Wow! Has it been a month already? Where does the time go? We are continuing on with the experiment. Below you will find a few paragraphs. I started the story, and I would like those of you reading this to write your own paragraph or so to add to these paragraphs. You can place it in either the comments or shoot me an e-mail. On subsequent first Fridays of the month, I will look at all of the submissions, edit and perhaps smooth out the best ones, and begin the process all over. (It'll happen more often if the response is overwhelming.) Thus, we will all be part of a collabrative story and we'll see where it leads. Let’s have fun and use our imaginations.
Trebor Oizaf wrapped his tentacles tightly around the steering apparatus of his flying machine. He desperately wanted to get home fast, but he couldn't break any laws. Yes, the laws of physics would force him to have to wait the hour left on his journey. He hoped everything at home was all right, but he would have to wait to find out.
Zaf's frustration mounted as his three most anterior appendages cramped. His vehicle's manufacturer would be receiving a nasty letter about the speciesism implied by the fact that they didn't make a single model suitable for tentacled beings, that's for sure. Tentacles weren't designed to be so tightly coiled for any length of time. He wondered fleetingly whether he'd be able to sue if his tips suffered permanent loss of dexterity, then forced himself back to alertness when he realized how tired he must be if he'd thought of himself as desperate and his thoughts as fleeting. He'd never get published indulging in such clichés . . . but again he was drifting. He felt vaguely guilty for not keeping intently focused on what awaited him at home. He set his face as if looking grim and determined would direct his thoughts straight ahead, but he still had more than three-quarters of an hour left to his flight, and he knew himself well enough to know that his mind roamed as it would.
He knew he should concentrate on his driving, but he let his mind wander some more. There was much waiting for him at home. Suddenly he realized that he had missed his turn. Instead of whisking along the Orion Beltway, he was somewhere he didn’t recognize. Where were the intergalactic traffic signs when you need them? How long had his mind roamed? Did he fall asleep? Which way should he go now? Which way was back? Traffic was getting thick, so he must be near something important. Here he was in an intergalactic traffic jam with no "tentacle" express lane towards home.