A GROUP EFFORT TO ASSIST PERDIX'S PROTOTYPE--A STRING STORY

[Marc]

8) Ahem.

It strikes me that one of the things about this wonderful community (okay, two things) is that it is the sense of collectivity built loosely around Mr. Moorcock's amazing creative output and vision that attracts people of a like (and unlike) mind to it. Such folk are not afraid of creativity or a certain amount of risk taking themselves, and hence the myriad possibilities that currently juxtapose in this attempted enterprise.

Prototype already has (I think--Perdix, correct me if I am wrong) a good deal of individual contributions, so how about a group effort right here in the form of a string story. Like superstring theory itself, it needn't limit itself to familiar dimensions, but can take off on the wings of group imagination.

I shall arbritarily give it a working title of "Isis in Trouble Again" and suggest three rules to give it just a small, helping nudge towards the forces of order:

(1) Each contributor shall post his/her effort on this string in the form of 4 sentences (no more, no less) of whatever length conforms to grammatical lucidity. Preferably once only, but second or third entries are ok so long as they are spaced sufficiently far enough apart so as not to detract from the group nature of this creative venture.

(2) The character and/or concept of 'Isis' cannot be introduced until the 13th effort--some motivation for someone to jump in over the first twelve contributions and show their stuff.

(3) At the sole discretion of Perdix (as editor), if he deems the story worthy after 39 contributions (if it ever goes that far) he will consider inviting Mr. Moorcock to finish it with a 40th capstone or, (should he deem this suggestion unsuitable for whatever reason), Perdix shall complete the story himself. Given the group nature of the enterprise, participants agree that the copyright (if any) shall belong to Prototype.

I will begin it.

'ISIS IN TROUBLE AGAIN'

The house realized it was gaining a consciousness after the third day of construction. Tendrils of awareness floated above the toiling workmen, invisible smoke amazed by its own creation out of the foundations steadily arising from the damp, musty soil. Bricks formed neurons and as the walls rose, so did the ability of the house to consider its genesis out of the blueprints held by one of the suits who periodically consulted with the foreman. When construction was finally complete, the house realized that it alone could think--having learned English from the brickies--and felt saddened by the dead silence emanating from the other buildings surrounding it.

[Whiskers]

We've tried a similiar game here, and what typically happens is that the 8th or 9th poster seems to not "get it" or someone deilberately drives the tram off the tracks. So, why don't you take the role of editor, and accept or reject posts that aren't in the spirit of the experiment? Just a thought.

[Anonymous]

8) Good idea. I'm happy to do that in the interim and offer up to Perdix the results if they are worth it.

So, anybody wanna get this ball rolling (even though it's been done before)?? :oops:

[Marc]

8) That's me again, jumping in straight off the email link without logging in first. Will I ever learn?

Okay, we are ready to roll...

[Whiskers]

8) Good idea. I'm happy to do that in the interim and offer up to Perdix the results if they are worth it.

So, anybody wanna get this ball rolling (even though it's been done before)?? :oops:

It didn't happen before the way you've described it. It was a one-word-at-a-time game. I suspect in the context you've put it, you'll get a bit more concentration and attention from the contributors. :-)

[Marc]

Hope so. Anyway, thanks for your kind words--now I feel better about doing this (unless I'm ignored entirely--the risks we writers take for our art... )

[Whiskers]

Re: A GROUP EFFORT TO ASSIST PERDIX'S PROTOTYPE--A STRING ST

'ISIS IN TROUBLE AGAIN'

The house realized it was gaining a consciousness after the third day of construction. Tendrils of awareness floated above the toiling workmen, invisible smoke amazed by its own creation out of the foundations steadily arising from the damp, musty soil. Bricks formed neurons and as the walls rose, so did the ability of the house to consider its genesis out of the blueprints held by one of the suits who periodically consulted with the foreman. When construction was finally complete, the house realized that it alone could think--having learned English from the brickies--and felt saddened by the dead silence emanating from the other buildings surrounding it.

Late Fall encroached and a kind of malaise filled the empty rooms, cellar and attic. Chickadees, martins and flycatchers had begun squatting in the eaves and vents as the colors of the foliage changed and the house wondered if there would be as much excitement watching its own paint dry. Turning to its own appearance, the house realized that by focusing it could shift its own internal and external colors. After weeks of no one coming to call, the seeming disinterest of the houses around, the intrusion of the elements and the lack of interest of buyers, the house was resigned to the probability that Winter would bring nothing of interest.

[Marc]

:D Great!! That's number two.

Any takers for the number three spot as our sentient house looks at the prospect of a winter alone...

8)

[Doc]

Re: A GROUP EFFORT TO ASSIST PERDIX'S PROTOTYPE--A STRING ST

'ISIS IN TROUBLE AGAIN'

The house realized it was gaining a consciousness after the third day of construction. Tendrils of awareness floated above the toiling workmen, invisible smoke amazed by its own creation out of the foundations steadily arising from the damp, musty soil. Bricks formed neurons and as the walls rose, so did the ability of the house to consider its genesis out of the blueprints held by one of the suits who periodically consulted with the foreman. When construction was finally complete, the house realized that it alone could think--having learned English from the brickies--and felt saddened by the dead silence emanating from the other buildings surrounding it.

Late Fall encroached and a kind of malaise filled the empty rooms, cellar and attic. Chickadees, martins and flycatchers had begun squatting in the eaves and vents as the colors of the foliage changed and the house wondered if there would be as much excitement watching its own paint dry. Turning to its own appearance, the house realized that by focusing it could shift its own internal and external colors. After weeks of no one coming to call, the seeming disinterest of the houses around, the intrusion of the elements and the lack of interest of buyers, the house was resigned to the probability that Winter would bring nothing of interest.

When the resident birds, which had offered the house some company and amazement, had fled the impending winter, the house learned that that sentience can lead to loneliness. Winter's chill replaced Fall's melancholy in the empty rooms of the house, which found no more amusement in changing its colors, settling on the sepia tones that matched the sadness of creeping aloneness. The house wondered aloud in its solitude if its gift of life was instead a curse. What good could come from being alive, if you had no one with whom you could share life's joys?

[xidrep]

This is great fun! Good call, Marc et al! I'll keep out of the creative process here...I like the way this is developing... :)

[A_Non_Ymous]

Perdix, you and I have "Lurker..." to finish, first.

I've got a new short segment for "Lurker..." that I'll post in the next day or two.

LSN

[mordenkainen]

'ISIS IN TROUBLE AGAIN'

The house realized it was gaining a consciousness after the third day of construction. Tendrils of awareness floated above the toiling workmen, invisible smoke amazed by its own creation out of the foundations steadily arising from the damp, musty soil. Bricks formed neurons and as the walls rose, so did the ability of the house to consider its genesis out of the blueprints held by one of the suits who periodically consulted with the foreman. When construction was finally complete, the house realized that it alone could think--having learned English from the brickies--and felt saddened by the dead silence emanating from the other buildings surrounding it.

Late Fall encroached and a kind of malaise filled the empty rooms, cellar and attic. Chickadees, martins and flycatchers had begun squatting in the eaves and vents as the colors of the foliage changed and the house wondered if there would be as much excitement watching its own paint dry. Turning to its own appearance, the house realized that by focusing it could shift its own internal and external colors. After weeks of no one coming to call, the seeming disinterest of the houses around, the intrusion of the elements and the lack of interest of buyers, the house was resigned to the probability that Winter would bring nothing of interest.

When the resident birds, which had offered the house some company and amazement, had fled the impending winter, the house learned that that sentience can lead to loneliness. Winter's chill replaced Fall's melancholy in the empty rooms of the house, which found no more amusement in changing its colors, settling on the sepia tones that matched the sadness of creeping aloneness. The house wondered aloud in its solitude if its gift of life was instead a curse. What good could come from being alive, if you had no one with whom you could share life's joys?

The house now spent most of the time in a melancholic rأ?verie, haunted by the husky voices of the long-gone masons. The memory of how anxious they always seemed to finish their work and go back to their own houses was always present, along with the litany of the many names they gave to their companions: Home, Flat, Place, Wife, Ol' Lady, Sheila, Maggie...they would check their watches and say things like "darnit, five more hours 'fore we can go home" . Those who were still homeless compensated by going to "Public Houses", where the others ocasionnaly joined them but "only for a couple pints", as they said, "'cos the Lady's waitin'". The house wasn't sure what pints or Public Houses exactly were - all it knew was it needed someone to take it for their wife and break its solitude.

[mordenkainen]

is that OK?

[Doc]

I like it!

Of course, Marc is editing...

[Marc]

:D Very good, you two!! I like the direction this is taking--which is nowhere I could ever have imagined by myself.

So, for the record, Doc has taken spot number three and Mordenkainen number four.

We now move into a crucial phase--does the house figure out what's going on and--more importantly--will anyone ever buy the poor thing?

The number five spot is open and waiting...

8)