The game "author" written down
Ok, firstly, "author" is a game where someone says a story and stops at an exciting bit and the next person will have to continue it. iIll start with a story, and then another blogger will have to continue it.
e.g (in terms of sentences)
Blogger 1: There was once a girl.
Blogger 2: She screamed as potatoes filled the air.
Something like that, but in terms of a continued story, it can be completely irrelevant or relevant, it doesn't matter.
There is something very extraordinary about whales, Poppy had decided, they were mammals but they lived under the sea. Because of her fascination with whales, Poppy then decided to study marine life, and so that is how she became a marine biologist.
"Get out, it's past 3 int he morning, I need to clean," the janitor said grumpily, breaking Poppy out of her reverie. He looked very much like a goat, she decided, a grumpy goat with a moustache the length of the river nile, this made her feel better.
"Yes, sir. Sorry about that."
The janitor muttered something unpleasant under his breath and went about his business.
All of a sudden, all the lights turned off in the laboratory. Calmly, Poppy struck a match, she always kept a matchbox in her right pocket in case of emergencies; the laboratory could be very dark without the sickly coloured florescent light that echoed about the room.
She raised the match above her head and put her hand on her mouth in horror. There was the janitor's head, his eyes wide and empty, his neck severed and bloody. Then she heard it. How could she have not heard it before? Perhaps it was because it was very quiet, perhaps it was because it was a natural born killer.
Hissing. Hissing and Snarling, all combined into one, and as she walked across the room and struck another match; her first one had sizzled out, she saw the monstrosity.
Then it lunged.
e.g (in terms of sentences)
Blogger 1: There was once a girl.
Blogger 2: She screamed as potatoes filled the air.
Something like that, but in terms of a continued story, it can be completely irrelevant or relevant, it doesn't matter.
There is something very extraordinary about whales, Poppy had decided, they were mammals but they lived under the sea. Because of her fascination with whales, Poppy then decided to study marine life, and so that is how she became a marine biologist.
"Get out, it's past 3 int he morning, I need to clean," the janitor said grumpily, breaking Poppy out of her reverie. He looked very much like a goat, she decided, a grumpy goat with a moustache the length of the river nile, this made her feel better.
"Yes, sir. Sorry about that."
The janitor muttered something unpleasant under his breath and went about his business.
All of a sudden, all the lights turned off in the laboratory. Calmly, Poppy struck a match, she always kept a matchbox in her right pocket in case of emergencies; the laboratory could be very dark without the sickly coloured florescent light that echoed about the room.
She raised the match above her head and put her hand on her mouth in horror. There was the janitor's head, his eyes wide and empty, his neck severed and bloody. Then she heard it. How could she have not heard it before? Perhaps it was because it was very quiet, perhaps it was because it was a natural born killer.
Hissing. Hissing and Snarling, all combined into one, and as she walked across the room and struck another match; her first one had sizzled out, she saw the monstrosity.
Then it lunged.
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