Hatrack River Writers Workshop: Pass it On

This is topic Pass it On - Something Fun in forum Writing Class at Hatrack River Writers Workshop.

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Posted by TMan1969 (Member # 3552) on :

I remember an excellent exercise my favorite English teacher taught us - He started off a story and passed it on to all of us. We all shared and it clear up any writers block. Would you guuys partake, I can tell by most of your posts that you are well beyond my humble skills - but it should be interesting.

Posted by Ymiqel (Member # 4087) on :

Very well, I'll oblige your infantile curiosities.
Have a seat, this is bound to take up the greater portion of the sunlight hours.
You see, it all began back when . . . .

Posted by wetwilly (Member # 1818) on :

...I was obliging this guy's infantile curiosities. People are always coming up to me and asking about my tatoos. "What's that one mean? Why did you get that?" I guess I can't blame them, seeing as how I've got some pretty bizarre ink, but it get's kind of annoying sometimes, you know? Anyway, there I was trying to explain the metaphysics of my tatoos to this fool when out of his pocket comes a...

Posted by oliverhouse (Member # 3432) on :

...hundred dollar bill.

"Tell you what," he said, "I'll pay you a hundred bucks plus the cost of the tattoo if you'll put on one for me."

I squinted at him. "Don't screw around with me. They're permanent. These mean something to me."

"Maybe that's why I want you to get one. This would matter to me, but I could never get one."

"Why not?" I said, but I already knew. He was white, six feet tall, with straight blonde hair and perfect teeth. His shirt probably cost more than my watch. No way would he violate that perfect body image he had.

"I just can't," he said. "But it would mean a lot to me."

I shrugged. "I can do it. It has to be organic, though. It has to fit what I already have."

"No problem," he said. "I want...

[This message has been edited by oliverhouse (edited October 21, 2006).]

Posted by The Colonel (Member # 4136) on :

...it to be a tiger--black and white--with green eyes."

I asked him what it meant. "Strength," he said, a distant look in his eyes.

The next day I had it done. My usually talkative tattoo artist was uncharacteristically quiet in the two hours it took to do the art. Afterwards, he said he had felt inspired. It was the best work he had ever done, he said. I believed him too. The tiger almost seemed alive on the skin of my back, and the green eyes were piercing and seemed to stare straight at me as i gazed over my shoulder into the mirror. The artist took a polaroid and I mailed it to my wealthy patron.

The next morning, I awoke, drenched in blood. And it wasn't mine.

Posted by oliverhouse (Member # 3432) on :

I checked myself for wounds and, finding none, got up from the sticky, copper-sweet bed. The blood was limited to my body and the bedsheets. I shuffled to the bathroom and nearly screamed at the vision in the mirror until I realized that it was my own face. The blood sliced three lines across my face, upper-right to lower-left; my platinum-blonde hair stood in an explosive shock, hundreds of short curls straightened and spiking every which way.

I showered. Probably stupid, I know, but I wasn't thinking. I didn't even think about the blood on the sheets, or how I should clean up -- or if I should clean up. I didn't know what had happened. I shouldn't destroy evidence.

Of course I should clean up. The thought growled in my mind, surging quietly in the confusion of hot water and steam.

I stepped out of the shower, not toweling off, not getting dressed, just peering around the bathroom door to see the bed.

Posted by TMan1969 (Member # 3552) on :

well done, now let me see if I can add to it..

Posted by oliverhouse (Member # 3432) on :

The bed was clean. I walked over to it, dripping water on the floor, wondering if I had imagined everything. The beige comforter was tucked neatly on every corner, and the sheet's bright whiteness was folded neatly along the pillowcases.

The sheet was white. Dazzling white, I thought, such as no fuller on earth could bleach it. Mark chapter nine, the transfiguration.

I hadn't made the bed, but there it was, pristine as though the maid had taken care of it.

Had the maid been in?

I was at home, not on the road. There was no maid. But there was no blood. I had been covered in it. I remembered the stickiness of the sheets, my face in the mirror, scrubbing the blood out of my fingernails.

I walked, stark naked, to the cabinet where I kept the liquor. Glass, two ice cubes from the mini-fridge, three fingers of Glenlivet. I brought the glass to my lips.

I didn't taste it. As soon as I smelled the scotch I felt the voice in my mind again, a deeper growl than before, almost subliminal. You shouldn't drink, it said. It makes you lose your edge.

"I want to lose the edge," I said to the room. My voice sounded foolish and small in my ears, absorbed by the carpeting and papers and bedding. I didn't care. "I want a drink," I said.

[This message has been edited by oliverhouse (edited December 10, 2006).]

Posted by furvan (Member # 4624) on :

"Pour me one too,"said a voice. Startled I dropped my glass. I turned around and there he was, the six feet tall stranger, standing in my place,looking at me with eyes so green I wondered how I had missed them the first time.

(i beg your forgiveness if it is poor english but i m french so i m really trying my luck here)

Posted by MommaMuse (Member # 3622) on :

I wish I could just pick up on someone else's story like that and roll with it! Maybe then I wouldn't be having so much trouble with my own work. This story is really interesting, and i really want to read it to the end. You guys are fantastic!

Posted by Laserlips (Member # 4760) on :

The stranger motioned to the other glass I kept in the cabinet. Generally speaking, that glass was reserved for those who were invited into my room, not those who appeared in it unannounced. I was distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of serving alcohol to him in this glass. I was almost as uncomfortable about my nudity.

Anyone with tattoos like mine gets used to having her body seen by others. I suppose it comes with the territory. I'm used to it.

Well, almost. The stranger wasn't leering at me, quite, but he had a strangely hungry look in his eye that sent shudders down my spine. I caught myself snarling at him under my breath, and changed the guttural growl into words to hurl at him.

"Serve it yourself," I snarled. I was feeling hot-tempered--more so than usual, I suppose, but I think I should be given some allowance for my lack of clothes. I walked quickly over to my closet and stepped inside to rectify my nudity.

"Do you mind if I turn on your television?" The stranger called out to me. I grunted an affirmative reply, pulling a skirt and blouse on. They were modest--a bit more modest than usual, but I didn't want him seeing any more of me than I had to let him.

As I walked back into the bedroom I saw him, bottle of Glenlivet in hand, watching a news program describing what appeared to be a grisly murder and kidnapping. All the evidence suggested that the damage had been done by some kind of big cat. The stranger looked at me and smiled. I felt the blood drain out of my face.

Before I could say a word, though, he spoke. "You did not murder anyone last night, my dear. However, someone--someone very much like you--did. You will stop her for me. Then I will release you."

Posted by undef (Member # 4784) on :

"'Release me?'" I thought. "I'm not yours to contain," I said, "Get out!"

Striding to the door to demand his exit, I realized he hadn't entered that way -- the door was still locked from the inside. I spun around and went to the window to make him leave the way he came, but it was closed, too. My confusion swelled into anger when I turned again and saw him smirking. "The sooner you accept your fate, the easier this will be for you," he said. "Trust me."

Trust yourself, said the voice. Now I wish I had heeded its advice sooner.

"Whatever it is you want, why don't you do it yourself?" I demanded.

"I don't make the rules," he said with a shrug. Then he put on that leering smile again, and I became aware of a rage so hot, so deep, I didn't know I had the capacity for it. I did know it was more than I could contain.

Posted by SharonID (Member # 5059) on :

My skin rippled with the rage I could not contain. I took a few restless steps and caught sight of my pale face in the mirror. When had my blue eyes turned green?

"I'll make my own rules," I said, though "said" hardly seems to cover the low growl that came out of my mouth. What was happening to my voice?

Posted by InarticulateBabbler (Member # 4849) on :

Every vein was alive with pain. They were all on fire. My bones creaked. They snapped and popped. Agony shot a line along my gums.

What was in that tattoo ink?

Posted by Patchy Pen Pusher (Member # 5008) on :

As my pain-drenched brain tried to contemplate this question, I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. I began to scream in horror, but what I heard was not a scream, but more of a roar. The shock of hearing what had issued from my throat only added to what I saw in the mirror.

I did not look human anymore! I could see white fur sprouting all over my body. My face was feline, whiskers growing longer on either side of my now fanged mouth. I froze for a split second to try and comprehend what I was seeing, but then I turned to him, full of rage. What had he done to me?

Posted by InarticulateBabbler (Member # 4849) on :

Ailuranthrope. Werecat.

The words came to mind unbidden. They were just there. Alive. In my head. My legs bent in a painful zigzag. I shifted my center. The painful transformation was complete. My clothes lay rent upon the floor. I hadn't known that I'd torn them off, until I noticed the threads poked out of my elongated claws. My senses were amazing. Everything was so accentuated, so clear.

Him.

I could smell him. He smelled of sweat and rage. Then he made a terrible scent. It almost made me gag. He was marking his territory. It was so potent! The scent was as bad as a skunk. I shivered. My mind raced; I could only imagine how bad the smell of a skunk had gotten.

[This message has been edited by InarticulateBabbler (edited February 27, 2007).]

Posted by oliverhouse (Member # 3432) on :

quote:
Stepping out of the story for a moment.
Summary:
Tattooed woman gets a new tattoo because a man pays her to. (Everyone caught the fact that we didn't identify gender up front, and LaserLips made the MC a woman, right? For me it was quite a jolt.)
MC wakes up in her home, drenched in blood.
She showers, even though it may be destroying evidence. A voice in her mind encourages her.
When she leaves the shower, she discovers that the room is completely clean and the man is there.
The TV says that a large cat has killed someone, but the man says it wasn't the MC; the man says he will "release" her when she stops the killer from striking again.
MC turns into a werecat.
I don't feel like I really know the character, and I really don't know what the man is all about. Some of those would be fleshed out if we weren't writing beginning to end and collectively, but that's part of the interest of this form of writing; however, we should probably answer a few questions within the next few entries.
What is unique about this main character that makes her reaction to this situation interesting? E.g., does she start to relish her role as avenger or protector? Does she hate the man enough to fight everything he does? Is the werecat essence she has acquired in conflict with her, so that she has to fight to control herself, or is it an enhancement of her usual character?
Who is this rage-filled man who wants the to stop the other cat, and what are his overt motivations? (And in the back of our hive-mind we should be thinking about what covert motivations he may have as well.) Is he a real person, a dead person, a demon, a necromancer, the lackey of a necromancer?
What is the nature of the other cat? For example, is it really a predator? Was the "murder" really a justified killing of an evil person?
We should attempt to use the contradictions that have been built into the story (a rage-filled, apparently evil man (who "marks his territory"?) trying to prevent further gruesome murders; the impulse in the MC's mind vs. the man's overt conversation; the blood on the bed, even though the MC didn't commit the murder; maybe more) to make the story go in an unusual direction -- but one that should clean up the contradictions. I have a few thoughts on where this could go, and some might be too obvious here, but they should really come out in additional entries.
We should also attempt to set specific goals for the MC and possibly the man, since right now there isn't much to go on. Also, of course, the types of goals selected would characterize the characters.

[This message has been edited by oliverhouse (edited March 02, 2007).]

Posted by DeepShadow (Member # 2182) on :

"Who is this rage-filled man who wants the to stop the other cat, and what are his overt motivations? (And in the back of our hive-mind we should be thinking about what covert motivations he may have as well.) Is he a real person, a dead person, a demon, a necromancer, the lackey of a necromancer?"

My vote is that he's a murder victim, a ghost. That's the real reason why he couldn't get a tattoo.

"What is the nature of the other cat? For example, is it really a predator? Was the "murder" really a justified killing of an evil person?"

I'd tie that in to whoever killed the rage-filled man--as I'm making him a victim of the real bad guy.

"We should attempt to use the contradictions that have been built into the story (a rage-filled, apparently evil man (who "marks his territory"?) trying to prevent further gruesome murders; the impulse in the MC's mind vs. the man's overt conversation; the blood on the bed, even though the MC didn't commit the murder; maybe more) to make the story go in an unusual direction -- but one that should clean up the contradictions."

Going along with what I've already said, I'd posit that there really wasn't any blood, only a hallucination by the MC due to a psychic link with the killer-cat. Don't know about the other contradictions, but I agree they are great and intriguing guidelines.

"I have a few thoughts on where this could go, and some might be too obvious here, but they should really come out in additional entries."

I dunno about the rest of you, but I only take collaborative stuff as an opening exercise. I'm all for letting this blow in the wind at the start, but eventually I'd have to rein it in and actually tie everything together. After that, I'm all for a new collaborative prompt.

"We should also attempt to set specific goals for the MC and possibly the man, since right now there isn't much to go on. Also, of course, the types of goals selected would characterize the characters."

I'd agree. How far do you think we can freeform this with these guidelines?

Posted by spcpthook (Member # 3246) on :

Senses that weren't mine urged me to get rid of this intruder no matter what the cost. It wasn't his territory it was mine. I was hungry and he looked like breakfast to me...

I sat back on my haunches and watched the stranger. My mind struggling to assert itself over the new personality. My wiccan training surged to the fore and I found myself repeating the mantra, 'Do no harm'.

I stood and he watched me without fear as I stalked closer, tail lashing, lips pulled back in a snarl.

Posted by KayTi (Member # 5137) on :

"Why should I help you?" I hissed. My voice sounded alien. I continued to pace in front of the man, rage still barely contained.

"Because without me, you can't control the beast you've become. And besides, you can't do anything to hurt me. Go ahead, try." He said, lips twitching up into an evil smile.

That was all the permission I needed, I leapt in an instant, straight for his throat. And promptly crashed into the dresser on the far side of the room. The mirror tilted precariously on the wall before sliding to the ground, shattering loudly.

What the hell was going on?...

Posted by Scorpio (Member # 5355) on :

It was though the man was transparent! Either that or he had moved with an impossible speed. I shook my head to clear the sudden pain from the impact, and turned to look at him. He was back in the chair now, his legs stretched out in front of him and resting on the leather pouf. There was a smugness to his thin lips as he grinned maddeningly at me.
This is not happening, I thought, just more hallucinations. But everything was so real, I could sense every tiny detail in the room from my new feline senses. The mans sweat lay heavy in the air; it was tantalising, almost overwhelming, and I desperately forced back the urge to leap for the strangers throat, for the sweet taste of his warm, salty blood. What was this madness?

Posted by TMan1969 (Member # 3552) on :

Wow, excellent work guys!