Author Conrad Williams to Kick off the next #litrostory: the Collective Twitter Fiction Experiment

#litrostory #litrostory
is a series of Litro stories told on Twitter by as many writers as possible lead by our quarterly Litro Members Book Club guest author, our latest guest author is Conrad Williams.The next #litrostory starts 12pm on Wednesday 18th November and closes at midnight on Tuesday 24th November 2015.

Unknown Dust & Desire

#litrostory starts on Wednesday 18th November and closes at midnight on Tuesday 24th November 2015. The collective story will then be published on Litro.

The story will kick off with a tweet by author Conrad Williams, whose new gripping novel Dust & Desire, Titan Books, is out 3rd November, and is our current members Book Club Read Litro Book Club.

How it works

  • Novelist Conrad Williams, @Salavaria, will tweet the first line of a brand new story at Midnight on Wednesday 18th November on Litro’s twitter page @LitroMagazine, using the hashtag #litrostory
  • To take part, you just have to add the next line. Check out the Twitter hashtag #litrostory to read the story so far, and add your line, using the same hashtag at the end. You’ll have to be quick, or someone else might get there first!
  • You can take the story in any direction you want to, but remember that the aim is to end up with something readable, so please consider the next contributor before going too crazy.
  • You can add as many lines as you want to the story, but not consecutively. Please wait for someone else to add another before you add again.
  • You can see the compiled story as it goes along on the Litro site – we will be updating a page with the story as it stands daily.

Check the @LitroMagazine Twitter feed, or the #litrostory hashtag from 18th November onwards and join in the experiment.




Once and Once Only: the Finished #Litrostory

Photo by  Niek de Greef (copied from Flickr)
Photo by Niek de Greef (copied from Flickr)

Last week we ran the latest in our series of literary experiments on Twitter. We asked our followers to write a collective story, one tweet at a time. Novelist Danny Wallace (whose new novel Who Is Tom Ditto? is the current title in the Litro Book Club) wrote the first line for us, and then we handed the story over to fate… and Twitter.

As our previous literary experiments on Twitter proved, we had no idea how the story would turn out. The stories are always erratic, unpredictable, and they wind up going to some strange places indeed. Interest waxes and wanes too, and you’re never quite sure who will contribute – if anyone.

Well, the results are again in, and you can now read the finished story below. We’ve compiled the tweets in the order they were written, making the odd changes only to punctuation for the sake of clarity. Again we have been pleasantly surprised with the outcome. Admittedly, it opens in typically jumbled fashion, but it quickly settles into something that resembles a story. There’s a protagonist, a mystery, a love interest – and an ice cream van stocked with exploding Magnums. But we don’t want to give too much away. Here’s the story so you can judge for yourself…

Once and Once Only

Beth woke, startled, as the phone on the floor beside her rung once and once only. (@dannywallace)
‘Hold up’ she thought, rolling out of bed and pulling on her Cuban-heeled cowboy boots; ‘That’s not my phone’ (@MrDanielPrior)
‘Whose phone is that?’ Beth thought looking around the room. ‘Better yet, where am I?’ (@lflmALiar)
Though it was, thankfully for a Thursday, her bed. (@MrCoomey)
And it was a Thursday where she would change her life. (@BisonLondon)
Should she answer? The phone was still tinkling the theme from Ghostbusters, buzzing with each vibration. (@DanCoxonAuthor)
“Hello?” She said into the phone. “Beth,” an unfamiliar voice replied. “Go to the window.” (@KateHemmings)
“Has anyone ever been so far as to want to look more like Ed Balls?” (@RichardCook2)
The missed call on the screen told her it was the coded warning she had been waiting for and ultimately dreading. (@livsdad)
It couldn’t really be ‘him’, after all this time could it? The thought literally made her womb weep. (@GMHutchins)
The idea of a transport pretext was a good one. No-one could be suspicious of a bus stop rendezvous, even if it was quite remote. (@schmattt)
It wasn’t her ringtone though. It wasn’t her phone. And, wait, who was the hairy person snoring beside her? (@JessicaZiebland)
Phone in hand, she gasped at what she saw through the glass. (@Gatto_Biscollo)
She knew what to do. This was the signal she had been waiting for. (@PhilipDShepherd)
The biggest surprise being, she didn’t own a phone… She pondered… (@stevenjparkes)
Beth grabbed the keys to the jeep, pocketed the phone and pulled on her boots. (@florenzoo)
She didn’t fully understand but instinctively knew that this was the signal to begin something big. (@Mehpersonified)
An hour later in Covent Garden, she finally found the silver mime artist. Her colleague. The undercover MI5 agent, Hank Cheese. (@MrDanielPrior)
She took out the phone she brought with her. (@KirstyAitchison)
She knew gypsy tears were the only cure now. “Cry into my mouth gypsy!” She bellowed. (@DruxRoth)
Hank smiled, his face crinkling like foil. The password had been in place for years, but they’d never had to use it. Until now. (@DanCoxonAuthor)
Her eyes darted over the crowd eventually meeting Hank’s. They acknowledged each other’s existence for the first time. (@KirstyAitchison)
Hank wasn’t the only person in the area to react to the words. Beth noticed a man dressed in stripes reach into his pocket. (@Botley)
What he pulled out of that pocket and popped into a glass was both frightening and inspiring. (@dannywallace)
His dentures sank to the bottom of the glass. “We have some business to discuss.” (@Gatto_Biscollo)
She barely understood. Without teeth his sentence was a misarticulated jumble of lips and spittle. (@droneandamoeba)
But Beth and Hank understood & made their way through the crowd, a smile on their faces & excitement in their hearts. It’s time. (@ABird_1)
A set of false teeth that wouldn’t have been amiss at Aintree. (@DaveFreeman9)
But this was no ordinary crowd, every person was waiting for the cue to begin. Hank and Beth were about to get caught up in (@Mehpersonified)
something much bigger than either of them had ever imagined. The three newly acquainted colleagues were making their way to (@ABird_1)
Mecca bingo. (@jorgalbertz)
The majestic president of the Universe, Madame H stepped out of the limo and gave the Recipe Book Canon file to Beth and Hank. (@CuriosityRocks)
Beth and Hank opened the good book. Hank said “I begin to see” and Beth simply gasped when she saw the coupons. (@GarrJPRBDF)
Miraculously they were all perfectly intact, curiously they had a handwritten note on them saying ‘still valid, come find us’. (@CuriosityRocks)
Hank & Beth looked up questioningly to Madame H, only to discover she had vanished. As had the man with the dentures, what now? (@Mehpersonified)
Firstly, a hot dog stand and then on to a second hand bookshop where they were able to find the map of Torquay that they needed. (@Botley)
“We can’t go to Torquay without proper disguises,” said Hank. Beth’s eyes glanced encouragingly to a Party Superstore. (@JustineCabulong)
As they entered the fancy dress shop they see a man they recognise. He was wearing a black suit with a black bowler hat. Mr Ben. (@KirstyAitchison)
Mr. Ben locked eyes with Hank and slowly nodded, pushing a carrier bag slowly across the counter towards them with a wink. (@JustineCabulong)
In the changing rooms Beth became Victoria and Hank, David. The new Beckhams were ready for Torquay, but was it ready for them? (@Mehpersonified)
They strode up the high street, looking for the woman with the rainbow umbrella. Suddenly, they were ambushed! (@ToddMann10000)
Paparazzi everywhere! Clearly, someone hadn’t thought these disguises through. Getting to Torquay like this was going to be (@ABird_1)
a complete nightmare! Fortunately Mr Ben had included instant security incarnate spray. Now surrounded by muscle they were safe. (@Mehpersonified)
But for how long? As they approached the rendezvous point, a gunshot from a hidden sniper rang out! Hank dove to cover Beth! (@ToddMann10000)
Beth & Hank fell to the floor as the bullet ricocheted off the road nearby. They saw the umbrella at the same time… So close! (@Mehpersonified)
Suddenly a black Audi S8 pulled swiftly alongside them, the passenger door swinging open and a gloved hand beckoning them in. (@JustineCabulong)
They got to Torquay with forty minutes left. They had to find the ice cream van and disable the chime before it began playing. (@Botley)
Little did they know, the mobile ice cream business was booming in Torquay. How would they ever find the right van?! (@JustineCabulong)
“Beth, we can’t let Torquay be nuked” said Hank, “It’d be a Häagen-Dazs-aster” Hank’s puns were the worst MI5 had ever produced. (@MrDanielPrior)
Ignoring Hank, Beth frantically tried to think of what to do. As she rejected plan after plan once again she heard a phone ring. (@Mehpersonified)
The phone! She’d forgotten all about it in the excitement of the day. It didn’t belong to her, so who was ringing it? “Hello?” (@Botley)
“This is your mother,” said the voice on the other end. “What on earth are you wearing?” Beth swerved her head to look around. (@JustineCabulong)
She saw her Mum in the ice cream van. She yelled the code into her phone. Sue keyed it in to the laptop she was hunched over. (@Botley)
Smoke and a few pops and whizzes came from the van. Her mum emerged with a look of relief and carrying white chocolate Magnums. (@JustineCabulong)
“Hi Mu…” Beth began. But those heels – they weren’t the Cubans her Mum wore? “Hank, that’s not my Mum!” The Magnums dropped and (@MrDanielPrior)
exploded when they hit the ground. Hank pushed Beth behind a concrete barrier, landing on top of her… with an *accidental* kiss. (@JustineCabulong)




#litrostory: Write a Story on Twitter with Danny Wallace

#litrostory #litrostory
is a series of Litro stories told on Twitter by as many writers as possible, led by our current Litro Book Club guest author, Danny Wallace.

The next #litrostory starts 12noon on Thursday 26th February, and closes at 12noon on Thursday 5th March. The collective story will then be published on Litro.

Danny Wallace, 'Who is Tom Ditto?'
Danny Wallace, ‘Who is Tom Ditto?’

The story will be kicked off by author Danny Wallace, whose new thought-provoking novel Who Is Tom Ditto?  is the latest title in the Litro Book Club.

How it works

  • Novelist Danny Wallace, @DannyWallace, will write the first line of a brand new story at 12noon on Thursday 26th February on Twitter, using the hashtag #litrostory
  • To take part, you just have to add the next line. Check out the Twitter hashtag #litrostory to read the story so far, and add your line, using the same hashtag at the end. You’ll have to be quick, or someone else might get there first!
  • You can take the story in any direction you want to, but remember that the aim is to end up with something readable, so please consider the next contributor before going too crazy.
  • You can add as many lines as you want to the story, but not consecutively. Please wait for someone else to add another before you add again.
  • You can see the compiled story as it goes along on the Litro site – we will be updating a page with the story on a regular basis.

Check the @LitroMagazine Twitter feed, or the #litrostory hashtag on Friday.




Into The Darkness: the Finished #LitroStory

Photo by Matthew Allard
Photo by Matthew Allard

During the holiday season we ran the second in our series of literary experiments on Twitter. We asked our followers to write a collective story, one tweet at a time. Novelist Wiley Cash (whose new novel This Dark Road to Mercy is the third title in the Litro Book Club) wrote the first line for us, and then we handed the story over to fate… and Twitter.

As our previous literary experiment on twitter proved, we had no idea how the story would turn out. Would readers want to take part during the Christmas break, put down their glasses and join us on twitter to complete the story? More importantly, would it come out as nonsense, or would the whole thing fizzle out like a Boxing Day hangover?

Well, the results are again in, and you can now read the finished story below. We’ve compiled the tweets in the order they were written, making the odd changes only to punctuation for the sake of clarity, and amending a change of person that seemed to be a mistake rather than artistic intention.

Again we have been pleasantly surprised with the outcome. Admittedly, it’s madder than a conversation with a stranger on a night bus on your way home after a night out, and at times careers from one plot idea to another, but it is a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end.

We are of course not the first to conceive of the notion of a collective online collaboration to complete a story, and there’s already a slew of work that embraces and plays with the possibilities of the web. We mentioned these in a post last year, but worthwhile mentioning again is flarf poetry, which uses “found” text as the material for a poem, and writers are using the net to engage readers in new ways, like Calum Kerr, who posted a flash fiction story every day for a year on his blog.

The Dutch writer Arnon Grunberg in November last year completed a Novella whilst wired up to electrodes, the stunt-turned-lab-experiment had him wired up to sensors, cameras which tracked his brain waves, heart rate, galvanic skin response (an electrical measure of emotional arousal) and facial expressions.

This autumn, when the book is published, some fifty ordinary people in the Netherlands will read it under similarly controlled circumstances, sensors and all. Researchers will then crunch the data to find patterns that may help illuminate links between the way art is created and enjoyed, and possibly the nature of creativity itself. But are these genuine literary innovations, or just publicity stunts, a bit of online fun to while away a lunch break?

Let’s be honest, we’re probably not on the brink of a new literary genre with our #Litrostory experiment. But we do think it raises some interesting questions about collaborative fiction, and how similar projects could be made to work in future. With all its faults, one thing the internet offers is the opportunities for collaboration and the cross-fertilization of ideas that are wider and more far-reaching than anything else in history.

Of course, the internet is also by its nature largely unedited, which is generally a pain – finding ways to sift the few grains of genius from the morass of nonsense is getting harder by the day.

In a recent article in the New York Times, author Francine Prose captures this sense of chaos: performing a Google search to find information on ‘Freud and the Unconscious’ she was prompted to click through the top autofill suggestion, which was: “Freud and the Irish.” Freud and the Irish was way above Freud and the Unconscious.

“About 2.29 million results (0.18 seconds)”

The Irish, Freud said, are the only people impervious to psychoanalysis. She found out the Freud Museum had no reliable source saying he had ever said that.

In the movie the The Departed, he is said to have said that.

The screenplay writer was quoted as saying he had come across it on the Internet.

The way we find and read literature has already been fundamentally changed by digital technology. It seems likely that the way writers write will be similarly affected. There’ll still be plenty of them scribbling away with a biro in their garden shed, but there’ll also be revolutionary new approaches to how literature is produced, and by who. The challenge will be watching for the meaningful patterns in the noise.

Into The Darkness: the Finished #LitroStory

GOTHIC_WINTER_by_JTphoto

It wasn’t the sound that woke him as much as it was the sensation of something large and dangerous passing overhead. Could it be that time of year again, he thought to himself, donning his boots and gloves to make his way out into the cold… Before his eyes even had time to adjust to the scene before him, he was overcome with disbelief.

“It cannot be,” he murmured. There on the hard frozen ground was a trail of glitter leading out of sight into the darkness. He stood in the silence and stared at the glitter for a moment, and then he went back inside to make the inevitable phone call.

He stood still for a moment, warming his hands by the fire, before sighing, cursing, and then raising the telephone to dial. As he raised his hand to dial, his remaining fingers trembled. Then, it happened: the phone began to ring. He let it ring, feeling the vibrations through the numbness in his fingers. Ten, twenty times it rang. He waited.

He answered.

“Where is it?” said a man’s voice.

“Where’s what?” he asked in return.

“You know,” the man’s voice said.

“No, I don’t know… stop this shit now and tell me what’s going on.” Silence. He gripped the receiver, listening.

“Leave it at the front desk in the 41 and this ends now. One hour.”

Dial tone.

He exhaled and looked at the case lying on the bed. Locked. He was scared but tried to hide it; that was his downfall last time. He limped across the room and started to fiddle with the lock. His hands were slick and he struggled to get a grip. The trails in the snow, then the phone call. Like reliving a nightmare.

Thud, thud, thud.

Three hard knocks. It was happening again. He stared at the door, willing it to stay shut as his heart raced. The banging stopped. He glanced frantically around, gripping the handle, trying to think. He froze. The doorknob was rattling. Petrified, he moved his hands in the dark to switch on the lights but as it turned out, there was no power. The rattling continued. Meanwhile, the creature that woke him had circled the town three times, and started to turn into the most innocent shape it found.

There was nothing else for it. Yelling, he charged through the door and out into the snow, almost tripping over it. He was overcome by the stillness that a blanket of snow can bring, snapped out of his own personal horror, just for a moment. His breath came out in clouds as he struggled to walk. He dropped the case, watching it fall into the sea of snow beneath him. He meant to curse under his breath, but spoke aloud; “Damn it, Miroshnikov!” he said to himself, firmly. He had to get a grip on himself; he was letting his imagination run away with him – but what was that snuffling sound?

Then the purple closed in.

When he came to, he found himself surrounded by darkness; it made him smile. He didn’t know where he was, but it was warm, soft and silent. Had he somehow escaped? He really wanted to quit this work.

He was overcome first by her scent and then taken aback by her enormous shadow as the lady slunk in.

“The glitter was me.”

He had no sense of space, so sense of anything at all in such darkness. Such a strange feeling. He smiled again. So bewitched by her beauty, he didn’t notice ‘41’ painted on her forehead. Nor did he notice her hand stretching into the snow, it was dark after all. But he felt her breath, smelt the gentle scent of lavender, which made him smile more, a memory rekindled.

Abruptly, the smell of petrol igniting tore him from his euphoria. He stood up but she pulled him back towards her. The smell of lavender strengthened and he felt suddenly overcome by it all. What was happening? The glitter, the number 41, those strange noises… It was like a dream, but one that somehow had meaning.

She shook him. “Wake up, Edward! It’s just stun gas. They’re coming after us. If you want to leave for Brazil we need to move now.”

He eyed her sleepily. “You go without me.”

She ignored him and dragged him to his feet and they staggered away through the snow.

Thanks to all our Twitter writers who contributed lines to this story:

@WileyCash, @GETtoasted, @alisonfogg, @katiejlumsden, @Kate_Baguley, @DanCoxonAuthor, @BellaReidWriter, @pfsinkler, @Ahranya, @DorotheeLang, @RachGth, @EmilyJayne1609, @Leah_S19, @CherryJPotts, @seanbeaudoin, @AdrianGeorgeNic, @ChrisGNguyen, @hennabutt, @RodolfoBarradas, @scottkeir, @promonmars




#litrostory – The Story So Far…

**UPDATED 4th January**

We’re nearly at the conclusion of our twitter experiment, and the story is rapidly moving from crazy to crazier. If there’s anything to learn from the #litrostory experience so far, it’s that social media brings out the weirdness in people. We even switched tenses briefly a few days in, although the Litro team have exercised their editorial privileges and restored the story to a rough approximation of sense. There have been plot teasers aplenty – trails of glitter, circling beasts, a mysterious case, and the enigmatic ’41’ – but now comes the hard part. We have until January 6th to tie up all the loose ends and turn this chaos into a story.

If you haven’t contributed to #litrostory so far, you can find the details of this experiment in twitter fiction here. The story was started by Wiley Cash, author of this month’s book club selection, This Dark Road to Mercy – more details of that here.

As for the story, you can read it below, in all its bizarre glory. With over a week to go until the #litrostory concludes, there are still plenty of twists to come. So why not login to twitter and start flexing your typing fingers…

***

Photo by vastateparksstaff (copied from Flickr)
Photo by vastateparksstaff (copied from Flickr)

It wasn’t the sound that woke him as much as it was the sensation of something large and dangerous passing overhead. Could it be that time of year again, he thought to himself, donning his boots and gloves to make his way out into the cold… Before his eyes even had time to adjust to the scene before him, he was overcome with disbelief.

“It cannot be,” he murmured. There on the hard frozen ground was a trail of glitter leading out of sight into the darkness. He stood in the silence and stared at the glitter for a moment, and then he went back inside to make the inevitable phone call.

He stood still for a moment, warming his hands by the fire, before sighing, cursing, and then raising the telephone to dial. As he raised his hand to dial, his remaining fingers trembled.  Then, it happened: the phone began to ring. He let it ring, feeling the vibrations through the numbness in his fingers. Ten, twenty times it rang. He waited.

He answered.

“Where is it?” said a man’s voice.

“Where’s what?” he asked in return.

“You know,” the man’s voice said.

“No, I don’t know… stop this shit now and tell me what’s going on.” Silence. He gripped the receiver, listening.

“Leave it at the front desk in the 41 and this ends now. One hour.”

Dial tone.

He exhaled and looked at the case lying on the bed. Locked. He was scared but tried to hide it; that was his downfall last time. He limped across the room and started to fiddle with the lock. His hands were slick and he struggled to get a grip. The trails in the snow, then the phone call. Like reliving a nightmare.

Thud, thud, thud.

Three hard knocks. It was happening again. He stared at the door, willing it to stay shut as his heart raced. The banging stopped. He glanced frantically around, gripping the handle, trying to think. He froze. The doorknob was rattling. Petrified, he moved his hands in the dark to switch on the lights but as it turned out, there was no power. The rattling continued. Meanwhile, the creature that woke him had circled the town three times, and started to turn into the most innocent shape it found.

There was nothing else for it. Yelling, he charged through the door and out into the snow, almost tripping over it. He was overcome by the stillness that a blanket of snow can bring, snapped out of his own personal horror, just for a moment. His breath came out in clouds as he struggled to walk. He dropped the case, watching it fall into the sea of snow beneath him. He meant to curse under his breath, but spoke aloud; “Damn it, Miroshnikov!” he said to himself, firmly. He had to get a grip on himself; he was letting his imagination run away with him – but what was that snuffling sound?

Then the purple closed in.

When he came to, he found himself surrounded by darkness; it made him smile. He didn’t know where he was, but it was warm, soft and silent. Had he somehow escaped? He really wanted to quit this work.

He was overcome first by her scent and then taken aback by her enormous shadow as the lady slunk in.

“The glitter was me.”

He had no sense of space, so sense of anything at all in such darkness. Such a strange feeling. He smiled again. So bewitched by her beauty, he didn’t notice ’41’ painted on her forehead. Nor did he notice her hand stretching into the snow, it was dark after all. But he felt her breath, smelt the gentle scent of lavender, which made him smile more, a memory rekindled.

Abruptly, the smell of petrol igniting tore him from his euphoria. He stood up but she pulled him back towards her. The smell of lavender strengthened and he felt suddenly overcome by it all.

To be concluded…

(Contributors so far: @WileyCash, @Eric_Akoto, @GETtoasted, @alisonfogg, @katiejlumsden, @Kate_Baguley, @DanCoxonAuthor, @BellaReidWriter, @pfsinkler, @Ahranya, @DorotheeLang, @RachGth, @EmilyJayne1609, @Leah_S19, @CherryJPotts, @seanbeaudoin, @AdrianGeorgeNic, @ChrisGNguyen, @hennabutt, @RodolfoBarradas, @scottkeir, @promonmars)




#litrostory : a Collective Twitter Fiction Experiment

#litrostory #litrostory
is a series of Litro stories told on Twitter by as many writers as possible lead by our autumn/winter read guest author, Wiley Cash. The next #litrostory starts 12pm on Friday 20th December and closes at midnight on Monday 6th January 2014.

Unknown This Dark Road To Mercy

#litrostory starts on Friday 20th December and closes at midnight on Monday 6th January 2014. The collective story will then be published on Litro.

The story will be kicked off by author Wiley Cash, whose new gripping novel This Dark Road to Mercy, Transworld Publishers, out January 2014, and is the third title in the Litro Book Club.

How it works

  • Novelist Wiley Cash, @WileyCash, will write the first line of a brand new story at 12pm on Friday 20th December on Twitter, using the hashtag #litrostory
  • To take part, you just have to add the next line. Check out the Twitter hashtag #litrostory to read the story so far, and add your line, using the same hashtag at the end. You’ll have to be quick, or someone else might get there first!
  • You can take the story in any direction you want to, but remember that the aim is to end up with something readable, so please consider the next contributor before going too crazy.
  • You can add as many lines as you want to the story, but not consecutively. Please wait for someone else to add another before you add again.
  • You can see the compiled story as it goes along on the Litro site – we will be updating a page with the story as it stands daily.

Check the @LitroMagazine Twitter feed, or the #litrostory hashtag on Friday.




#litrostory: The Story So Far…

#litrostorySMLThis is the #litrostory so far, a collective fiction being told one tweet at a time between Tuesday 26th February and midnight on Tuesday 5th March. Check the #litrostory hashtag on Twitter for the lastest lines and add your own.

THE STORY SO FAR:

@RussLitten
It was a moment of weakness.

@Ashfeld
Nothing more. A chance for a lie-in – but afterwards she would torture herself by asking…

@Ashfeldt
…what if I had taken him to school that morning, instead of letting him tag along with the kids from up the road?

@EleOssola
She could heard the neighbour’s radio from her bed. They were playing Thelonious Monk

@WeirdJourno
…but she was too exhausted to get up. She couldn’t face the reality…

@GlenisStott
that the sounds of Thelonius brought back the memory of a romantic evening that ended in …

@EmilyCleaver
…the disastrous meeting with the man who had called himself Messenger.

@EleOssola
She still perfectly remembers the first time she caught that mysterious glimpse in his dark black eyes.

@patrickedunne
Drawn but yet fearful of what it might lead to

@MarianneCronin
She let him take her hand, though he was a perfect stranger

@WeirdJourno
…and he took her in his arms, looked into her eyes, and….

@XavBlancmange
She signed for the delivery of a motorcycle tire for No. 30

@DorotheeLang
“I always wanted to go on a motorcycle trip,” she remembered. Her eyes turned dark, with the memory of her lost dreams rising.

@ChrisGNguyen
Thinking of that chilly April morning when she’d learned of her father’s horrific crash, she mourned both her dad and her dream.

@WeirdJourno
It had taken her a lot to put that horrific episode behind her and move on with her life. She…

@hennabutt
…knew now that she couldn’t escape the Talents which made her special. The Messenger had come to tell her it was time…

@patrickedunne
to make her father proud

@MarianneCronin
She sat up in bed, and pulled back the covers. Her son was probably safe at school now. She could go anywhere, do anything,,.

@jadamthwaite
… Her mind kept wandering back to Messenger. Last time was a disaster but he called to her. She scrolled through her phone…

@laurabesley
Could she do it? She scrolled down for the number. Her hands, slippery with anticipation, dropped the phone. She…

@jlstroudjr
…listened to the dialtone stutter. Paralyzed by regret she waited for the phone to go silent. “Is this a bad time?” She gasped

@EmilyCleaver
“Bad times,” he said, the signal chopping his voice into pieces. “But you know that. I want you to come to…”

@jadamthwaite
… the cliffs. You know the place.” My heart thudded. I knew. “Midday,” he said. “You’ll be there?” The line crackled…

@RussLitten
and then went dead. “I’ll be there.” I said.

@EleOssola
I hung up and couldn’t do anything but hold my breath. I looked at the clock on the wall, the hands were pointing at 11:27 am

@jadamthwaite
There were enough reasons not to go but Billy would be safe at school by now. I had nothing but time. I kicked off the covers.

@AnuNande
and stumbled into the bathroom. The face staring back at me was calmer than I felt. Everytime I blinked, it blurred a bit more

@MichaeldeSoet
no painkiller in the world could take away the ache I feel in my chest. Like my heart has been picked apart by angry ravens

@braket3
Angry ravens that followed him home. His territory mocking Poe, his version of the urban becoming a den of the strange.

@365daystory
Sometimes, though, it was enough to just take yourself to the front door, stand on the step, and open your nostrils to the day.

@jadamthwaite
There was no use in worrying about it. I dressed quickly, grabbed my car key and headed up to the cliffs. He was already there.

@Paris_Franz
I took a deep breath and got out of the car. He started to walk towards me, his coat flapping in the wind. I tried to smile.

@XavBlancmange
‘Here is your next assignment,’ he said, passing me a fat manila envelope and not waiting for a reply

@EleOssola
My hands were shaking.I opened it and his name was there.I put it back but The Messenger stopped me’You know you have no choice’

@call_me_inga
We locked eyes, “there’s always a choice..& the choice is mine to make, mine alone”..I squared my shoulders & pushed him aside

@BI_Blogfic
That’s trouble with choices. Power to choose means responsibility for the choice. A thin smile, and I headed to the cliff edge.

@SmallPlays
I threw the envelope. It hit the water like something dead. I didn’t need it, I knew where I’d find him. I turned, shouted … #litrostory

‏@kiwirebecca
his name into the darkness, the wind whispering it through the valley. I needed ..

@MrsCarlieLee
to know how far I could go. I walked towards…

@kiwirebecca
his name into the darkness, the wind whispering it through the valley. I needed …

@BokehFlux
… the echo of that name. Come find, comfort and guide me. I know I have spirit but I’m not afriad to say I’m scared. I looked

@call_me_inga
..into the pitiless face of Death, then calmly applied my eye liner. If I had a date with Destiny,I was going to look damn fine

@BI_Blogfic
“Delaying the inevitable?” he called. “Why draw it out?” I turned, tossing the eyeliner after the folder. “A moment of weakness?”

@XavBlancmange
He looked pointedly at the No Litter sign, ‘Can’t you use the bin like everyone else ?’ but didn’t wait for an answer

@DorotheeLang
Kneeling down, he picked the envelope out of the water and opened it again for me. “Do you really think you could…”

@MirandaHqv
..hide by destroying the letter? I’ll never give up my hunt for the Messenger. Now read it out loud and tell me…

@manickmanda
what you know in your heart. That you will. You have to. You’re a chosen one without any choice. She sighed & started to read ..

@madlendavies
..but the writing was blurred, the black ink flashing red. What was happening to her eyes? What language was this?

@laurabesley
She didn’t know what to do. The tears in her eyes were blurring the words and her eyeliner. She…

@f_sd
took a hit from a flask she kept hidden in her purse. Hard stuff. Tasted like nail varnish but it was going to do the job.

@hennabutt
Then it was time to go. She jumped behind the wheel of the waiting car & put her foot down leaving the crashing waves behind

@call_me_inga
Fire in her belly, rage in her heart but cold her resolve to end this tonight.

@AnuNande
She tried to steady her shaking hands but only succeeded in gripping the steering wheel tighter. There was no turning back.

@braket3
#litrostory And on to the next opposition, the tired #twitstory. Under mercury sky she smelt victory, the car pulling the horizon closer…

@ormiga
it was a dark and stormy night…

@call_me_inga
She roared into the gravelled lot& slammed to a stop. Under the flashing neon, she felt for the switch blade in her garter

@MarianneCronin
He’d called it ‘A tyre for No. 30’, but there was no No. 30 on her street. She pulled the box from the boot, and cut it open…

@kiwirebecca
inside was a note ‘If not for your father, for your son’ it said, signed by him. She pulled the blade, and headed for the light.

(This page is not a live update – check the #litrostory hashtag on Twitter to get the latest lines and add your own.)

#litrostory rules

  • To take part, you just have to add the next line. Check out the Twitter hashtag #litrostory to read the story so far, and add your line, using the same hashtag at the end. You’ll have to be quick, or someone else might get there first!
  • You can take the story in any direction you want to, but remember that the aim is to end up with something readable, so please consider the next contributor before going too crazy.
  • You can add as many lines as you want to the story, but not consecutively. Please wait for someone else to add another before you add again.