The Future of Collaborative Fiction
StoryMash, the future of collaborative fiction. A creative writing community for authors, amateur writers, readers and anyone interested in collaborative fiction and collaborative creative writing.
Authors and writers hone your creative writing skills. Collaborate on new fiction stories, or branch an existing fiction story in a different direction by writing the next chapter or even a chapter into its middle!
Authors, earn money for every chapter you write and self-publish on StoryMash. StoryMash rewards your creative writing talents by sharing at least 50% of the advertisement revenue.
Register to be a new StoryMash author today!
Readers participate in the collaborate writing community. Vote for your favorite chapters and influence which plots get written next. Provide your feedback, praise, and criticism to authors about their creative writing in discussions attached to every chapter.
While reading one of our great fiction stories, if the story doesn't continue the way you want or have a great idea on what should happen next and catch the collaborate writing bug, register to write a follow up chapter!
Click to Redisplay StoryMash Intro
Chapter 1: A Sun in My Sky (Bryan)
It was on a drizzly, humid day when I first met Sky, a usual mid-spring feat here in Aumsville, VA. I had just left my house on Elm Street, the small, cracked, filthy, cluttered old one. Rain or shine, I always walked to school. My uncle never remembered to take me anywhere. He had no reason to do anything, including taking care of the house.
My mom had just died 5 months ago from Alzheimer, one of the saddest sicknesses ever. Mom was a big chunk of my dad, and that was the only reason in life he saw, nothing else. The only thing in life that helped, the only thing he did, was sit on the couch, the TV off, drowning out his sorrow in drink.
Dad hated me. He didn’t even have to say it. I could see the pain, the vulnerability, the sadness in his eyes when he saw me. I looked too much like Mom, and by golly I was half her. We had the same blue eyes and blonde hair, the same dimples on the face. The difference was that I was a boy. I was nothing else like my dad. I know I will never get to ask him about the slashing pain that must have hit him when he saw me.
I never really knew about my dad. The time I spent at home was put toward chores and work Mom used to do. He never asked how 10th grade was. We didn’t ever talk, unless it was for commands or “You’re grounded for not finishing chores.” I had an urge to ask him questions about himself, but if you said the wrong thing…
Then, he sent me to live here ...