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hope said:
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She lived with her father and mother. Their family was strong and full of love. In the evenings, they would gather around the fire. Her mother was spinning or knitting, and her father always had something to fix around the house. The fire would crackle in the hearth and the parents would quietly discuss household chores. Sometimes, and such evenings the girl liked best, instead of the usual conversation there was a fairy tale story.
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The father of the house was a gifted storyteller. Everyone in the family loved his tales - Little Susie, Stranger In Moscow, Earth Song. But (cinderella?) also loved it when the family gathered together in a cosy huddle to create new stories together, each person taking turns, adding layers to the story as their imaginations grew and blossomed like a garden in summertime ...
 
zinniabooklover said:
@hope has already started the story, we all still haven't decided on 'new thread' or not. Piranesi might have to wait, doll. :D
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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Gosh :ROFLMAO::unsure: SCREAMING! Now that is a story in itself zin lol trying to find the impossible :ROFLMAO: on a hazy head like this (pretty hazy still)
i'll be in the rootin around in the Imaginary Prisons of my mind lol
 
zinniabooklover said:
@hope has already started the story, we all still haven't decided on 'new thread' or not. Piranesi might have to wait, doll. :D
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What are the options for a theme? I think if someone gets an idea, they can go ahead with it. But there may be some mandatory points that we will determine. For example, a fairy tale about a girl and the search for love. She will have an evil opponent witch, stepmother or Baba Yaga))) she has some misfortune, harm caused by this evil woman. She should have helpers fairy, magical animals, kind people who will help her and as a result everything will be fine. This is roughly what you can decide in advance and then stick to in the process of creating the story. I've made general stories with the kids in my classes several times, and this plan helped us.
 
hope said:
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She lived with her father and mother. Their family was strong and full of love. In the evenings, they would gather around the fire. Her mother was spinning or knitting, and her father always had something to fix around the house. The fire would crackle in the hearth and the parents would quietly discuss household chores. Sometimes, and such evenings the girl liked best, instead of the usual conversation there was a fairy tale story.
Click to expand...

zinniabooklover said:
The father of the house was a gifted storyteller. Everyone in the family loved his tales - Little Susie, Stranger In Moscow, Earth Song. But (cinderella?) also loved it when the family gathered together in a cosy huddle to create new stories together, each person taking turns, adding layers to the story as their imaginations grew and blossomed like a garden in summertime ...
Click to expand...
The girl who was named Zolushka grew up with a great appreciation of art, and she could easily wish and dream. She was always engaged in her fathers stories and the way that he told them. She always believed in his teaching and knowledge for the morals & power of truth for mankind, and mostly she believed in the power of love for all living things, including her.
 
hope said:
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She lived with her father and mother. Their family was strong and full of love. In the evenings, they would gather around the fire. Her mother was spinning or knitting, and her father always had something to fix around the house. The fire would crackle in the hearth and the parents would quietly discuss household chores. Sometimes, and such evenings the girl liked best, instead of the usual conversation there was a fairy tale story.
Click to expand...

zinniabooklover said:
The father of the house was a gifted storyteller. Everyone in the family loved his tales - Little Susie, Stranger In Moscow, Earth Song. But (cinderella?) also loved it when the family gathered together in a cosy huddle to create new stories together, each person taking turns, adding layers to the story as their imaginations grew and blossomed like a garden in summertime ...
Click to expand...
wendijane said:
The girl who was named Zolushka grew up with a great appreciation of art, and she could easily wish and dream. She was always engaged in her fathers stories and the way that he told them. She always believed in his teaching and knowledge for the morals & power of truth for mankind, and mostly she believed in the power of love for all living things, including her.
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One terrible day that Cinderella will never forget, disaster struck. A wicked witch found out about Cinderella's father's wonderful talent and decided to take it for herself. This witch dreamed of how one would enjoy the stories of Michael (that was the name of Cinderella's father).
 
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hope said:
One terrible day that Cinderella will never forget, disaster struck.
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Zolushka, out on the edge of the woods, gathering hazelnuts, could see dark clouds on the horizon. There was a heavy feeling in the air, a feeling of foreboding, of worry, of pain. Zolushka gave herself a little shake. 'Silly me', she thought, 'I've been reading too many gothic tales lately'. She folded up her apron around the little pile of hazelnuts and started for home.

She could see those dark clouds building up behind the family home. She walked towards them, not knowing how much things were about to change ...
 
hope said:
One terrible day that Cinderella will never forget, disaster struck. A wicked witch found out about Cinderella's father's wonderful talent and decided to take it for herself. This witch dreamed of how one would enjoy the stories of Michael (that was the name of Cinderella's father).
Click to expand...
oh, I didn't see this. I see what you mean now!
 
hope said:
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She lived with her father and mother. Their family was strong and full of love. In the evenings, they would gather around the fire. Her mother was spinning or knitting, and her father always had something to fix around the house. The fire would crackle in the hearth and the parents would quietly discuss household chores. Sometimes, and such evenings the girl liked best, instead of the usual conversation there was a fairy tale story.
Click to expand...

zinniabooklover said:
The father of the house was a gifted storyteller. Everyone in the family loved his tales - Little Susie, Stranger In Moscow, Earth Song. But (cinderella?) also loved it when the family gathered together in a cosy huddle to create new stories together, each person taking turns, adding layers to the story as their imaginations grew and blossomed like a garden in summertime ...
Click to expand...
wendijane said:
The girl who was named Zolushka grew up with a great appreciation of art, and she could easily wish and dream. She was always engaged in her fathers stories and the way that he told them. She always believed in his teaching and knowledge for the morals & power of truth for mankind, and mostly she believed in the power of love for all living things, including her.
Click to expand...
hope said:
One terrible day that Cinderella will never forget, disaster struck. A wicked witch found out about Cinderella's father's wonderful talent and decided to take it for herself. This witch dreamed of how one would enjoy the stories of Michael (that was the name of Cinderella's father).
Click to expand...
zinniabooklover said:
Zolushka, out on the edge of the woods, gathering hazelnuts, could see dark clouds on the horizon. There was a heavy feeling in the air, a feeling of foreboding, of worry, of pain. Zolushka gave herself a little shake. 'Silly me', she thought, 'I've been reading too many gothic tales lately'. She folded up her apron around the little pile of hazelnuts and started for home.

She could see those dark clouds building up behind the family home. She walked towards them, not knowing how much things were about to change ...
Click to expand...
She felt sick. A huge ,nasty twisted feeling in the pit of her stomach was growing as she made tracks towards her home. All she could taste was bile rising to the surface of her throat and the metallic taste of blood inside her mouth since she had a habit of biting her own tongue whenever she was stressed or in anguish. It was eerily quiet as she stepped closer. Her heart beat faster, harder , louder. which set off an avalanche of uncontrollable chills down her spine. Put the key in the lock - She couldn't believe what she saw when she opened the door...
 
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wendijane said:
Hope your turn i think
So , it seems to go - @hope @zinniabooklover @wendijane
so far
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Also, I can see a potential slight problem with this. If someone whose 'turn' it is has gone off to do something else, does that mean that other people feel they can't jump into the story? That would be a shame, if someone was raring to go but didn't bc it wasn't their 'turn'.

As you can see, I'm not great at this, lol. :D
 
zinniabooklover said:
Also, I can see a potential slight problem with this. If someone whose 'turn' it is has gone off to do something else, does that mean that other people feel they can't jump into the story? That would be a shame, if someone was raring to go but didn't bc it wasn't their 'turn'.

As you can see, I'm not great at this, lol. :D
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No it's a good point babe. if someone has not responded just go for it until someone is there i think
taking turns is going to be hard on all of us
 
wendijane said:
She felt sick. A huge ,nasty twisted feeling in the pit of her stomach was growing as she made tracks towards her home. All she could taste was bile rising to the surface of her throat and the metallic taste of blood inside her mouth since she had a habit of biting her own tongue whenever she was stressed or in anguish. It was eerily quiet as she stepped closer. Her heart beat faster, harder , louder. which set off an avalanche of uncontrollable chills down her spine. Put the key in the lock ...
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... and as she pushed at the door the rubies in the silver bracelet on her left wrist glowed a deep, burnished red as if they were alive. Her father had given her that bracelet when she was 7 years old. What was that? She turned her head a little, looking back over her shoulder. She could hear her father's voice now, far away, echoing within the forest behind her. She couldn't hear what he was saying. His voice sounded urgent and worried, as if he was trying to warn her about ... something. And the rubies glowed and burned on her wrist and she felt ... afraid.

She pushed the door a little wider, a little wider ...

wendijane said:
- She couldn't believe what she saw when she opened the door...
Click to expand...
 
zinniabooklover said:
... and as she pushed at the door the rubies in the silver bracelet on her left wrist glowed a deep, burnished red as if they were alive. Her father had given her that bracelet when she was 7 years old. What was that? She turned her head a little, looking back over her shoulder. She could hear her father's voice now, far away, echoing within the forest behind her. She couldn't hear what he was saying. His voice sounded urgent and worried, as if he was trying to warn her about ... something. And the rubies glowed and burned on her wrist and she felt ... afraid.

She pushed the door a little wider, a little wider ...
Click to expand...

The silence, unusual for her home, was deafening. She could not hear her mother, who was usually preparing dinner at this time. There was no clinking of dishes, no clatter of knives. Though the table was covered with herbs and vegetables for making delicious potato things. A chill eased throughout Zolushka's body, it was hard to move, but she walked over to the table and saw her. Mom was on the floor. The girl rushed to her. Thank goodness mom was breathing. It seemed like she was just sound asleep. In despair, Zolushka began to scream and call for her father, but no one answered her....
 
created-ruby-tennis-bracelet-in-sterling-silver.jpg
 
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hope said:
The silence, unusual for her home, was deafening. She could not hear her mother, who was usually preparing dinner at this time. There was no clinking of dishes, no clatter of knives. Though the table was covered with herbs and vegetables for making delicious potato things. A chill eased throughout Zolushka's body, it was hard to move, but she walked over to the table and saw her. Mom was on the floor. The girl rushed to her. Thank goodness mom was breathing. It seemed like she was just sound asleep. In despair, Zolushka began to scream and call for her father, but no one answered her....
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:eek:
 
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