Since we're a little less than a week away from the next CAW, I've decided to announce ahead of time what the theme will be. It will only cost you $1.00; send via PayPal to my account, and... ::: kidding :::

CAW 12's theme will indeed be a paragraph written by me that will be the start of your story. You will have to wait until the 13th to get the actual paragraph. However, don't fret over *restrictions*...I'll be nice.

I can tell you that the opening words of the first sentence will not be...

1. Call me Ishmael.

2. Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.

3. It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

4. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

5. It was a dark and stormy night...

6. Somewhere in la Mancha...

7. He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish.

8. It was a pleasure to burn.

9. Once upon a time...

10. In the beginning...

So there you go...something to ponder!

 

Dammit, Horse!

You're a real buzz-killer, you know that, don't you?

I was all set to write a story called "Moby's Dick" and now you've ruined it! You definitely should forget about the Lolita theme -- JoeDirty would have to come back and flame all the entries.

**sigh**

Kinda partial to "Once upon a time" and "In the beginning" myself -- those could lead us anywhere!

 

In the beginning, once upon a best of times and worst of times somewhere in la Mancha, it was a dark and stormy night in bright cold April after eight-four days without taking a fish when Lolita, light of my life, fire of my lions (it was a pleasure to burn) called me Ishmael.

 

Who said you used up all of your comedy? Thanks for the best laugh I've had in a long time.

Well, at least since the playground bullies, ELP and Joe, started pushing each other around again.

 

In the beginning , somewhere in La Mancha, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times, for to her I said simply "Call me Ishmael. My dear Lotita, light of my life, fire of my loins."

Thus I declared to her, the love of my life, before the raging hearth in my home, on a bright, cold day in April as the clocks were striking thirteen, the handiwork of a mad hatter turned toymaker turned multi billionaire who once upon a time wrote a book called "It was a dark and stormy night," in which he was an onld man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty and four days now without taking a fish to feed his poor dear old mum and her 1000 desperate, pampered to death cats.

She looked into my eyes with those precious gems of lusterous opal that swept me into their depths, a smile that would have broken many a heart and a voice, whispering into my ear, the words I so longed to hear...

"I am the fire of your loins my dear?"

"Yes you are my dearest beloved!" I said with all the joy an enraptured heart can render. She whispered into my ear for me to close my eyes and turn around, as she had a suprise for me...

Oh the rapturous bliss rose to cosmoligical porportions as I envisioned in my mind the firelight playing in shadow and light across her bared skin, the sound of her cloths rustling heightening the anticipation of each moment...

I woke up in the attendance of the household doctor an hour later, as he and the nurse tended to my wounds: my tushie having been subjected with considerable skill to the hot branding iron she had hidden away in the fiery hearth in anticipation of my amorious advances, and the brand would forever read on my posterior: "It was a pleasure to burn."

Enjoy.

By the way, this satirical quip was meant to be utterly ridiculous and ridiculed.

 

we have a winner.....lol

 

I can now say that my entry will in fact be the story I began writing for CAW 8 and never got round to finishing. It will have to be one hell of a paragraph for me to be unable to stick it on to the front of what I have already written. This one will be deeply philosophical.

PS. Still having to log on using a proxy and can't use smileys.

 

Thanks for the early heads up Horse! That's a load off my mind as far as restrictions for CAW12. I can't wait to see what you come up with for a paragraph its bound to be great.

 

Well I am looking forward to getting back into CAW after my first attempt with the Gift themed one. I'm not even sure where I placed in that one but it was fun so count on me putting something in for this one.

 

Can't wait to start CAW 12. This time I will include sex. Maybe I will get more than one vote (for which I am eternally grateful). I hope the variety of storys is as good as CAW 11.
Good Luck everyone.

 

Knowing our friend hunglikea's style and predilections, I'm almost more afraid than I was before!

I'm thinking maybe an historical fantasy piece, a take-off on a story about a man who tilted at windmills on dark and story nights once upon a time. Considering that young people were betrothed and married at a young age in those days, his little fuck-toy Lolita (the court jester's daughter) could give him pleasure to burn!

 

WSF; Sorry, but I've already done a Moby's Dick story!

Moby's Big Dick and the Little Girl Who Loves It
*not_secure_link*stories.xnxx.com/story/29103/Moby%92s_Big_Dick_%26_the_Little_Girl_Who_Loves_It

The asshole, DirtyJoe, might need to flame it.

 

Heh, don't worry my friend. Here...I will give you once sentence from it, just to tease ya' and everyone else a bit...

It was the summer of '69.

Not that I'm a big Bryan Adams fan, but I do like that song. :excited:

Now, some of you might say "Oh my, I wasn't even born then!" To that I reply...do you think it would be easier to write if I said it was the summer of 1869 or 1769? You weren't even born then either!

So there you go...

 

Wow there is a lot I came up with with just that one line, but of course I would need the rest to see where I should go with it.

This could be a lot of fun, I just hope I will have the time to write a story for this CAW. I am looking forward to seeing the rest of the paragraph, and look forward to reading some great stories.

 

It'll be posted here Friday morning.

 

May I assume that oral sex would be a good theme tag for entries? :-E

I'm liking this already! By that time in my life, I knew damn well what a 69 was, and I was busy trying to find girls who wanted to learn.

I'm in, if I can write a story based on personal history (or my romanticized memories of it ).

Who cares if you were alive and old enough to be sexually active in that era? Think about it! The war in Nam, bra burnings, drugs, frat parties, free love, hairy pussies, everyone on the pill -- if you can't actually do an honest nostalgia piece, just imagine what it would have been like to have been getting your "last licks" in before shipping off to Asia, or what a girl would have done to keep herself sane while her man was gone, knowing she might never have the chance to give him her cherry.

Even our younger members should have no trouble with this. Watch "Woodstock" (I know that was a few years later, but it's the way some of us behaved). Write a fantasy about your own conception. Imagine what it would have been like to sneak watching black-and-white 8mm porn flicks that you stole from your uncle. Do a flashback story from the P.O.V. of a girl who thought she was in love that summer. Talk about the people you met when you fled to Canada to avoid the draft.

This should be fun!

We had dark and story nights back then, too, and it truly was the best of times and the worst of times.

 

Yep. Other than the year reference, which somewhat ties it to an era, the rest of the initial paragraph(s) will be easy for ya'll.

Heck, for those too young to know of '69, it's easy enough to Google stuff and then be able to put in historical references, if they want to date the story better. If not, just write a regular story, but don't includes iPads, Twitter or Angry Birds! :excited:

 

Actually, for me that would be way easier.

 

Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! I've got it! (Tongue DEEP in cheek)

It was the summer of '69. I was the drummer in a struggling acid rock band. In the beginning, we practiced in a cinder block building we rented from a Spanish guy. He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. We didn't know much about him, only that he was from somewhere in la Mancha.

Our place was on some land out in the sticks. It was hard to find, and you couldn't see it from the road. There was a clearing behind the building where Ozone (the country cow-freak keyboard guy) grew all the weed we needed. We were having a blast, but we were broke. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Things changed one bright cold day in April. We had been working on a new song, but the acid and 'shrooms were getting to us. We decided to take a hookah break to smoke ourselves straight when we all agreed the clocks were striking thirteen.

It was a pleasure to burn some good hash. Everyone was getting mellow, and we all figured work was done for the day. That is, until the door opened. In walked a chick who looked to be about fourteen. "Are these the studios of the band, Chocolate Potholder?"

"What the hell do you want, little girl?" Ozone said, blowing a large cloud of smoke in her direction.

"An audition. I want a job."

"Won't that get in the way of your ninth-grade homework?" our bass-player and male lead singer asked. He stood, towering over her. "My name's Crusher. You should get back on your little pink bike and pedal home."

"I'm going to be your female lead singer. I'm older than I look, and I'm out of school. I'm sick of working for the Man at the record shop at the mall. I can be on the road with you guys with an hour's notice."

Clodhopper said, "We don't need no girl singer."

"I think you do. I have all your records. I know the lyrics of your songs by heart. Once upon a time someone told me I sound a lot like Gracie Slick. I write music. Plus, I have this." She tossed some keys on the old kitchen table we used as a desk. "Those are for my VW microbus. It has a fresh coat of spray can primer, flag seat covers, and brand-new re-treads. It was a dark and stormy night when I won it in a poker game. We can use it to haul our stuff to gigs."

She came over to the table and took a monster hit off Clod's hose. Holding the smoke, she stripped off her overcoat. Underneath was the sexiest little miniskirt and lacy blouse I ever saw. "On stage, I'll go by Lolita." She grabbed a microphone and started belting out our hit single a cappella.

We practiced all afternoon. She even had some boss ideas for the song we had been working on. We even had a title for our first LP, the one where we would introduce our new sound: Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.

I had just started my '57 Nomad panel truck when she stuck her head in the window.

"You don't say much."

"Nope."

"Do you agree with Clod, Ozone and Crusher? Do you think this could work?"

"Yup."

"I don't even know your name," she said.

"Call me Ishmael."

 

Serious suggestion

We all expect a fun, thought-provoking, and maybe slightly off-center theme from our friend Horse. Hell, it's already fun, and we haven't even started!



However, I think I would like to see one limitation placed on entries. Since this is supposed to be a writing competition, I feel that entries should be limited to simply the written word. Graphic presentations (such as Horse's CAW #11 winner and ELP's "Digger") should be prohibited. While the format does add to the story, both those works can stand quite well on their own.

Why am I asking for this?

First, for selfish reasons. I have no clue how to do that, no real desire to learn, and no need of anything to take up time that should be spent writing a decent tale.

Second, I think it would be unwise to turn this into a glitz contest. If you want to do that, fine, but make it a separate competition -- maybe CAMMP -- Calling All Multi-Media Presenters.

I hope everyone understands that I respect and admire what ahorsewithnoname and ELaken-Palmer have done. I'm just afraid that allowing "special effects" could create an unfair advantage for some, and could take something away from the effort and care others put into their writing.



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