There’s this fun game I played a couple of times (in Dutch). Let me explain:
A first writer starts a story and stops at exactly 250 words (might be in the middle of a sentence).
A second writer takes over and continues for another 250 words, then a third one and so on, until the tenth writer finishes the story in exactly 250 words. The final product is a short story of 2500 words, as the mathematicians amidst you already understood.
So there’s only four rules to the game:
1) You write exactly 250 words.
2) You do not alter what’s been written before (not even edit your own part afterwards). Just one exception: you add your (nick-)name to the ‘by’-line if you participate.
3) You only take one turn, so in the end there’s 10 different writers who participated.
4) The 10th writer finishes the story (again in exactly 250 words).
There is not one single further restriction.
Technically, I guess you can just quote what’s been written before and continue from there.
If we hit the jackpot, the story turns out a bestseller, translated into 73 languages, turned into a movie with 4 sequels, skyrocketing merchandising,… I guess we’ll just have to split up the rights :-)
Marc Haertjens and …
Fred had been toggling his fingertips on the table for fifteen minutes now, Eloise was painting her toenails - having finished her fingernails before Fred started toggling – and Bill was playing with his iPhone. They had been waiting for Sandy for over an hour.
Thursday night, 8:30 PM sharp was when their RISK-nights started, thus it had been since they initiated the routine two years back. It was 9:42 and Sandy was not there. The game board was all set up for four in the center of the table.
Of course you can play RISK with three players, but they didn’t even consider this possibility. It bordered the unthinkable, they had always been four.
Bill had just gone off to get some more beers from the fridge, when his mobile he had left on the table started performing the ‘Moonlight Sonata’. Fred picked it up and stared into Sandy’s smiling face. When he answered the phone, she did not sound as if she was smiling. Even Bill in the kitchen could hear her sobbing.
“I will never drive a Lexus again in my life,” Sandy was eventually able to put in between sobs. Her car had broken down while hurrying to join her friends – she was always afraid of being late. She got hold of her mechanic, who happened to be a friend too and who had reluctantly come over to have a look. There was nothing he could do: the board computer seemed to have gone crazy. He warned
“It’s the artist’s responsibility to balance mystical communication and the labor of creation.” Patti Smith, Just Kids