#sharedstories

by Douglas Johnston

There are no ghosts at Rinasluick only deer grazing by the rubble from the granite walls.

Piping voices, echo in shrill delight filtered through archival detritus.

A small croft house, one story in height, slated and in good repair. Property of Colonel Farquharson of Invercauld.

Attested by the Revd's Middleton, Campbell & Smith. Of higher authority it seems than those who bide.

by Kerry Dexter

In shadow up the mountain snow lies late in spring

In summer’s turn of season heather colours rise; daylight lingers then

With autumn’s breath a skein of geese unravels against greying sky

A poem from Thor Ball, age 7, who joined in the Caper and writing activities at the Cairngorms Nature Big Weekend in Carrbridge in May.

Ever feel like your mind is a whirlwind of ideas, some brilliant, some a bit wild? What if we could take those sparks and turn them into something extraordinary, together? Welcome to the world of shared storytelling, where one writer starts a tale and passes it to another to continue the adventure. It’s like a literary game of telephone, but with plot twists, vibrant characters, and unexpected magic.

Here’s the concept: I’ll kick off a story with a chapter, then you, yes, you, pick up the pen (or keyboard) and add your own spin. From there, another writer jumps in, and the story evolves in ways none of us could predict. It’s collaborative, chaotic, and endlessly creative.

Writing a Prequel Chapter

Your Task: Write the Chapter That Precedes This One

Your chapter should depict the events immediately before the beginning of the current chapter, leading up to the pivotal moment that sets the stage for the ending.

Word Count: Aim for 200-300 words to keep it manageable and focused. More if you wish.

Setting and Characters: Continue the established scene and characters from the previous chapter. Feel free to introduce new characters or hint at backstory elements relevant to the narrative.

Plot: Develop the escalating tension or key events, such as a critical decision, a rising conflict, or an unexpected turn, that lead directly into the current chapter’s climax. Include a cliffhanger or mystery to maintain continuity.

Identifying Backstories for Development: Incorporate subtle hints or details about the characters’ past to enrich their development in proceeding chapters. Examples include a character’s lost family, a hidden skill, a past betrayal, a mysterious object’s origin, or a connection to the setting. These backstories should be open-ended to allow future writers to expand on them.

Style: Use Australian English (e.g., "organised," "realised," "colour") to match the narrative.

Submission: Post your chapter in the comments below or submit via DM.

Let’s come together and unravel the story!

The community of Lumsden was small, nestled between rolling hills that turned from emerald in spring to gold in autumn. The heart of the town was the old square, where time seemed to pause under the shade of the great elm tree. This year, as part of the Harvest Festival, the residents decided to create a community quilt—a patchwork that would not only warm bodies but bind hearts.

It began with Esther Mallory, the town's elder seamstress, who first spoke of the idea in the general store. Her silver hair glinted like moonlight as she stood at the counter, hands twisted around a jar of blueberry preserves. “We should make something that tells our story,” she said, her voice thin as paper but strong with conviction. The others nodded, their faces lighting up with the flicker of shared purpose.

Each household was given a small square of fabric, no larger than a handkerchief, with one instruction: fill it with what mattered most. The days that followed were a hum of industry. The Jones twins, only seven, worked with their mother to stitch a patch that sparkled with sunflowers—bright nods to the fields where they had learned to run before they could walk. Across the street, old Mr. Carrigan, a widower with creaking joints, embroidered a scene of a couple dancing under the stars, remembering the days when his late wife would laugh in his arms, her eyes like liquid stars themselves.

On the edge of town, the Lopez family, who had just moved in from afar, hesitated at first. They weren’t sure they belonged to a project so steeped in local memory. But one evening, their young daughter, Maria, sat by the fireplace and whispered, “Papa, tell me a story of home.” That night, the Lopez square took form, its threads entwining mountains, music notes, and a sun that burned fiercely, telling tales of resilience and the road to a new beginning.

One evening, Esther opened her door to find Sarah Miller, who worked at the diner, holding a cloth stained with rain. It had once been her late husband’s handkerchief, now embroidered with tiny waves and a sailboat adrift, a silent nod to the emptiness she felt without him. “I wasn’t sure if this was right,” Sarah said, her voice thick. Esther took the square from her, tears lining the creases of her smile. “It’s perfect,” she whispered.

When the day of the festival arrived, the townsfolk gathered in the square. Esther and a few others spread the finished quilt across a long table under the great elm. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as eyes found pieces they recognized. The quilt shimmered in the late afternoon sun, a mosaic of life: patches of laughter, warm meals shared, hands held in dark times, and stories whispered into the night.

A child reached out, her fingers brushing over the patch made by the elderly Mrs. Whitaker. It depicted a simple home with smoke curling from the chimney. “That’s where I grew up,” she said, voice high with wonder. A man nodded from beside her, eyes misting as he recalled sledding down its front yard in winters past.

The community quilt was more than fabric and thread. It was gratitude sewn next to loss, hope mingled with love, and moments caught and anchored. The quilt wrapped Lumsden in a warm embrace, reminding them that, whether in grief or in joy, they were stitched together by a bond as enduring as the hills that surrounded them.

Larry sat by the window in his small apartment, watching the autumn leaves swirl in the fading afternoon light. The quietness had become a familiar friend over the years, one that wrapped itself around him like a blanket. But it was a chill he had begun to notice more often.

Then, one day, an old friend from high school, Charlie, gave him a call. "Larry, we’re getting together next Saturday. Me, Ted, and Frank. Figured it was about time we all had a catch-up."

The call left Larry both thrilled and apprehensive. It had been over forty years since they had all been in the same room. Life had swept each of them in different directions. Larry had moved away to the city, focused on work, family, and then… just work again, as life had a way of unweaving itself, leaving him alone.

The following Saturday, Larry made his way to the small café where they’d agreed to meet. He recognized Charlie first, even through the added weight and gray hair, and soon spotted the others. They all embraced, laughing awkwardly at how they'd aged, how the years had softened their edges, but their laughter was warm, as if no time had passed at all.

They found themselves drifting into old stories, ones Larry had forgotten entirely. There was the time they'd all gone camping and Larry had spent the night shivering, too proud to admit he’d left his sleeping bag at home. Or the summer they built a makeshift raft, only to have it sink ten feet from shore. Each tale brought out a fresh wave of laughter, some teasing, and even some solemn moments, as they remembered the friends who could no longer be there.

As the evening stretched on, something shifted in Larry. For so long, he’d thought of his memories as distant flickers of a life he had left behind, but now they were alive, breathing, shared between people who remembered the boy he used to be. He felt a deep, unexpected warmth fill the gaps that time had created.

When it was time to leave, they promised not to wait so long again. But Larry didn’t need the reassurance. He’d discovered something he didn’t realize he had lost: the richness of a life shared, of laughter and sorrow witnessed together, of connections too deep to fade.