Bill Leslie's Carolina Conversations

Write a Novel Game

Posted February 14, 2008

Mdoodle’s perilous plot prompter garners the most votes in our ”Write a North Carolina Novel Game.”

Let’s write a chapter today. Mdoodle will begin by adding at least one more paragraph. She will manage today’s story development. She will be the editor and I will assist her. Those wanting to participate should announce their intentions. Mdoodle will call on volunteers to add to the story. Mdoodle will have the final say on editing and revisions in an attempt to create a flowing and cohesive product. Mdoodle will email the finished product to me at The chapter will be published tomorrow on Carolina Conversations.

Let the drama begin. This is how the story starts:

"With the Cape Fear River sparkling just beyond the front yard, and the peaceful, friendly atmosphere of a small town, Southport - and more importantly - Lois Janes Bed and Breakfast was our favorite weekend getaway....well it was before we found the dead body floating in our bathtub."


This blog post is closed for comments.

Oldest First
View all
  • blytle Feb 15, 2008

    A word to Murdock and Calleesganma: Thank you for your contributions to our story. I finalized it last night (Thurs.) after I got home from dinner and the theatre. I emailed the final version to Bill and look forward to sharing it with you when he posts it.

  • blytle Feb 14, 2008

    “How can this be happening?” I thought to myself. Everything about the situation is so bizarre. “I just hope and pray for justice in this system. They have to realize they have the wrong person, they just have to. Where’s Matlock when you really need him?”
    I had never been in trouble before. Not a speeding ticket or a parking ticket to my name, yet here I was in Southport, North Carolina, one of the most peaceful places on earth, and I was being accused of murder. The only consolation in that horrible day came that evening when Officer Phife let Michael bring me a delicious supper of the Pharmacy’s famous crab cakes.

    (Note to Murdock -- your last post went in ahead of these paragraphs.)

  • murdock Feb 14, 2008

    I remember that day like it was yesterday. It was our honeymoon, here at the B&B. We had just taken a wonderful cruise on the river at sunset. As we were climbing out of the boat, he tripped and scraped his leg on the pier. That scrape landed us at local Dosher Memorial for stitches. Now a reminder of that evening was a scar that would identify him at his death.

  • blytle Feb 14, 2008

    Ok, contributors. I'm off to run errands. Then tonight I'll be out on a date with my husband. Keep adding your submissions and I'll work on completing the chapter either later tonight or first thing in the morning. I've promised Bill that I'd have the finished product emailed to him by 8 am. Thank for all the good help. I have incorporated some of everyone's writing into the story!!!!

  • calleesganma Feb 14, 2008

    How can this be happening?
    I just hope and pray for justice in this system.
    They have to realize they have the wrong person, they just have to..........

  • murdock Feb 14, 2008

    sorry, typo "he was not saying a word AT all."

  • murdock Feb 14, 2008

    Michael, my husband, continued to have the wheels turn in his head. He didn't know what to think or what to say. Officer Phife might as well have told me him his rights too because he was not saying a word of all. That was worse than hearing him yell to me.

    While this little conversation was going on, the local forensic folks came by. One started to ask me to identify the body. How fun was that to tell the locals in front of my husband that Thomas had a scar from an accident many years ago.

  • blytle Feb 14, 2008

    Instead, I heard the words, the first actual words he had spoken, of Officer Phife (I’m not making that up!) as he said, “Nancy Raynor, you have the right to remain silent…….” I’m not the silent type, but I knew when it was time to keep it zipped.

  • murdock Feb 14, 2008

    "I can't believe this!" my husband yelled. His booming voice brought me back to the present. I didn't know what to say. The officer was eyeing me. To him, I was ready to be executed. He promptly released the handcuffs from my husband and cuffed my other hand. I thought this is the time to worry, not because I had done anything wrong but because my romantic weekend had just turned into the fight of the century. Being carted off to the jailhouse was a piece of cake compared to the words I could just hear my husband preparing to say.

  • calleesganma Feb 14, 2008

    This happen to be the B&B that Dr. Hatchett and myself spent our honeymoon night. Should I keep that our secret or should I tell my husband.
    I didn't realize when my shift was over on Friday morning that would be that last time I saw Thomas alive, why do I keep thinking that he wanted to tell me something before I left for my weekend trip to Southport?




Meet the Author
Bill Leslie