The default setting in Q&As is "Recent". However, by clicking on "Popular", I came across this (the most popular thread ever on this forum, with 88 replies):
https://www.writersandartists.co.uk/question/view/192
It seems to have fizzled out some years ago, but I thought that I might revive the idea for a new generation of users on this forum.
NEW RULE: To prevent total hijacking, each entry may be a MAXIMUM of THREE (3) sentences!
Even when this thread disappears from the most recent page(s), please keep it in mind and return to it again and again. Let's see if we can write a novel-length work of beauty and originality! At least set a new record for thread length.
Obviously, styles will change. Genres may also do so. I will try my best to keep it from sliding into a Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter OR Twilight clone. (THAT's a gauntlet thrown down for some of you fanatics! This could be fun!)
p.s. If it's interesting, I'll ask others at La Gr@not@ if we can publish it. Prepare your CVs!!!
I'll begin:
*************************************
Aisha wiped the mud out of her eyes before plunging her head in the almost-freezing mountain stream.
"That Jon!" she muttered (filling her mouth with water, the rash girl), "He'll pay for this!"
Shaking her head caused myriad waterdrops to fly out from her long, red hair.
(to be continued...?)
[Thanks to Wilhelmina for the nod and wink: I’ll return the greeting at an appropriate moment.]
Unfortunately, there was no big white telephone available, so Hughie remained uninformed, though the ants benefitted from a most generous donation to their cause.
Also unfortunately, unlike their last “pit stop” in the pub, the questers (now joined by new friends made there) didn’t have the use of beer or other liquids to wash the taste away, and some had taken to licking the grass (after distancing themselves from that grass near to their arrival point and sacrificial altar).
In case some readers didn’t catch this point when it was made more subtly, let’s hit you over the head with it. Transportation by Djinn causes disorientation, a certain loss of some personal possessions (which the Djinn explains as “handling charges” – though we must point out that the situation re: the missing boots is entirely to be attributed to the fact that the transported weren’t wearing these items at the time of their departure), and severe nausea.
The last item on that short list often leads to a phenomenon that has been called the technicolor yawn, a tango with the toilet, painting the town red… and green and orange and pink, tossing one’s cookies, delivering a street pizza, speaking Dutch [a nod and a wink to Emilie], revisiting one’s breakfast, baring your guts to the world, launching one’s lunch, bringing it up for a vote, liquidating one’s assets, burping to the ninth power, uneating, parking the tiger, getting a refund on one’s lunch, laughing at the ground, readjusting fluids, feeding the fish, selling the Buick, barking at the ants, blowing the groceries, and – my personal favourite – speaking to Hughie on the big white telephone.
Moments before the bewildered crowds arrival, two slimy literary agents are coming to the end of their chanting, powder sprinkling, incense burning ritual - finishing off with a dramatic 'Arise J.R.R. Tolkien!'
'Waaarrrgggh, huummph, graarggg, achoo. Pardon me. Call me Ronald' coughs the latest victim of the profit-seeking agents.
Aisha, as ever, hadn't yet noticed what was happening a short distance away but was about to be interrupted by the arrival of assorted alarmed pub patrons, a gypsy and a one woman army.