This is a creative writing experiment, shamelessly stolen from the Chopin Manuscript: a serialized story where each author writes a different chapter. The members of this blog are each writing their own chapter, and we’re calling ours the “Cakepan Manuscript”. This is our second story.

For this story we used a random plot generator, which gave us: “The story starts when your protagonist gets lost. Another character is an anesthesist who is researching something terrible.” You can start reading at Chapter One, and we posted a new chapter until now… the thrilling conclusion!

We hope you enjoy!

Chapter Six: Paging Dr. Winston

Image via Wikipedia

Terror was taking hold and the last thing Russ heard clearly was Tony saying, “Let’s get him out of here.”

Though the bag muffled the conversation that continued, Russ could still feel every bounce as he was wheeled down the hall and into the elevator.  He had never experienced the feeling of a muscle paralytic without an accompanying sedative and it made him feel helpless.  If they didn’t get him on a respirator soon, he realized, he would stop breathing. At least he would then be released from the prison his own mind and body had become, a consoling thought amidst the terror.

His thoughts turned to the last words that Alex Udo had said.  He had no recollection of having a wife, let alone a lovely one.  Miriam, Udo had called her, but thinking the name brought no specific memories, no matter how hard he tried.

Russ felt the elevator come to a stop and he mentally pictured the doors sliding open as he wondered excactly where they would be taking him.  Two sharp reports, clearly from a small caliber pistol cut through the muffle of the heavy bag.  That was sure to be noticed in a hospital, thought Russ, a thought that was cut short by a blinding light as the zippered opening parted and the face of Nurse Ratched swam into view.

“Let’s get him on ventilation, stat! And Tony, clean up this mess I’ve made,” she said.  “Mr., err Dr. Winston, everything is going to be just fine.  We’ll talk after the paralytic works its way through your system.  We’re going to sedate you now, I’m sure you’ll appreciate waiting things out in dreamland.”

It seemed like it was only seconds later that Russ was waking up, groggy but no longer paralyzed.  Through his hazy vision he saw Tony and Nurse Ratched talking at the foot of the bed, a very different room from the one on the fourteenth floor where he had started the day.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” said the nurse, noticing his fluttering eyelids. “You have had quite a day, I know.  First off, let me tell you that you are safe and sound.”

“What about…” Russ mumbled, still shaking off the effects of the sedative.

“Dr. Morrissette and Mr. Udo? Hmmm, they have had a most, shall we say, unfortunate accident,” said Tony, choosing his words carefully.  “And we have recovered all of your research notes as well.”

“Your amnesia was drug-induced Dr. Winston and now that you are no longer being given those drugs, you will be regaining your full faculties,” added Nurse Ratched.  “You have a lot of patients that require your expertise.  Thankfully, you did not join their ranks.”

“I am indeed starting to remember things, but tell me this, what about my wife… Miriam? Alex said she…”

“Oh, but Dr. Winston, you aren’t married.  Never have been.  Too engrossed in your work for… romantic pursuits,” offered the nurse, “no matter how eligible a bachelor you are.”

“Udo always was a sadistic little prick,” said Tony, “you shoulda fired him a long time ago but Maureen always talked you out of it.  I guess we’ll never know why.”

For this story we used a random plot generator, which gave us: “The story starts when your protagonist gets lost. Another character is an anesthesist who is researching something terrible.” You can start reading at Chapter One, and each week we will post a new chapter until we reach the thrilling conclusion!

We hope you enjoy!

Chapter Five: Meet Me in the Morgue

Image via Wikipedia

At that moment they heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and after a loud mechanical click, the double-doors swung open with a bang.

Russ held his breath, assuming it was Nurse Ratched coming to drag him back to that awful sterile room on the 14^th floor.

But to his surprise, in marched Maureen and Tony.  Her blue eyes were ablaze but she seemed to dismiss Russ and pointed the venom towards Udo.

“Why did you bring him here,” she asked.

“I wanted to see if any of this would jog his memory.  And, I think it has.  Isn’t that what you’ve been wanting, Dr. Morrissette, oh brilliant one?”

“You’ve stepped out of the protocol.  I never should have let you into this.  You can’t be trusted with a live body.”  She frowned and then said, “Tony, get Dr. Winston.”

“Wait a minute,” Russ said.  He turned to Udo, “What the hell is going on?  These are specimens with eviscerated brain tissue and nobody seems to notice?”  The words jumped out before Russ fully understood and then a strong memory of anger and fear gripped him.

“I don’t know exactly what’s happened here, wait, you just called me doctor.”   Russ looked around the room again, sensing he knew what was stored in the stainless steel cabinets and drawers opposite the temporary storage units for the corpses.

“See what you’ve done?”  Maureen glared at Udo.

“Face it, the experiment is a flop, Mo.  Or don’t you notice the shrunken heads on the slabs, like Dr. Winston said.”

“That’s not the point.  Autopsies weren’t supposed to be done here,” she countered but with less confidence.

“That’s what you do in a morgue, isn’t it?” Russ asked, drawn into the discussion.  He forgot any concern for his own welfare because their argument had a familiar pull, and he felt he had a side in it, but they ignored him.

Tony rose onto his toes, and moved to look through the hazy windows on the electronic doors.  “We need to do it now,” he said and then he moved swiftly to Russ’s side, pinning his arms down.  Without saying anything, Udo held Russ’s hand firmly while Maureen pulled a vial from her pocket and expertly inserted the needle into a vein in the crook of Russ’s elbow.

Everyone stepped away from Russ and they talked as though he wasn’t in the room.  He felt a tingling move down to his hand. He flexed his fingers but not one budged.  He tried to walk but his legs gave way and he slumped into Tony’s arms.  His eyes were open but he couldn’t move.   It was then he realized she’d injected a paralytic.  Pancuronium, most likely.  She was an anesthetist after all.  How did he know that?

Maureen glanced at Tony, saying “Get a bag.  We’ll take him out on wheels.”  She looked at her wristwatch.   “He’ll need to be on a respirator soon.”

“Maureen, you’re crossing the line now, you know that don’t you?”  Udo said rather casually.

“He’s terminal.  Look how sallow he is.  We’ll wait it out, and he’ll never remember a thing,” she answered with complacency in her voice.

“And they claim we’re the heartless bunch,” Udo said, grunting as he helped Tony lift Russ up onto a gurney with a familiar item lying on top, the black zippered body bag.

Russ wondered how many times he’d been on the other side of a loaded bag looking in?

Udo laughed, and hung his thin grizzled face directly over Russ while Tony wrangled Russ’s legs into the bottom part of the bag.  Udo  talked while he shoved Russ’s shoulders and arms inside, shifting Russ’s head so the zipper was like a curtain half covering his face.

“Hey, Dr. Russell Winston the third,” Udo said, chuckling, “I wouldn’t want you to leave without knowing that your lovely wife, Miriam, has been having a ball since you’ve been holed up with the other droolers on fourteen.  She’s been having a grand old time with her young dance instructor.  As a matter of fact, when they called to tell her you’d taken a turn for the worse thanks to Dr. Mo’s experiments, Miriam was on a cruise in the Mediterranean.  She’s been pretty darn scarce around these parts if you know what I mean.”

“Knock it off,” Tony said.

The sound of the zipper closing was quickly followed by total darkness.  Terror was taking hold and the last thing Russ heard clearly was Tony saying, “Let’s get him out of here.”

(Continued in Chapter Six)

This is a creative writing experiment, shamelessly stolen from the Chopin Manuscript: a serialized story where each author writes a different chapter. The members of this blog are each writing their own chapter, and we’re calling ours the “Cakepan Manuscript”. This is our second story.

For this story we used a random plot generator, which gave us: “The story starts when your protagonist gets lost. Another character is an anesthesist who is researching something terrible.” You can start reading at Chapter One, and each week we will post a new chapter until we reach the thrilling conclusion!

We hope you enjoy!

Chapter Four: Going Down

Image via Wikipedia

“Where are we going?” Russ asked.

“The Morgue.”

The ride down to the basement was a quick one, and Russ noticed that there were twenty buttons marked on the elevator control panel in addition to those marked R and B. Russ felt his stomach rise as they neared the bottom, and when they stopped, the elevator doors opened onto a long, narrow corridor.

They hurried down the hallway and rounded a corner to another secured door. Again, Udo swiped his card across the electric card reader and a set of double doors swung open into a large room filled with metal tables. Three of the tables had corpses on them in various stages of dismemberment.

“I hope you’re not squeamish,” said Udo. Strangely enough, Russ felt oddly at ease amid this gore. He walked over and looked into a stainless steel tray filled with organs: a heart, a pair of lungs, a gall bladder, and a severely damaged liver. “This guy was a boozer,” thought Russ, and he could see from the dissected lymph nodes lying next to the fellow’s open chest cavity that this patient had developed a virulent form of cancer. But how did he know that?

“Check this out,” said Udo as he pulled back the skin on top of the patient’s skull. The frontal bones had already been sawed away to reveal the brain. Yet this was a specimen unlike anything Russ had ever seen before.

“Good God,” said Russ. Instead of a normal-looking brain with its curled and spongy tissue, this brain appeared mutilated—even dissolved. “It looks like someone poured acid into his head.”

“And he’s not the only one,” said Udo as he walked over to the next table and peeled back the face of an old woman. Again, the skull had already been sawed open to reveal the brain tissue, and again, the tissue was pocked with gaping holes like the surface of Swiss cheese.

“What the hell would do something like this?” asked Russ. “Is it viral? No. Bacterial? Maybe. Chemical? Yeah…that could be it. Give me the autopsy reports.”

Udo did as commanded, and Russ skimmed through the details of the medical histories, processing the patients’ previous health conditions, surgeries, prescription medications and dosages—all with a mental dexterity that both baffled and frightened Russ. “Why on earth do I know all this?” he thought. “How is it that I can’t remember where I live or who my family is, but I can look at a cadaver or a medical chart and tell with one glance what killed the poor sucker?” Still, Russ felt some comfort in being able to focus on something and find at least a vague semblance of clarity.

“Are there others?” Russ barked. “Others with brains like this?”

“These two, plus five more that were shipped out last week,” said Udo.

“To be cremated, I presume?”

“Exactly,” said Udo. “They don’t appear to share any pathologies. Drinking killed this one, that woman died of heart failure.”

“What about the others. Any surgeries? Travel outside the country?”

“One had a knee replacement, another a facelift twenty years ago. Ordinary stuff. They all died of the usual geriatric conditions. The only thing they really had in common is that they were all patients here.”

“What kind of patients?”

“Alzheimer’s.”

“These brains don’t show any signs of Alzheimer’s.”

“No, but they all came from the 14th floor.”

This revelation stopped Russ cold. “The 14th?”

“Yep, that’s the Alzheimer’s ward. And there’s one other thing I’ve noticed. They’ve all got a mark at the base of their skulls—just left of the vertebrae. Come look.” Udo lifted the woman’s shoulder so that Russ could see the back of her head. There it was: a tiny blue dot, no larger than a bug bite.

Instinctively, Russ felt the back of his neck and noticed a tender spot. “Do I?” he asked.

“Let’s take a look,” replied Udo.

At that moment, they heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and after a loud mechanical click, the double-doors swung open with a bang.

(Continued in Chapter Five)

This is a creative writing experiment, shamelessly stolen from the Chopin Manuscript: a serialized story where each author writes a different chapter. The members of this blog are each writing their own chapter, and we’re calling ours the “Cakepan Manuscript”. This is our second story.

For this story we used a random plot generator, which gave us: “The story starts when your protagonist gets lost. Another character is an anesthesist who is researching something terrible.” You can start reading at Chapter One, and each week we will post a new chapter until we reach the thrilling conclusion!

We hope you enjoy!

Chapter Three: 2 by 2

Image via Wikipedia

“Who sent you? Who told you to pretend to be my daughter?” he asked.

Maureen looked at him squarely with those big, blue, unwavering eyes of hers.

“You did,” she said.

Russ backed up and shook his head, trying to force his brain to start working, force the pieces together.  Tony had his hand on the metal bar of the door and he kept licking his lips.

“Me?” Russ said.  “Why would I do that?”

“You knew you would be sent here.  You asked me to get you out.”

“We don’t have time for this, Maureen,” Tony said.  He took a step toward Russ who kept backing up.

“Tony, no!” she said but those big blue eyes never left Russ’s.  He jerked his head away from that unwavering gaze and Tony was there, reaching out for him.  Fear shot through Russ’s body like a shock from a live wire.  In that moment the thought of that grasping hand touching him was the most terrifying thing he could imagine.  He tried to swat it away but couldn’t bring himself to touch it.  Instead he lurched back and turned to run.

Russ collided with a brick wall in green scrubs.  He rebounded and would have fallen but huge hands steadied him.  They didn’t let go.  Russ looked up and up into the broad face of an orderly.  The face split in what was supposed to be a smile and Russ shrank back as far as the hands would allow.

“I thought I told you to stay put, Mr. Winston?”  It was Nurse Ratched and her tone was light but her eyes were hard.  “Who were you talking to?”

Russ turned but the hall was empty and the door to the parking garage was just clicking shut.

“My daughter,” Russ said.

“Mr. Winston you don’t have a daughter.”

“Yes.  Her name is Maureen.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“I’m not.  I’m…”

The hands that had steadied Russ now squeezed.  The movement was slight but the pain was considerable.  He had no doubt the brick wall could break him in two with very little effort.

“I’m…confused.”

“That’s alright Mr. Winston.  Let’s get you back to your room.”

The huge hands stayed on him to the elevator and all the way up.  Russ watched carefully and saw they got off on the 14^th floor.  Nurse Ratched dismissed the orderly at the elevator and walked Russ down the hallway.  Back to the goddamned room.

“Let’s get you back into a gown, Mr. Winston.”

“Okay,” Russ said and started to tug at his shirt.  “I’m sorry I’m such a bother.”

Russ groaned and put his hands on his stomach.  He swayed and bent double.

“I think I’m going to vomit,” he said.  “Could you get the bathroom door?”

Nurse Ratched rushed to the door and opened it.  Russ waddled over still bent and as he passed the nurse he started to fall.  She reached out to steady him and Russ straightened quickly and put all his weight behind his fist as he punched Ratched in the gut.  She folded over and Russ brought the edge of his hand down at the base of her skull.  He pushed her into the bathroom where she lay dazed and groaning.  Russ shut the door and wedged a chair under the handle before fleeing this damn room.

He made his way to the elevators and hit the button but the car was taking too long.  He found the door to the stairs and ducked in.  Russ looked down the stairwell, then up.  He needed time to think and they’d be watching for him to try and get out.  Instead of going down Russ started climbing and kept climbing until he ran out of stairs.  There was a metal door that was being held open with a brick and Russ could see the roof.  He stepped through the door and started to look around.

“Patients aren’t supposed to be up here.”

Russ jumped for the voice was right next to him.  A skinny man in scrubs was perched on a piece of ductwork smoking a cigarette.  His hair was slicked back and he was unshaven.

“How do you know I’m a patient?”

The man pointed with his cigarette.

“You’ll never get away from them while you’re still wearing that.”

Russ looked where he pointed and held up his wrist.  He still had the plastic ID bracelet on.

“What makes you think I’m trying to get away from anybody?”

“Spare me old man,” the skinny man said.  “It’s written all over your face.  Did they come for you?  A pair of them pretending to be someone you know.  They always come in twos.”

“Who does?”  Russ pulled at the bracelet but couldn’t get it off.

“Well I don’t really know but I’ve been trying to find out.”  He walked over to Russ and took his hand.  He pulled out a pair of medic’s scissors and cut off the ID band.  “Russell Winston.  Huh.”

“Who the hell are you?”  Russ said.  He rubbed his wrist as if the bracelet had galled him.

“Alex Udo,” the skinny man said.  “I work here.  But I don’t work for them.”

“If you know something why don’t you just spit it out?”

“Like I said I don’t know.  Not for sure,” Udo said.  He threw down his smoke and stamped it out.  “But I think I just got a big piece of the puzzle.  Come with me.  There’s something you should see.”

Udo walked off and Russ followed.  Udo crossed a helipad (Russ wondered where the helicopter was) to a pair of doors to a large elevator.  Instead of a call button there was an electric card reader.  Udo swiped a card and the doors opened immediately.  They got in and Udo had to swipe his card again below the floor buttons.  He pressed one marked B and the doors closed.  The elevator began to drop smoothly and quickly.

“Where are we going?” Russ said.

“The morgue.”

(Continued in Chapter Four)

This is a creative writing experiment, shamelessly stolen from the Chopin Manuscript: a serialized story where each author writes a different chapter. The members of this blog are each writing their own chapter, and we’re calling ours the “Cakepan Manuscript”. This is our second story.

For this story we used a random plot generator, which gave us: “The story starts when your protagonist gets lost. Another character is an anesthesist who is researching something terrible.” You can start reading at Chapter One, and each week we will post a new chapter until we reach the thrilling conclusion!

We hope you enjoy!

Chapter Two: Puzzle Pieces

Image via Wikipedia

“Damn. What do they want with me? How do I get the hell out of here?” Russ pressed his head to the window and let out a sob.

Russ walked into his small bathroom. Everything was spaced far apart to accommodate wheelchairs or multiple attendants. Also cold and hard so anything unpleasant could be easily sanitized away. He hated it.

He looked into the mirror, and a familiar stranger looked back. He knew all the wrinkles on his face, and his name, but big pieces of himself were gone. No, more like the pieces were there, just all jumbled up. Like a jigsaw puzzle dumped out of the box.

He tugged at his face, mugging into the mirror, hoping to knock a few more pieces into place. Nothing.

He heard the door open out in his room and peeked out. He expected Nurse Ratched’s assistant but instead a slender young woman in jeans and a t-shirt was already in the room, and a slightly paunchy, grim looking fellow trailed in. Both looked surprised at the empty room.

Russ knew them. He thought he was happy to see them, but couldn’t put his finger quite on why. A piece snapped into place and he stepped out into the room.

“Dad!” the woman exclaimed, rushing over to him. She looked as if she might hug him, but stopped short when he flinched. “Are you okay?”

“Russ!” said the paunchy man. “Had us concerned there. Thought you checked out or something.” The paunchy man didn’t seem any less concerned as he shut the door behind him.

Russ shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m still having some trouble remembering things. I’m not even sure…” he trailed off, suddenly unsure what to say.

The woman looked at him a little sadly. She had huge, blue eyes, and they never wavered when she looked at something, never flitted around the room like most people’s. Russ liked that. Her name was Maureen, he remembered.

Maureen put her hand on his arm. “It’s okay, Dad. We’re here to take you home. It’ll be okay.” She smiled.

The man nodded, but didn’t say anything. Maureen looked at him. “Tony, the bag?”

Tony gave a small jump. “Oh, right, sorry!” He held out a plastic bag towards Russ. “We brought these. Figured you’d be dressed, you know, like that.”

Russ took the bag, the outline of shoes straining clearly through the bag’s edge.

“Thanks,” he said, trying to smile. “Um… I’ll be right back.” Russ backed into the bathroom, not wanting to expose his butt to anyone else today, and closed the door. As he changed he heard Maureen and Tony whispering to each other. Arguing? He couldn’t be sure.

The clothes fit him well, khaki pants and a soft yellow Polo, but he couldn’t remember ever wearing them before. He felt through the pockets, hoping to find a wallet, but they were empty.

Maureen was alone when Russ emerged. “Tony went to get the elevator,” she explained. “We’re running late.”

“Late for what?” Russ asked, but she didn’t reply. She stuck her head out into the hallway, looked around, then walked away quickly. Russ frowned, but followed.

No one seemed to notice them as they rode the elevator down the ground floor, and while Tony fidgeted neither he nor Maureen said anything on the way down. Russ kept studying them both. Something nagged at him, still not quite right. He almost had it…

The elevator binged open on the ground floor and Maureen took Russ’ hand to lead him out. He resisted, but she smiled and pulled at his hand. “The parking garage is right down here. We brought my car,” she explained. He followed her.

Tony’s phone chirped and he looked at the screen. “Dammit,” he muttered. “We need to hurry,” he added, tucking his phone back into his pants.

They reached the connecting door into parking garage when Russ stopped, dislodging Maureen’s hand.

Tony groaned and licked his lips. “Come ON,” he said. “We don’t have time for this!”

“What is it?” Maureen asked, pulling at Russ’ hand again.

Russ nodded to himself. “You’re not my daughter,” he said, stepping back. Maureen frowned.

“I knew it,” exclaimed Tony, throwing up his hands in frustration.

“I know you, but you’re not my daughter. Someone put you up to this, didn’t they?” Russ asked, backing up a little more. He was back in the hospital hallway now.

Maureen reached for Russ’ hand but he snatched it away.

“Look, you need to come with us, okay? You need to trust me,” she said, her voice firm.

Tony looked past them, down the hallway, and his eyes grew large with alarm. “We’ve got to go! Now!”

Russ didn’t want to stay, but was unsure of so much today he couldn’t let go of the one thing he was getting control of. “Who sent you? Who told you to pretend to be my daughter?” he asked.

Maureen looked at him squarely with those big, blue, unwavering eyes of hers.

“You did,” she said.

(Continued in Chapter Three)

This is a creative writing experiment, shamelessly stolen from the Chopin Manuscript: a serialized story where each author writes a different chapter. The members of this blog are each writing their own chapter, and we’re calling ours the “Cakepan Manuscript”. This is our second story.

For this story we used a random plot generator, which gave us: “The story starts when your protagonist gets lost. Another character is an anesthesist who is researching something terrible.” Each week we will post a new chapter until we reach the thrilling conclusion!

We hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: No Way Home

Image via Wikipedia

The hospital smell churned his stomach as he swung his legs to the floor and yanked needles from both arms. Tubes dangled and the medicine inside sloshed. Another wave of nausea was hitting; he had to get out of the room. He needed air. He needed it now.

Russ Winston ambled down the hall, feet bare and saggy tush exposed. He ducked behind a vending machine just in time to miss two nurses padding down the hall in squeaky shoes. At least he could hear them coming. The newly waxed floor and white sneaker tread made sure of that. He felt a chill. No wonder. His hands wrapped behind him as he attempted to close the vent that is the bane of all hospital patients.

He wasn’t sure where he was. A hospital obviously, but that was all he remembered about his location. The ambulance trip was a blur and the medicine they had given him earlier in the day made his mind foggy. He didn’t like the feeling. At seventy-three years old his mind was already showing signs of slowing down. The medicine didn’t help. All he knew was that he had to escape. He had to leave. He wasn’t even sure why they had brought him here or what they planned on doing to him. That scared him more than anything. It was time for him to move on. If only he could find the damn exit.

He continued to wander what he thought might be the sixth floor, occasionally dodging a nurse or a visitor or two. “Don’t any damn doctors work here?” He wondered. “I can’t believe that I haven’t seen a doctor yet. So much for quality care! Maybe I have. Maybe he did come to visit me. Maybe I just don’t remember. Getting old stinks.” He continued to try and organize his thoughts as he moved about an empty hallway. Looking up he saw the door to the stairwell. Just at that moment a familiar face rounded the corner. So caught up in his own thoughts he hadn’t heard the approach of what turned out to be the nurse assigned to him. “Mr. Winston, what are you doing out of bed? And look at your arms! Did you tear out the IV? Let’s get you back to your room.” Russ considered making a run for it but opted instead to grab the flaps of his gown so as not to expose himself anymore to Nurse Ratched, as he called her.

His eyes darted to and fro as he desperately looked for a means of escape. He didn’t know exactly where he was, but if he could get outside he might have a chance to make it home. The door to the stairwell got further and further away. The nurse talked on and on in what she thought was a soothing tone. It grated on his nerves.

A couple of turned corners led them back to his room, his nauseatingly sterile and stark room. No one had sent him flowers. No one even knew he was in the hospital. Hell, no one cared. Suddenly, as Nurse Ratched settled him back in his bed, alarm bells sounded in the hall. A pale, red-haired man poked his head into the room, “All hands on deck, Leslie! Trauma Team is bringing in fifteen to twenty severely injured. They are pulling up to the ER doors now. We are short-staffed today so we need you downstairs pronto.” Leslie tucked the covers tightly around Russ, “Now stay put, Russ. I’m going to go get one of the medical assistants to hook up your IV again. Be a good guy for me and don’t wander again!” She patted his arm and left the room, quickly following behind the red-haired man.

Russ was still for a moment taking it all in. “Alone again,” he thought. “Wish I knew the way home.” He wiggled out of the swaddle of blankets in which Leslie had bound him and went to the curtained window. A peek outside told him he was not on the sixth floor, but much higher up. “Damn. What do they want with me? How do I get the hell out of here?” Russ pressed his head to the window and let out a sob.

(Continued in Chapter Two)

Image by Bill HR via Flickr

Most of the writers on this blog belong to a writing group that meets twice a month in the Phoenix area. Several weeks ago we decided to try a little project and each write a chapter of a new story as a collaboration. We thought it would be an education for us, and interesting for people reading the blog. We really had no idea how it would go, but there was one way to find out.

Everyone in the group has wildly different styles and backgrounds, and we all work on different types of writing. Some work on screenplays, others on poetry. We have both a pulp fiction western and a female centered romance novel currently underway. Trying to work together on a single project would be like making a salad from every item in your refrigerator: a little scary.

This is our thoughts on how it went. If you haven’t read it yet, go to the first chapter and catch up. Here is our thoughts, in the order we wrote.

We would love your input on what you liked and where we could improve next time around.

What Worked

Jeff Moriarty (Chapter One)
I loved the different styles and what they brought.
I liked that I had no idea where the story was going, even though I helped start it off.
Our different views added ideas I never would have come up with on my own.

Barbara McAllister (Chapter Two)
I enjoyed building on the ideas of others while at the same time having the freedom to take the story in any direction of choice
I loved reading the different styles. Knowing the group for an extended period of time, it was natural to guess where each of us would take the story.

Rose (Chapter Three)
Taking on a different POV which allowed me to show the presumed protagonist in an entirely new light.
Seeing how the plot was developed after doing your part was interesting, because the subsequent writers can take a very minor point and move the story in a whole different direction that never would have occurred to me.

Scott Shields (Chapter Four)
I knew going into the project that all of the members of our writing group had distinct writing styles, but to see them side by side made me appreciate each writer’s unique voice that much more.
I also thought it was fun to see how the story evolved from chapter to chapter.

Tim Giron (Chapter Five)
The different styles made it interesting to read, both before and after my contribution.
The discussions around the process during the writing meetings.
Everyone stayed committed to the deadline.

M. Jaynes (Chapter Six)
I too liked the blend of different styles. Each chapter brought a new, fresh perspective.
I also liked that many used the last line of the chapter before to begin the next chapter.
I like that we didn’t lose the blind date storyline completely.

Eric Bahle (Chapter Seven)
Firstly it was just fun to try something new and it’s always interesting to see how different writers come at the same project.  It’s an interesting storytelling concept and I enjoyed wondering where this one would go.  Knowing you would contribute made reading the other chapters weirdly visceral.  Like different people taking turns driving without bothering to stop the car.

What Could Improve

Jeff Moriarty
It was so free-form that it lacked some cohesion and was tough to read all the way through.
Some items changed from person to person (wine store to grocery store to bodega) which was confusing.
Huge range in the size of chapters, from very small to pretty big.

Barbara McAllister
Establish a word count goal for consistency
Agree on just 2 or 3 things that must stay with the story

Rose
The change from 3rd person point of view to 1st person point of view was jarring for the readers.

Scott Shields
The chapter lengths could be more consistent.  Likewise, the POV should be either first or third person, but not both.

Tim Giron
A few more rules so that the expectation for each writer is better defined.

M. Jaynes
I think establishing some ground rules such as word count (ironic coming from me since I wrote the shortest chapter) and using the chapter’s last line as the first line in the next post will help with consistency. Maintaining a consistent voice was a struggle.

Eric Bahle
It seems obvious now but we needed way more rules.  The rapid POV changes, tone changes, and length differences made for some jarring chapter transitions.

What Surprised You

Jeff Moriarty
Where some of the characters went, and how others interpreted them from what I wrote.
The blend of all this being one story, but still having each chapter be incredibly different.

Barbara McAllister
Bringing in of new characters. For some reason, I thought we’d stick with just the few we started with.
The excitement around not knowing what would be next. Very engaging.

Rose
How much fun it was!
It was another example of how much a reader brings to a story.

Scott Shields
I was surprised to see what happened with the characters.  When Rose added the gangster element in Chapter 3, I envisioned the story progressing from a simple armed robbery to a “Gangs of New York” type finale.  And I certainly loved Eric’s twist ending.

Tim Giron
How much fun it was anticipating where things were going before I took my turn at the helm.
The twists, turns and jolts that each chapter added to the overall story.
That we immediately wanted to do another one!

M. Jaynes
What surprised me was how much fun it was! There was a sense of anticipation as each person posted their chapter. Each chapter was a bit of a jolt since the story often did not go where I expected it to, but I think that may have been a good thing. I am looking forward to doing it again to see what I learn about myself as a writer. It is a great creative exercise!

Eric Bahle
Every damn chapter including my own.  Actually I was surprised that depite the chapters being so different it ended up hanging together as a story.  I definitely think it’s worth a second attempt.

What’s Next…

We’re going to try it again. We have a few new rules to help us stay more consistent, like a word count, keeping the same perspective, and a few other things.

We hope you’ll keep reading!

Image by mrjoro via Flickr

Dietrich’s borrowed clothes were too constricting for cooking. He needed to keep his whisk moving in the saucepan. He thought the whole outfit was hideous, but agreeing with Terrence and putting it on was the quickest and easiest way to get him out of the apartment and start dinner. As it was he would probably still be cooking when his date arrived even if she was fashionably late.

Dietrich took off the jacket and threw it at the back of a chair, pushed up the sleeves of his shirt. That was better and he started to get into the rhythm of cooking, letting the familiar movements take his mind off the bodega debacle. He was disappointed in young Zach. Dietrich knew the kid faced challenges but he had expected better than what he’d seen in the store. Lesson learned.

Dietrich laid aside the whisk and took up a sharp knife. He had fresh herbs from his window box and he laid them out on a cutting board. Before he could start chopping though the doorbell rang. He glanced at the clock but it was still a bit early for his date. Dietrich started for the door then stopped. He still had the knife in his hand. He didn’t think anyone had followed him from the bodega and he doubted the cops could track him at all let alone this quickly. Unless they got to Zach before Benny and his boys. He decided to use the peephole this time.

The person in the hall was a woman with her back turned to the door. All Dietrich could see was a mass of platinum blond hair. Terrence had said Kelly was a blond so he unlocked the door and opened it. She turned and Dietrich could tell she was scared even though her eyes were concealed by oversized sunglasses. The girl from the getaway car.

“Shit!”

Dietrich started to close the door but a foot shot out and kicked it open. Zach had been hiding beside the door away from the peephole. Now he shoved Dietrich back and barged in with his gun pointed in Dietrich’s face.

“Yeah guess who motherfucker?” Zach was trying to sound triumphant but it came off as shrill. His face was still bloody from Benny’s boys.  “Drop the knife!”

“Zach,” Dietrich said. He did not drop the knife. “How did you get away from the mob?”

“When the cops showed everybody scattered. I ran and had my girl come get me.”

“Huh. Sounds like the only thing you got right today,” Dietrich said. “Why did you come here and more importantly, how did you find me?”

“Your phone dumbass!” Zach held it up and waved it. “It’s got Mapquest directions from here to Benny’s.”

“Wait,” said the girl, “you got that phone from Holfinger?”

“Yeah I took it from him in the store so the cops couldn’t trace mine.”

“Well you took one of my phones,” Dietrich said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out another one which he waved in mockery of Zach. “And you can leave it with me before you go.”

“We’re not going anywhere Holefucker.”

“Holefucker,” Dietrich said and laughed. “I like that one better than Dickface. And it’s more accurate. Of course your girl would know that better than you. Right Ashlee?”

“You recognized me?” Ashlee said and pulled off the sunglasses.

“Of course dear. The disguise was a good idea but you didn’t hide your talented mouth.”

“Babe,” Zach lowered the gun and phone and looked at the girl. “What’s he talking about?”

“Why do you think I got fired Zach? For letting you morons play video games?”

Zach looked back and forth from Dietrich to Ashlee. “Babe?” he said in a small voice and Ashlee just shrugged.

“Oh, you’re dead asshole,” Zach raised the gun again and Ashlee grabbed his arm.

“Zach no! You don’t know—” Zach shook her off.

“I’m gonna blow your head off!”

“I kinda doubt it,” Dietrich said and gestured with the knife at Zach’s tattooed chest. “For one thing this isn’t Grand Crimezone. For another I explicitly told Johnny V to give you an unloaded gun.”

“How the hell do you know Johnny V?”

“Zach let’s get out of here,” said Ashlee. “It’s his phone.”

“Who’s phone?”

“When you called me from the store the number came up as Victor Tomasso.”

“But I called you with Holefucker’s phone.”

Dietrich and Ashlee waited while Zach looked from one to the other, then from the empty gun to the cell phone in Dietrich’s hand to the one in his own. Finally it clicked and Dietrich was pleased at the look of fear when Zach met his eyes.

“Dunh dunh duhhn!” Dietrich waved the knife with a theatrical flourish.

“You’re Tomasso?” Zach stammered. “But how did…it’s not…why?”

“Oh, please,” Dietrich said. “Do you have any idea what an art teacher makes?”

“I’ll tell!” Zach screamed. “I’ll go to the cops!”

“And tell them what? Your art teacher is also a gangster?”

“Yeah but the store—”

“The store you tried to rob? Where you pointed a gun at the gangster and he pissed his pants? I don’t think they’ll buy it. Lucky thing I had to go.”

“Zach let’s go,” Ashlee was backing out the door.

“Yes Zach go,” Dietrich said and advanced with the knife. “Keep the gun but leave my phone.”

Zach did as instructed and Dietrich followed and stood in the hall. He watched them go down the hall toward the elevator.

“Take the stairs,” he called as Ashlee reached for the button. “I’m expecting a date and I wouldn’t want your appearance to upset her.”

Zach and Ashlee disappeared and Dietrich heard the door to the stairway open and shut. The elevator doors opened at the same instant and an attractive blond woman stepped out. She stopped when she saw Dietrich’s knife. Dietrich plastered on a bland smile.

“You must be Kelly,” he said. “I’m Dietrich. I’m just making dinner.”

“Hi,” said Kelly and came to meet him. She handed him a bottle. “I brought some wine.”

“Woodland Syrah,” Dietrich said and fingered the woodcut on the label. “It’s perfect.”

~ The End ~

This is a creative writing experiment, shamelessly stolen from the Chopin Manuscript: a serialized story where each author writes a different chapter. The members of this blog are each writing their own chapter, and we’re calling ours the “Cakepan Manuscript”.

You can start reading at Chapter One, which began with the premise: “An unemployed teacher, in a wine store, runs into a former student.” Each week we will post a new chapter until we reach the thrilling conclusion!

We hope you enjoy!

Chapter Six: Chapped and Trapped

Image by srice13 via Flickr

The insistent knocking continued. Dietrich looked at the door hesitantly, the dampness of his pants had irritated his thighs and though he had taken the wet pants off, the chapped skin glowed red under a fresh pair of boxers. No time to put on pants. The person at the door meant business.

If someone had somehow followed him from the store, he would rather deal with it sooner than later. As he moved toward the continuous knocking, he instinctively grabbed the small statue sitting on the table next to the door. Rodin’s “The Thinker” in miniature. Well, he would crack someone’s skull with it if necessary. Pee rash or no pee rash, Dietrich was a man fed up with being pushed around. He was NOT to be fucked with. Not anymore.

Without glancing through the peephole, Dietrich tore open the door brandishing the statue. He blindly took a swing and heard a meaty thud.

“Jesus D! What the hell!” Terrence stepped back grabbing his arm, a garment bag held up in front of his face in a defensive position. The Rodin statue plunged to the floor and shattered. Dietrich reeled back and shook his head. Adrenaline pumped in his veins making his breath come quickly and vision tunnel.

“My God, Terrence! I am so sorry. What are you doing here?” His brother continued to rub the spot on his arm where the statue had connected, “I brought some clothes by for your blind date. Thought you could use some hipster duds.” Terrence glanced down at his brother’s Van Gogh boxers and his chapped thighs, “I see I am just in time.”

(Read on to the thrilling conclusion…)

This is a creative writing experiment, shamelessly stolen from the Chopin Manuscript: a serialized story where each author writes a different chapter. The members of this blog are each writing their own chapter, and we’re calling ours the “Cakepan Manuscript”.

You can start reading at Chapter One, which began with the premise: “An unemployed teacher, in a wine store, runs into a former student.” Each week we will post a new chapter until we reach the thrilling conclusion!

We hope you enjoy!

Chapter Five: Move It Or Lose It

Image via Wikipedia

Ashlee knew better than to keep Victor Tomasso waiting so she quickly hit the answer button, all of her internal chaos becoming laser focused as she meekly said “Hello?”.

“Ash, it’s me Zach,” he said, sounding more than a little out of breath.

“What the hell are you doing with Victor’s phone.  You scared the shit outta me!” she yelled, her laser focus now lost, the chaos returning with a vengeance.

“There’s no time for questions, baby. Keep that car runnin’ hot and I’ll be right out.”

“You better be, you’re about to say hello to about a half dozen of Benny Nyguen’s little friends, dumbass.”

Over the phone, she heard a loud crash and realized that Benny and his cohorts must have gone around the back.  Sure enough, Zach came barrelling out the front door, dragging some guy with him.  Zach pushed the guy toward the car, and just a few steps behind them came the Vietnamese mob causing Ashlee to begin cursing with renewed fervor, “What the fuck are you doing? let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

As they drew closer, she realized that “some guy” was that wacko art teacher from school, Dickhead Somethingorother.  He had a big wet spot on his pants and apparently he didn’t realize that Zach’s gun wasn’t loaded since he was doing what he was told, which, at the moment was to get in the car and shut the hell up.  Dietrich was roughly pushed into the backseat and the door slammed behind him.  Zach wasn’t so lucky.  Before he could get in the front seat, Benny and the rest of his boys caught up with him, a baseball bat to the back of a knee sending him straight to the sidewalk.

He screamed out, “Ash, get outta here,” as he went down.  She punched the gas, tires squealing, and in the rearview mirror she saw familiar red and blue lights as two squad cars pulled up.  The imminent gang beating appeared to draw their attention and she was able to slip away, despite her erratic driving.

She forgot all about Dietrich until he sat up in the backseat, causing her to swerve, almost hitting a fire hydrant.  “Hey, Miss, can you just let me out right here?  Pretty sure you don’t want to add kidnapping to the litany of charges you and Zach are facing at this point.”

“Wait, you recognized Zach?”

“Yeah, had him in my art class a while back… when I still had an art class that is.  My apartment is near here, I can just walk, really I don’t want any more trouble.”

Numbed by the morning’s events, she acquiesced, dropping him at the next corner and speeding off.  Dietrich quickly fished his keys from his pocket and made his way to his apartment.  He needed a change of clothes and he still needed to find the right bottle of wine before Kelly showed up.  While cleaning himself up and considering himself lucky to have only a few scratches and bruises, there came an insistent knock at the door.

(Continued in Chapter Six)