Confusion ~ 628 Words ~ Wayne

At 5:00 AM underneath the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa a meeting was taking place in a secret bunker left over from the Cold War. The Prime Minister slammed his fist on the table.

“So what you are telling me is that no one knows what is going on. Exactly what am I going to tell the United States Ambassador?” The entire cabinet sat silently for a moment.

“Maybe we could tell them the truth,” ventured the Industry Minister. The glares from around the table made him blush. “I didn’t say it was a good idea. But since we don’t know what is going on, anything else would be lying.”

The Defense Minister shook his head. “It would make us look like total idiots. Can we afford that? We might see an American invasion force coming over the border a day later.”

“What I’d like to know about is where all those Leopard and Leopard II tanks went to. CSIS has tracked over four hundred of them which were supposedly bought by the Canadian Armed Forces, and shipped to Canada. We didn’t buy them. They didn’t show up anywhere else. In at least three cases we were able to track them to ships which came to Canada. Where are they,” the Public Safety Minister asked?

The meeting dissolved into bickering again.

“Silence!”

The rather stunned cabinet stared at the Prime Minister.

“Gentlemen and Ladies. We have a problem. Arguing isn’t going to solve it. We need a plan. We might have to change the plan, but we need something. Let’s sit down, pool our suggestions, and come up with something.” He smiled. “Think of the good side. If we are this confused, how badly confused are the Americans?” He watched smiles break out around the table. “Exactly. For now let’s come up with something that we can use to baffle them more, while we try to find out what the hell is going on.

*****

At the same time in Hamilton Ontario several police cars pulled up by the dock where the HMCS Haida had been docked. Had been docked. Exactly who could manage to steal a retired World War II Tribal Class Destroyer that was serving as a museum had the cops puzzled.

The Mayor of Hamilton drove up not long after. He looked totally puzzled. So did the Parks Canada staff. The ship’s engines were dismantled. It couldn’t move. The ship hadn’t moved under its own power for forty-eight years, since the summer tour of the Great Lakes in 1963, just before it was to be sold off for scrap.

So what the hell was going on? You couldn’t walk away with a nineteen-hundred ton, three hundred and seventy-seven foot long ship under your arm. The only way you could transport something that large was by water.

Hamilton Harbor control was consulted. They had no radar tracks of anything leaving harbor. A frantic search began. If it didn’t leave the harbor, it still had to be here. Somewhere.

The reporter for the Hamilton newspaper covering the story mused aloud that, “Maybe someone wants a warship.”

The reporter from the television station replied, “But what would they do with an antique like that?”

*****

In a small Mississauga industrial park another tractor trailer backed up to a manufacturing plant. The sign above the loading dock said Canada Drive Systems. The fifth shipment of the day was ready to be loaded.

The first shipment been a single large unit, that filled the twenty foot short trailer. This shipment, like the other three consisted of twenty skids. Each skid had a plywood and two by four box bolted onto it.

Once loaded, the truck pulled away. An hour later another truck pulled up to be loaded.

Early War Games ~ 826 Words ~ Wayne

Under the lifeboat the Ensign noticed an odd smell. He sniffed, then crumpled onto the ground.

“God, another one.” The man in the dark-out suit cuffed the Ensign, and gave him a shot of Chloral Hydrate using a hypospray. While he was doing this, he was communicating with Security Central over his implant, reporting his location, the location that the bomb had been placed on the AVRO unit’s container, and the area where the Ensign had existed the water.

Quietly security moved through the dockyard, so as not to disturb the workers. The ensign was stripped naked, scanned for implants, and loaded into a padded, locked, life support container for transport to the cells.

The bomb was another issue. They couldn’t tell whether it had been armed or not. It couldn’t damage the AVRO.

It could panic or injure the workers, and that was a major problem. Timmy and Everett spent over an hour working out the details. In the North end of the dockyard was a scrap metal crushing unit that was large enough to take the entire container. The bomb wasn’t placed to interfere with opening the container, so the roof of the container was opened, and the crane lifted the AVRO unit carefully out of the container, and lowered it into the engine room.

This caused a fair bit of excitement. The dockyard workers had never seen anything like the AVRO unit. The gleaming housing looked chromed, but why would anyone chrome an engine for a Great Lakes Freighter? They didn’t know that from that point they wouldn’t be leaving the shipyard until after the ship was launched. In the background a set of jammers went into action, covering cell phone, citizen’s band radio, and other common frequencies. A series of trucks arrived at the main gate, and the pace of work hit a higher pace.

Meanwhile security was searching the harbor underwater. Divers using low frequency sonar looked for anything out of place. Further out into Georgian Bay a couple of small mercenary submarines probed. The Ensign had been identified. They knew when he was last seen, and how long he had been missing. This limited the range he could have traveled.

Finding the Protei 5 narrowed the range down further. Five submarines and three helicopters patrolled outside of the furthest he could have traveled, while another two searched the bottom. The subs used a Merrill power system to supply power to their electric motors. Almost totally silent they cruised no more than five kilometers an hour across the floor of the bay.

On the American base Vice Admiral Byron was cursing the worst part of his job. Paperwork. It might now be electronic, that just meant that there was even more of it, and it seemed to be taking over his working life totally. He was relieved when his communicator buzzed. “Yes,” he said and the screen lit.

“Sir, our listening gear is picking up some odd noises,” reported the lieutenant. “We have no idea of what they are. They don’t match anything in the database.”

The Vice Admiral thought for a second. “Are they between us and the open bay?”

“Yes sir, at least one of them is. If anything, I’d say they sound like a whale, but there are no whales in Georgian Bay.” He paused. “I think someone knows we are here, and are searching for us. This may sound paranoid...”

The Vice Admiral cut him off. “It isn’t paranoid if they really are out to get you. Prepare...”

At that moment a series of shaped charge explosions punched holes into locations low on the hull of the base in a dozen places. Water rushed in, and the air pressure climbed rapidly causing men to fall to the floor holding their heads as their eardrums burst. The emergency hatches slammed shut, but there were too many holes in too many places. Not one watertight section was undamaged.

Water caused short circuits in the electrical systems. The crab mechanisms which were holding the base to the floor of the bay lost power, and released. The base slowly started to rise towards the surface, where the helicopters had been joined by what appeared to be a Coast Guard cutter.

When the base hit the surface, a crew from the cutter quickly boarded it, and forced the top hatch open, releasing the pressure inside. The base didn’t sink because as it rose patches had been placed over the holes. The stunned crew, except for the Admiral who had somehow suffered a gunshot wound to the forehead were hustled into the brig of the cutter, and it took the now floating base under tow towards Manitoulin Island.

Meanwhile, the container with the bomb still attached, went into the crusher. The crusher cycled, and out of the other end came a huge cube of metal, with a small amount of C4 embedded in the centre. C4 is an amazingly stable explosive.

Reduplication discovery ~587 words by Brandon

****

“Don’t forget to call the cops, I got it planted on her car” said a voice from the computer.

“Dad, go teach your Grandmother to suck eggs” it said again. The red haired woman was watching a live feed. Her face went cold as she heard the words coming out of the computer.

“Or rather don’t, since your Granny’s been dead for fifty years, and I want to keep you around for a while yet” said the computer. "She knew, and so did the father" thought the red haired woman. This was a problem for her organization. She wondered where they came from. Her family was not supposed to be around anymore. She had personally made sure they were dead. She heard a noise behind her and tried to turn her chair around but she was smashed in the face with a large brick. She fell to the floor, her face was bleeding.

“I’m under orders from CSIS to take you out and apprehend the boy for the war effort” said the grey haired man. He looked down at her. He sighed relief, he was no longer worried about blowing his cover and now the red haired woman was at his mercy.

“Where is the boy?” he asked, as he raised the brick above his head with his right arm.

“I’m not saying anything” she replied. Her face was gushing blood; she didn’t have much time left to live.

“You just went to talk to him. He can’t be that far. Where is he?” he asked again.

“I’m not saying anything” she repeated. “Furthermore, this action won’t go unpunished. You can kill me now but remember that I’ll be the one watching you die” she said.

He got down closer to the ground with the brick still in his right hand. He continued to bash in her skull with it. Pieces of her skull and blood were all over the floor. He saw something he had never seen before that puzzled him. Her brain looked different and there were circuits. “Why did she have circuits in her brain?” he wondered. He scooped up the brain matter to give to his superiors. They would know more about it than he could possibly understand.

****

The Ensign masquerading around as a Canadian ship worker was swimming towards the ship again. His map indicated he was getting closer. He had a lot more weight this time around. All the base had was an old  “Protei 5” that the US Military took from a communist spy during the cold war. It worked surprisingly well despite its old age. All of the more modern equipment was being used in Thunder Bay and the Hudson Bay.

He parked it under a small cliff at the bottom of the lake where it could not be seen and he slowly swam to the surface. He got aboard the ship with the AVRO unit and ducked under a life boat. He pulled the night vision goggles out of his waterproof backpack. He looked around and it seemed to be safe. Nobody at all was around. He could see lights on in the trailer but he was too far to be seen unless they were looking for him. He approached the AVRO unit and attached a timed explosive device. He had a sense of fear when he was arming it. He heard footsteps behind him. He crouched down and snuck back to the lifeboat. He ducked under it until he could find out who was around.

Walking the Dog ~ 887 Words ~ Wayne

The three hundred pound English Mastiff strolled slowly down the residential street in Huntsville. It almost seemed to be leading the muscular blond haired woman walking it. She walked slowly along behind it, iPod buds planted in her ears. The dog stopped, cocked an enormous leg, and pissed on the fence in front of the house in which the red headed woman was talking with her guest. And continued to piss. For over a minute, the stream of urine kept running.

Once finished the dog continued down along the street, still moving at a relaxed pace, his mistress pacing behind him. The dog kept stopping to sniff things. To walk a hundred meters took the two of them nearly ten minutes.

Then they picked up the pace. At a march the two continued to a door beside a donut shop. The women left the dog, lead hanging on the ground. In the donut shop she bought two coffees, an extra large triple cream, no sugar, and an extra large double-double, along with a dozen mixed donuts.

Outside the store she unlocked the door, and the dog preceded her up the stairs. At the top of the stairs she squeezed past to unlock and open another door. Once they were through it she turned and locked it, and placed the coffee and donuts on the dining room table which took up one end of the room.

The dog patrolled through each of the rooms of the small apartment, then checked all the windows. Satisfied he jumped up onto the bed, and stretched out.

The muscles under his fur bunched, and started to crawl. His breathing came faster and faster, grunting noises coming from his mouth. The muzzle shortened, the fur receded, the bones moved, and an enormous fart ripped through the apartment.

Coughing the woman staggered into the kitchen and turned on the fan above the stove. It was really bad this time, the washroom fan wasn’t going to handle the reek.

Methane was a danger but she could’t stand it. Quickly she opened a pack of incense, and lit a stick. The incense smell started to cover the reek. It still wasn’t enough and she leaned over the kitchen sink and puked up her lunch, her breakfast, and yesterday’s supper. This was a bad one.

There was a final groan, and three hundred pounds of naked man rolled off the bed onto the floor. “Excuse me,” he said and staggered into the washroom. She carefully washed her mouth out, then opened her coffee.

From behind the closed washroom door came another ripping fart, even louder than the last one. Five minutes later the toilet flushed, and the man lurched out of the washroom.

“Man that was rough.” He coughed. “Oh, my chest hurts. My ass hurts. Everything hurts. I wish I was twenty years younger.” He pushed scanty white locks away from his eyes. “Sorry about that doll.” He grabbed the coffee marked triple cream, popped the cap, and took a swig.

The woman looked at him. “Dad, you aren’t going to be able to keep on doing this much longer. I thought that the change was going to kill you this time. By the way, you’re hanging out.”

Still sipping the coffee the old man looked down. “Um. Forgot. Be right back.” On his way into the bedroom he tossed back over his shoulder, “Don’t forget to call the cops, I got it planted on her car.”

“Dad, go teach your Grandmother to suck eggs. Or rather don’t, since your Granny’s been dead for fifty years, and I want to keep you around for a while yet.” A frown crossed her face. “And that means no more changes until I’ve had a chance to give you a full physical at the office. The change is hard, and a seventy year old man should’t be playing at the same stuff he did when he was twenty. You’re just lucky you have an understanding MD in the family.”

*****

Two hundred and seventy kilometers north, near the small town of Cobalt, the new machinery recently installed on a century year old silver mine glistened in the sun. The mine was now in full production, and large amounts of silver ore were coming to the surface, where it was being loaded into boxcars for the train ride to the smelter.

The mine boss watched the operation with a smile. Two years ago he’d been on welfare. Now with the price of silver averaging over $1000.00 per kilogram he had work again. That the mine owner did things a little weird, well, that was fine with him, as long as it was safe.

And it was safe. You couldn’t fault their safety precautions. Thank God they weren’t like those crazy American coal mining companies, who didn’t give a damn how many men died underground. Mine number FortyFive had some of the best safety systems he’d ever seen, and he’d worked underground precious metal mines all over North American.

All brand new equipment too. Wonderful equipment. Equipment that made them incredibly productive. It didn’t have a quarter of the staff that a normal mine had, but the miners were well paid.

It was great working for a company where management cared. All was right with the world for him.

Red Flame ~1095 words by Brandon

One of the workers of the ship approached the AVRO unit. He pulled out his Android smart phone and started taking pictures. He used a special application on his phone designed to securely transmit the photos to his Vice Admiral. In the past they relied on a more conventional means of communication but WikiLeaks had rendered it obsolete. The world must not find out what they were up to. Most of all, if the Canadians knew what he was doing he would be captured and probably brainwashed into giving out his orders.

After the upload he casually traveled to the part of the ship where he hid his wetsuit. When he was about to put it on he received an incoming message on his smart phone.

OPERATION INQUISITIVE BEAVER:
WE RECEIVED THE INTEL. YOU MAY PROCEEED

The worker checked the area again and when he was convinced he was not being watched he put on the wet suit and inspected his oxygen tank. It had a few hours of air left so he felt he would be safe at this point. He placed the smart phone into a special pocket on the wrist of his wet suit, then jumped into the water and started swimming. He pressed a few buttons on the phone and started following the directions on his map. After what seemed to take hours he found the underwater entrance.

*

The middle aged woman with the flaming red hair received a text message on her smart phone. The message contained photos of the Canadian AVRO Unit that was currently in a huge container marked “Canada Drive Systems”. She smiled when she saw the photos.

“This confirms my suspicions” she said as she took out a cigar and cut the end off of it. She took an extra cigar out of her purse and offered it to an older grey haired man.

“I don’t smoke” he said as he pushed her hand back. “Can I help myself to the gin?” he asked.

She looked at him and gave him a smile in approval as she lit the end of her cigar. He took the cue and poured the gin into a small glass with a slight crack near the top. The gin smelled good to him and he took a swig. There was a burning sensation he could feel as the liquid traveled down to his stomach. “Definitely a high quality gin,” he thought.

She smoked the cigar in silence as he drank the gin. Her mind was on the AVRO unit. How in the world did Canadians get access to this type of technology she wondered? Long after she was initiated into her group she had learned the science behind it was hidden since the last ice age. If Canadians had access it was not by coincidence. There must have been a leak within their organization.

“There is no way the Canadians could have something like this without help” she told the grey haired man. “This is very disturbing” she said as she took a drag off her cigar.

“What should we do? This throws a wrench in our entire operation. The Americans will be pissed” said the grey haired man.

“I’ll ask Michael” She told the grey haired man. He had a puzzled look on his face, “What does he have to do with this?” he asked.

She smiled, “He provides secure undetectable instant communication.”

The grey haired man took another swig of his gin. He looked puzzled. Finally he put the glass down. “Why do you need a boy to do that?” he asked.

“We genetically engineered the device into his neck. It will remain hidden indefinitely and if he is ever found people will just think he is a normal little boy. It won’t show up on any x-ray or medical examination” she told him.

His jaw dropped and she thought it looked like his teeth caved in. He turned around with his back facing her. “Sweet Jesus” he said. The woman’s smile turned into a frown.

“What lodge did you say you were part of again?” she asked. His heart started to pound out of his chest. He tried to calm himself down but all he could think of was the terror he was in for if he was caught.

“Scottish Rite, Hamilton Ontario” he replied.

“Oh yes” she said. “They won’t know too much about this stuff.”

His heart stopped pounding out of his chest and he was able to relax. He was able to calm down enough that he reached for the bottle of gin and poured another glass.

*

TO ENTER PRESS RED BUTTON AND ENTER YOUR PERSONAL ID CODE
FAILURE TO DO SO WILL RESULT IN DEATH

The worker pressed the red button and typed in his credentials. The first door opened and he swam inside. He went to the bottom of the room and grabbed onto a handhold. The door closed behind him and water started to rush out of the room. After a few minutes he was on the ground, the room was vacant of water. He took off his wet suit and approached the second door. He entered his second set of credentials and that door opened as well. The first thing on his mind was that he needed to see the Vice Admiral. He marched down the corridors, made a few left turns and walked into to his office. Vice Admiral William “No Refunds” Bryon was at his desk examining the photos he was sent. He noticed his subordinate entered the office.

“These are mighty fine pictures Ensign. The Canadians didn’t detect you either. You’re well on your way to promotion” said the Vice Admiral.

The Vice Admiral typed a few commands into his terminal and then he turned to the Ensign. “I have a new mission for you at 2300 hours. Since you were not detected we need you to go back and sabotage the AVRO unit and kill the two men in charge so we can replace them with moles” he said with a huge grin on his face. “We need to make sure they don’t develop anything that might threaten our national security”.

“Great, I’ll get my wetsuit and supplies ready” said the Ensign.

He stood up but then the Vice Admiral’s face turned cold, “If you’re caught… do you remember what you have to do?” he asked.

The Ensign showed the Vice Admiral the back of his right wrist. “I’ll be ready to press the button if required.”

“Good” said the Vice Admiral.

The Ship ~ 613 Words ~ Wayne

The crane carefully moved the huge container with the words “Canada Drive Systems” stencilled on it across the deck of the old Great Lakes freighter toward the open engine hatch. The container looked small compared to the hatch. The crane parked it on the deck beside the hatch, and then went back to lifting out the original ship’s engines in pieces.

The ship was a mess. Junk lay everywhere. Signs of massive damage were everywhere. It was almost as if the ship had rolled over on its side.

Men and women worked with a clear sense of organization, clearing the junk off the ship and into containers on the dockside. Trucks removed the filled containers, and replaced them with empty ones.

In a trailer set up as on office on the dockside, two men stared at a computer screen. The younger one had a scraggly brown mustache and a grubby tee-shirt with the words “Thieves Do It In The Dark” stenciled on the chest in fluorescent lime green. He pointed at the CAD drawing on screen. “If we install the Merrill Power Plant here, it will be centrally located. We can then run power lines through the ship to the AVRO unit. I think that’s the most important thing to do. I don’t want to leave the container on deck. I know Canada Drive Systems says it’s weather and space proof. I’m just paranoid.”

The tubby older man, wearing an elbow patched suit jacket nodded. “I want things out of sight. There’s too much chance that someone might notice something. They don’t need to understand what they see, if they blog it.” He stroked his greying beard. “Time. Time is our enemy.”

The younger one looked out the window. “Our other problem is that the crew doesn’t have a damned clue what they are doing. We just don’t have enough people who are trained in the technology, and are loyal enough. We have four more ships coming in for overhaul, never mind the destroyer, which will be a real nasty bitch to work on. You promised me more people. Where are they Everett?”

“Careful Timmy, keep the voice down. The sound insulation on the trailer is as good as we could make it, but I wouldn’t trust it.” Everett clasped his hands behind his back and started pacing the small office space.

“As you said, time is the problem. We weren’t supposed to have to do this until next year. Things on the other side of the border are getting really bad, that’s why we are rushing things. It’s possible that their government could melt down sooner than we expected, and if it does anything could happen. So we need to get the ships up and running a year early, and we have to do it in total secrecy.”

There was a wry smile on his face. “Do you know how hard it is to recruit staff under conditions like this?”

Timmy nodded. “I know. But you’ve given me a job that I don’t think I can successfully complete. You need to know that now. If I don’t have reliable help here within the week this job could go to hell, and if it goes to hell the Americans will know something is going on.”

“In your opinion this overhaul is reaching a critical stage then,” asked Everett?

Timmy pointed out the window at the bow of the ship, where a layer of heavy paint was starting to flake off, exposing the letters ‘Edmu.’

“Everett, if the rest of that paint peels off showing the name of this ship, all hell will break loose. And we won’t be able to stop it.”

The Dark Room ~ 200 words ~ Brandon

*

The man found himself lying on the floor in a dark room. He had no
knowledge of what happened to him. His head was throbbing like someone
was hitting it with a steel hammer and his legs were completely numb.
He tried to wiggle his toes but he felt nothing...

All he could remember was that he had plans to go drinking with his
friends. He had just finished writing the first draft of his book on
secret societies. His spine trembled in unspeakable terror. He
immediately realized what had happened to him. In sheer panic he tried
to get up but his efforts had been futile. He heard voices which kept
getting louder, they were getting closer he thought.

He listened carefully. "This one we have been watching for some time.
He recently became a nuisance" said one of the voices.

They were getting closer but they were keeping their voices down. The
man wondered what was in store for him. The door to the dark room
swung open. He was blinded by a bright light all around him. There
were two women in front of him. His memory returned. He felt a wave of
panic.

A Fine Day in Huntsville ~ 470 Words ~ Wayne

There are things that don't exist. Things that only a conspiracy theorist could believe in.

Then there is a middle aged women, her flaming red hair the obvious product of a bottle. She's carrying an furled umbrella and holding the hand of a small boy. "No Michael. Nana will not buy you ice cream. You can have ice cream when we get home." This direct address held his attention.

The man walking towards them on the Huntsville sidewalk smiled. It was hard not to. The little boy was looking at his Nana with total adoration on his face. “With strawberries?” he asked.

As he edged past them on the sidewalk carefully, he felt something cold in his shoe.

“Oh, my word, I’m so clumsy today!” The woman extracted the tip of her umbrella from his shoe. “Trying to keep track of this little rascal,” looking down at the boy, “Yes, strawberries Michael." To the man beside her, "I hope I didn’t damage your shoe?”

“What? Oh.” He wiggled his foot. “Not in the slightest. It is a wonderful day to take the young one for a walk. Your grandson?”

“I’m Nana’s oldest grandson,” Michael piped up with a high pitched voice.

“She nodded with pride. “Yes, as you can see. I have one a year younger, and three granddaughters, ranging from three to ten. My girls have been busy, and it keeps me busy. And you?”

He shrugged his heavy shoulders, settling his suit jacket. “Never married. At least not yet, and at forty it’s getting a bit late. I’m married to my job I’m afraid.” With that he saluted her, and strode along the Main Street sidewalk towards the bridge.

The woman and the boy walked slowly up the hill, and as they turned left onto West Street she darted a glance over her shoulder. The man they’d been talking to was now staggering, like he’d had too much beer to drink.

She tugged Michael to a stop, and gave him a lollipop. While he was sucking it avidly she pulled out her Android Smart Phone, and sent a short text message.

Then the two of them continued to the house, where Michael had ice cream and strawberries, not noticing that his Nana was quite busy sending a list of SMS messages would have terrified law enforcement if they’d been able to read them.

But law enforcement didn’t have a key to break the code, even if they had any reason to worry. Even worse, the evidence had disappeared. The umbrella had been left in a trash bin. The assassination target had been picked up by some of his work buddies in a white van, who were swearing that they were going to drink Huntsville dry with him.

Curiously the white van wasn’t seen near any of the open pubs that night...

NaNoWriMo Suicide Pact 2011

NaNoWriMo 2011

I was going to skip NaNoWriMo 2011. I’ve got stuff that is nearly ready for publication. The main thing holding be back is that I decided that I’d do Mom’s backlist first, and it has proven a bit more of a challenge than I’d thought.

While it was published previously, the editing just isn’t up to my standards. Rather than reformatting and publishing, I’m editing, reformatting, and publishing.

I’m fast, but you can do it fast, or do it right. I choose to do it right. So my writing is falling behind the curve. I needed something to stretch my muscles.

And then Brandon asked me if I was going to take part in NaNoWriMo. Synapses began to fire, and in five minutes I had a thoroughly evil plan, so I got Brandon on IM and started to reel the sucker, erm, future collaborator in.

And I sold him on it.

Brandon Lozza, ex-Fedora Ambassador, Conspiracy Theorist, and all around fun lunatic, is going to collaborate on a NaNoWriMo novel with Wayne Borean, Political Gadfly, Copyright Pain in the Ass, Canadian Publisher, Futurist, and a man with the personality of Rabid Wolverine.

We are calling it the "NaNoWriMo Suicide Pact 2011"

This is a writing challenge until WRITER’S CRAMP forces one or the other writer to give up. Or until we run out of November, but that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?

We’ll alternate word chunks of varying sizes. Or mostly alternate. If eighteen hours goes by without a post being made, the original poster is welcome to pop back in. This could cause confusion if two posts are placed within seconds of each other. Guess we’ll just have to write our way out of that mess too!

Often the character/s maybe thrown into a situation where he or she might be killed and the next person has to exercise their ingenuity to write them out of it. Or maybe they’ll suffer a fate worse than death. Remember Buford “Mad Dog” Tannen's famous line in Back to the Future 3?

“I hate shit.”

Our aim is to hit 100K words or more on November 30th, and to stretch our writing muscles. This isn’t a contest, no matter how it’s written above. This is a collaboration. We want to make it the best book that we can, and publish it. We’ve discussed a couple of basic plot ideas. I suspect that they will last at least two days.

We welcome everyone to check it out. Wayne plans to have his first installment posted by noon on Tuesday. Brandon is going to try to have his first rejoinder posted by about Six PM.

And please feel free to comment! We’d really appreciate your ideas.

Regards

Wayne Borean & Brandon Lozza

Monday October 31, 2011