Last week, I put out a call for writers to express their interest in joining me in a literary experiment called Exquisite Corpse. The idea is to collaborate on a story where each participant writes a portion of the story in succession, like a relay race. The following Steemian writers responded with interest:

@franexito
@fromage
@calluna
@blueteddy
@foxyspirit
@quillfire (late entry)

_{Original image from
Pixabay.}

That's a good mix. It means we have seven participants counting myself. I'll write the first part of the story and pass the baton to the next writer. The rules are quite simple:

Each writer will write their part of the story on their own Steemit blog.
Each post should be between 350 and 1,000 words (not too long and not short).
Pick up the story where the writer before you left off.
Give something of an introduction so your readers know what is going on.
You can take the story in any direction you want, even veering from the trajectory set by previous writers, but try to make the story make sense (a large part of the challenge here is to present a challenge for the next writer to move the story along - it's all for fun). You don't have to try to keep the same voice and tone, or even write in the same genre, as previous writers. You can go comedic, tragic, horror, mystery, romance, sci-fi/fantasy ... as long as you can make the narrative fit together with the rest of the story.
Tag the next writer to let them know it's their turn to write (it's also a good idea to tag all participants so that each of us can follow the story through to the end.
Each writer has a week to post their part of the story (you can post any time during that week).

And now, here's the opening sequence of our little experiment.

A Perfect Day For a Murder

Vinnie Testosteroni was no ordinary serious killer. He showed no signs of sexual deviance. He didn't have daddy issues or hate his mother. There was no hint of psychological damage or mental health issues anywhere in the family tree. He didn't mutilate the bodies or have sex with his victims before murdering them. And he didn't try to hide the fact that he was a serial killer by holding down a job to which he was compulsively dedicated and which served only as a cover-up to his real occupation as serial killer.

Vinnie was no planner. He didn't miticulously plot every detail of his discretions to ensure he'd never be caught. He had no signature moves that would set him apart from others of his kind, and he absolutely refused to sign his name with his victims' blood. In fact, he hated the sight of blood.

Instead, he worked hard to arrange for his victims to kill themselves after he had left the scene of the crime, which always seemed to happen on a Sunday.

He couldn't figure out why he liked Sundays, but it was his favorite day. He'd say to himself over and over as he prepared for each work of murderous art, It's the perfect day for a murder. And it usually was.

One Sunday morning, while preparing for his weekly chance meeting with the next victim, he cut himself shaving. He had, as usual, waken at five a.m. to the sound of his alarm clark singing his favorite happy tune. He scurried himself through his normal Sunday morning routine of putting on coffee, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the dining room table of his plush bachelor pad, and searching for the clothes he'd wear for the day's murder.

Rummaging quickly through his closet, he pulled a pair of black polyester pants and a plaid shirt from it, then threw them nonchalantly onto his bed and mozied into the bathroom to shave.

Vinnie was in no hurry. He was never in a hurry, even when times called for moving quickly. To Vinnie, life was a journey to be enjoyed, not some roller coaster ride meant to produce endless adrenaline rushes, or some detailed business itinerary through which one maneuvered as quickly as possible in order to maximize efficiency, save time, and produce wealth. That was for dreamers, and Vinnie was no dreamer.

So he dawdled his way into the bathroom, approached the lavatory in the most cautious way a serial killer could before setting out for the day, and took his razor in hand. Without much thought, he raised it to his cheek, placed it gingerly beside his earlobe and slid it downward to remove the fuzz that had begun to sprout since the day before. To his dismay, a sudden and spontaneous twitch of his hand caused the blade to nick his skin, and that's when this perfect day for a murder began to jump the rail.

The title of our little story, of course, is "A Perfect Day For a Murder." I'm anxious to see how it ends.

Using a random generator, I've set the order for our writers in the following sequence:

@calluna will have one week to take this story to the next writer, but she can post at any time during that week. @franexito will follow, then @blueteddy, and so one, until @quillfire, who will write the final leg and wrap up any loose ends. We're not looking for a perfect #story here. This is just for fun, so don't sweat the small details.

Now I leave it in your hands. @calluna, Go!

As a reminder, the deadline for the farmpunk fiction contest is next Saturday at midnight EST. You can get the details for the contest here and here. For your resteem, you can resteem this post (if you haven't already resteemed one of the others). I'm totally looking forward to your entries!

Get your weird lit on:

The Biblical Legends Anthology Series