Saturday, 10 June 2017

Communal Book Project aka Write a Book With Me!

Hello peeps and peepettes!

If, like me, you love summer and feel full of the joys of the sun, you might like to undertake a new project with me, just for fun. (Disclaimer: for those of you in the southern hemisphere, I'm sorry. Good luck with your descent into winter. And yes, you can still play!)

So, calling all writers, young or less young, experienced or less experienced, published or less published!

I'd like to launch a game on my blog to write a story with YOUR contribution. The rules are thus:

1. Read Part One below and let me know if you want in!

2. Each participant will contribute a section to the story, anything from 300 to 1000 words.

3. You will have to wait until the person before you completes and posts their section, so each contribution runs on from the previous in a way that makes at least a little bit of sense.

4. Other than that, no rules! Write however you like, develop the story in whatever way you see fit, and let's see where this goes! Oh, and keep it clean please. This is a PG blog. Thanks for understanding.

DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING!


Lord Logenburt and the Knock at the Door
Part One by AJ Watt

Midnight. 

The grandfather’s clock chimed the first stroke of the hour in the elegant hallway. Lord Frederic Logenburt sat in his study in a high-backed leather armchair and listened to time. As always, it passed with the same deliberate slowness, taunting the lonely. Each chime seemed to last minutes, each intermittent silence even longer. He lifted the tumbler to his mouth, and tipped back the last of his whiskey. The half-melted ice wet his thick moustache and the liquor slipped down his throat. 

On the fourth chime, Frederic placed his glass on the spindly side table. On the fifth, he eased himself out of his chair with a telltale stiffness that betrayed long-term idleness. On the sixth, he glanced at the array of photographs on the recently polished sideboard. On the seventh, he walked the length of the spacious room, and, on the eighth, opened the door. The ninth saw him cross the hallway, the clock now chiming only a foot from his right ear. On the tenth, he placed a large hand on the staircase banister, and set his foot on the first step. By the eleventh, he was five steps up the wide staircase, painfully aware that tomorrow would herald just as much excitement as the today, namely, none. 

The twelfth chime rang out, and Frederic paused for a second on the staircase. The clock fell silent, like the rest of the house. He supposed there was noise in the kitchen. Even his dull and dutiful servants couldn’t clean up in complete silence. But it was so far away, with three closed doors between them, that he wouldn’t know if they were in there dancing the can-can. Frederic sighed.

Then, at the exact moment that the thirteenth stroke would have chimed, had there been a thirteenth stroke, a loud knock sounded on the door below him. Frederic froze. It had been years since a knock had sounded at any time of the night, and he suspected it never had at midnight. His ancestors had been an even duller bunch than himself. 

As if by magic, his butler Tubs appeared at the foot of the stairs, and headed swiftly for the door. 

‘Tubs,’ Frederic called out sharply. ‘I’ll get it myself tonight.’ 

Tubs swung around and almost lost his balance. His eyes bulged for a moment, before he blinked and restored them to their usual state of placidity. ‘Yes indeed, sir,’ he said with a slight bow. 

Frederic ran down the staircase, and passed Tubs, who waited with his hands behind his back. Frederic stopped. ‘You may go, Tubs,’ he announced, and waved a hand to emphasise the matter. 

‘Go, sir?’ Tubs repeated uncertainly, as if testing it out. 

‘Indeed,’ Frederic said. ‘Go. Retreat. Stand down. Disappear. I’ll see you in the morning.’ 

The knock sounded again. Tubs stared at Frederic and his lower jaw dropped half an inch. ‘Sir,’ he began. 

Frederic straightened up to remind Tubs just who was boss and felt some satisfaction at the embarrassment that crossed his butler’s face. He knew the man trained his staff to never refute a direct order. Tubs’ eyes dropped to the carpet and he bowed again. 

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, and walked stiffly away. 

Frederic waited for him to leave the hallway by means of one of the doorways, and for said door to close behind him. He didn’t know precisely why he was waiting, just that he wanted to do this by himself. Just for once. Something about the midnight hammering convinced him that adventure lay on the other side of his door, and adventure had Lord Logenburt’s name on it, not his aged greying butler’s. 

Once alone, he slid back the metal bolt, turned the key, and opened the door. 


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