. I open the door, and it's a small
library with a large window seat and a bird cage. You can see Rita's
been cleaning the cage, because it's open and there's a couple
newspapers and a vacuum right there.
"So I slip into the room, careful not to open the door too wide in
case the bird flies past me, but I don't see him. I look at all the
shelves and think, ‘This bird could be anywhere.’ I'm sort of creeping
into the room, trying to find the bird, when Rita opens the door wide
behind me and stares.
"’Careful woman,’ I say, then look around for the bird, but I don't
see it. Now Rita's just standing in the door, and I see where she's
looking. I think she's looking at the cage."
"Then I hear the vacuum chirp."
The women all start laughing. "Oh no!" Shannon said.
Nomad, also laughing, confirmed. "Yep, that poor woman was using the
hose attachment to vacuum up the bottom of the cage, then she must
have gotten distracted, waved the hose around, and sucked up poor
Peepsie."
"So I got the vacuum all broken down and open the bag, and there's
this dusty little canary hopping around. The poor thing didn't even
try to fly away. I just scooped him up and put him on his perch."
"Was he ok?" Pamela asked, once they stopped laughing.
"Seemed to be," Nomad said. "But you better believe that bird got the
ride of his life."
They all laughed again.
"But the really odd thing about that, was what else I found in the vacuum."
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