Read about round robin story writing here. To do it you need to be in a room with or connected online maybe, to a bunch of other writers. A round robin starts when everyone involved writes down a random paragraph, and passes it to the writer on their left to add to the story. The writer on your right gives you their paragraph and you add another one, then pass the sheet on. Before you know it Bob’s your Uncle and Charlie’s your Aunt! If there’s a fair few of you, by the time your paper gets back to you you’ve almost got a story. Just tie up the loose ends in a final spurt of writing as well as you can. [The photo shows some of my round robin from an exercise.]
Round robin anyone?
“Surely nothing could be worse than that…” said the Captain, as he tamped down the tobacco in his pipe one night in the Admiral Benbow.
“What?” I said, all the time thinking “Will he never get his round in?”
“The rum, man. It’s that white stuff. Probably Slav too, I shouldn’t wonder.” he said out of the side of his mouth.
I watched him suck in his cheeks while a lit match hovered over the bowl of his pipe sending charcoal coloured smoke back over his left shoulder.
“I’m quite partial to a drop of Bacardi myself” I told him. “Reminds me of my time in Barbados.”
“Bacardi!” he spluttered, and for a moment I thought he was having a stroke, as his face went purple.
“Bacardi!” he repeated, “that’s… that’s a Nancy boy’s drink.”
I looked around the Admiral Benbow’s snug. It was full to bursting with about 80 men and no women.
“Careful what you say, Captain! PC and all that?”, I said quietly.
“Eh? Nancy Boyd! You know her. The one who threw herself at that half-wit sailor, every time he came back from the deep for a bit of shore leave.” he replied. “You know the one, all shoulder pads and legs up to her armpits?”
“Legs up to her armpits, yes I remember her. I believe she got quite a substantial payout from the plastic surgeon. She only went in for a tummy-tuck.” I paused, “So is it time for some Rough Shag or is it the Ready Rubbed in that pipe bowl of yours?”
“Oh Ready Rubbed. Actually that reminds me of a knocking shop in Shanghai!” said the old sea dog.
“Steady on Captain,” I cautioned. 3 WPCs had entered the pub in uniform. “Ladies on deck!”
“Them ain’t ladies, them strippers!” leered the Captain. Sergeant Pepper glared over, reaching for her pepper spray.
“Fancy a trip down the station, Cap’n Birdseye?” said she.
“No, I’ve a birdseye view from here, dearie.” He had had a quart of rum by this juncture.
“Nick him”, came the Sergeant’s retort.
“I’m so sorry Sergeant but I appear to have come out without my razor,” I said, quick as a flash.
“‘ere Sarge” said one of the Sergeant’s colleagues “They’re both a few sheets to the wind. Shall we send ’em on their way?”
“Go on then you two. Off you trot, or it’ll be the worse for you.” said Pepper, with ill grace.
“Rum do?” said Superintendent Salt after our pair had left the building.
“That’ll do nicely, sir” simpered Pepper.
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