Tag Archives: collaborative stories

Collaborative Stories Posted For Comparison

Paris Cafe at nightIn my anthology, Written Across the Genres, there are two collaborative stories. Each one starts with the same first paragraph or two but then they separate into very different adventures.  Members of my morning creative writing class each wrote 100 words to continue Dock Story One. Members of my afternoon class did the same and came up with Dock Story Two.

 

They are posted on my other blog site. For Dock Story One, you can click here

For Dock Story Two, click here

After you read both, let me know what you liked about the characters and plot in each or one of the stories.

Wag  complete from Amazonkey in lockParis Bridge black and white

 

 

 

 

Julaina Kleist-Corwin

Editor of Written Across the Genres

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Collaborative Story Dock One

Eifell tower underneath(End of collaborative story from previous posts.)

Marian felt like an outsider while her father and Gen reunited with her mother. She gazed at the sparkling lights on the dazzling landmark. From the dock to the tower was what she had wanted, but she never expected the dangerous way to arrive there.
“Marian, join us,” her father said as he pulled her closer. She blanched at his touch but followed him. “You must have questions.”
“Interpol? Were . . . are . . .”
“Yes, the three of us since before you were born.”
“I went undercover and then couldn’t get out. All those years wasted,” Marian’s mother said.
“Gen, you embezzled?”
“For your mother’s release. Interpol didn’t send the money fast enough. I had to save my sister.” Gen kissed Marian’s mother on her cheek.
“The key?”
Her father whispered, “Classified information with a potential to start another world war.” Aloud he said, “Let’s go home.”

 

Story Contributors in the order of participation: Julaina Kleist-Corwin, Anne Ayers Koch, Jordan Bernal, Paula Chinick, J. K. Royce, Beth Aaland, Carl Gamez, Arleen Eagling, Sonia Geasa, Victoria Emmons, Carole MacLean, Emily De Falla, Cindy Lou Harris, Sheila Bali, George Cramer, Stacey Gustafson, Blake Heitzman, Shannon Brown, Neva Hodges, Gary Lea, Diane Lovitt, Linda Todd

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Collaborative Story, Dock One

man in fog(Collaborative story, Dock One continued from previous post)

Her intuition pushed her to get out of there. Let the local law enforcement handle this. She had two days left to savor Paris. Two days to compensate for a lifetime of missed opportunities. A shame to waste it netted in a police investigation.

Ignoring her instincts, she shivered, jerked her hand away, and jumped up. Her foot slipped on a pile of euros uncovering a photo of a woman in her mid-fifties. The woman, her face not in focus, must be the prisoner. Who was she? Marian turned the photo over. On the back written in red ink were the words: Le Point Neuf, 9:00 p.m. Bring 500,000 euros in small bills.

Marian screamed, “He’s dead. Help.” No one answered her shout. She looked back at the man. How can I save the woman? A key, the money, the picture, and note were the only clues. Her heart pounded.

If she could figure out mystery novels and movies before the halfway mark, she could solve this one. Two days with the Paris police answering questions, or two days solving a mystery on my own? What am I thinking? This is crazy. It’d be different from her everyday work, test her investigative skills. What would her father think? Sirens wailed in the background, growing louder, closer. Gendarmerie.
Marian crammed the key and the photo out of sight, into the bottom of her purse. She flew up the stairs. The small group of people who had gathered seemed not to notice her, so she slipped among them. An American told the others, “I heard a woman scream on the dock that someone was dead, so I called the police.”

The singsong siren stopped the voices. One policeman pushed the crowd back while a couple others clambered down the stairs. Marian strolled across the bridge as if she were a passerby. From the opposite side she glanced towards the dock. One man stood apart from the others, hidden in the shadows. Was he watching her?

She stepped into the road. Few cars passed, and no taxis. When a sputtering Citroen approached, Marian walked farther into the street and the car stopped.
“Mademoiselle, may I help you?” The elderly woman spoke in perfect English.
“Yes, please.” Marian swung the door open and lunged into the front seat. She tried to compose herself. “I’m meeting friends at La Rose de France, but—”
The woman interrupted. “I will take you. Tonight you are lucky.”
Marian wanted to believe that. She settled into the seat, and pondered what to do next after reconnecting with Pierre and the rest of her group.

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Collaborative Stories

collaborationIn my anthology, Written Across the Genres, there are two collaborative stories. Two groups of writers wrote separate stories that began with the same paragraph. One class had 22 participants. Story Two had 10. Via emails, each person, within the maximum of a 150 words, continued the plot line from the last written entry. The larger number of writers who contributed and the clues in the plot made the consistency of details a challenge in Dock Story One. It took several months to complete. In my posts during the next few days, I will blog the first story. In keeping with my preference for short blog posts, I’ll do a page or two each day. The story will be done by Monday, with the names of the contributors.

Dock Story One

Out of breath from racing to catch the last boat of the night and then missing it, Marian slumped on the stairs below the Pont-Neuf. She had sacrificed dinner with her traveling companions at the La Rose de France to be on this Seine River tour. Taking a cab to the Eiffel Tower light show wouldn’t be the same.
She thought everyone had left the dock, but a slim, middle-aged man in a black topcoat and a hat waited for a boat, on the wrong side of the pier. In his right hand, he gripped a small satchel that had a rip on one side. How long had he been standing there?
“Sir, something is falling out of your case.”
He didn’t move, but a wave of his fatigue and sadness smothered Marian. She struggled to leave, wondering if she could make it to the street level.
She brushed back the chestnut hair from her tired green eyes. Cat eyes, her father called them. She remembered how his disappointment had weighed her down with unbearable guilt, how she hadn’t been able to explain the suffocation she felt following the path he’d created for her, making practical decisions for the future and ignoring the present.
Marian had run away from him. She was tired of dealing with the bureaucracy in the state department with the mountains of paperwork that led to no results. Her domineering father had chosen the tedious profession for her. She didn’t tell him she had resigned. In Paris, she’d be able to think, to breathe, to decide what she wanted.
“I’ve missed the boat . . . again.”
Poised with one foot on the first step, Marian heard a sob. A quiet intake of breath, a wheeze of air as it passed trembling lips. She turned back. Did the cry come from the stranger or was it her imagination? He stood anchored to the wooden planks. His head bowed over the satchel.

“Sir, can you hear me? Are you all right?” Over the gentle lapping of the Seine, Marian’s senses strained.
“Help me, please,” his whispers drifted through the moist night air. “They have a woman prisoner . . .”

Marian eased closer, yet kept one eye toward her escape.
The stranger lifted his head. “The key. Take it. No Gendarmerie.”
In the moonlight, she saw the blood, a crimson stream as it flowed from his left temple. He extended his arm and tried to touch her. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, his knees buckled, his body crumpled to the ground.
The hairs on Marian’s arms bristled. “Oh, my God.” The pool of blood told her there was nothing she could do for him. Her mind raced. What now? Think. Think. She sprinted up the stairs frantic for assistance but the streets were empty. “Where is everyone for God’s sake?”
She ran back down the stairs. The satchel. She had to find out who he was, who to call. Her hands trembled as she picked up the bag. The combination of the weight and torn material caused the bag to rip open. Sweat beaded on her forehead as euros spilled on the dock.

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Pont Neuf Setting and Collaborative Plots in Written Across the Genres

My anthology, Written Across the Genres, has two Dock Stories toward the end of the book. The setting is Paris, the dock is below the Pont Neuf, the oldest of the 37 bridges that cross the Seine River. Both versions are collaborative stories. I wrote the first paragraph and each person in my two writing classes added 150 words to the story when it was their turn. Dock Story One had more people that contributed, which made the details of the mystery difficult to coordinate, but it turned out after several months of editing. Dock Story Two had half the entries, about ten, and with the same beginning paragraph, became a totally different plot.

Those stories weren’t outlined. The writers met the challenge of continuing the story so the actions would be logical and the arcs would be clear. We had major problems with the arc in Dock Story One. The first draft, didn’t have an arc, so we had to eliminate everything after the first four entries and start over. Since I am not a writer who uses outlines, I had faith these stories would succeed. My outstanding assistant, Linda, who is a plotter, had doubts but worked hard on managing the details.

Lisa Cron in Wired for Story, Chapter Five, satisfies both plotters and non-plotters in her suggestions to think of outlining, not from beginning to end, but to put into play the Who, Why, Where, How and What Will Happen. That concept works for me, one who shudders at the word outline. In the Dock Stories, I started the Who and Where. The class members had to think in terms of What Will Happen and provided the How and Why.

Check the two versions of the Pont Neuf Dock Stories in Written Across the Genres, and see the differences in What Happened.

The anthology is available on Amazon or can be ordered at most book stores.

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