*One story will be the one you wrote, and I’d like for you to have the opportunity to pick your second story—but that might not work out. No promises.

Please read all 16 of these stories and note your favorites.

Part One with 9 stories.

Part Two with 3 stories

Part Three with 1 story

Part Four with the last stor7:

Thank you to Wes Dearinger for filling in the remaining gap:

Sniff, Sniff, Sniff by Wes Dearinger

Sniff,sniff,sniff

He moved along the alley, the morning sun created long shadows. His tail wagged idly as he drew near the mouth of the alley.

Sniff, sniff sniff

His tail wagged faster when the human with the dark face fur made the noises he knew was the male’s greeting. “Hey, buddy!” He walks over and sits. Humans liked it when he sat and offered his paw which Face Fur takes with bared teeth,

Sniff, sniff, sniff

The smells from the thing Face Fur pushed around caused an involuntary whine and a hopeful glance which caused Face Fur to make the pleased noise and bared his teeth again. He opens the shiny top and with the shiny thing pulls out….. The Meat!!.

Sniff, sniff, sniff

His tail moved so fast on the ground a few pebbles were scattered. He reared up a bit, the wonderful scent of things the humans did to the pig make him eager. Face Fur made the go ahead noises. “Here ya go, buddy!” and he leaned in and took it from the shiny thing Face Fur held it with. He made quick, delighted work of the Meat and then grins up at Face Fur who gives him a scratch on his scruff, above the slash scars on his front shoulders.

Sniff, sniff, sniff

Face Fur had been making the grey clouds again. The sharp acrid smell was not one he cared for and his blunt nose bumped the hard square under his notfur and he let out a displeased short bark. Silver Fur gives an exhaling noise and makes more noises. “I know i know I keep tryin to quit, buddy. Keeping me honest, good boy!” another good scratch. A loud rumbling brought his head around.

Sniff. Sniff. Sniff

The big drab box that held the stuff the humans put on the edge of the territory was coming. It was loud and smelled of all the things the humans threw out. Face Fur made the pleased sounds “Oh, time for you to go? See you tomorrow, buddy.” The pat on the head he knew meant Face Fur was going to push his box to where he would give the Meat to other humans.

Sniff, sniff, sniff

He trotted in the opposite direction that Face Fur goes. He moved up two streets and another alley. He then gets to the spot and lays down in a patch of sun from between two tall human dens.

Sniff. Sniff. Sniff

His head came up. The Ginger Pup looked eager when she came around the big bush. She made her greeting noises as he raised himself up.”Duggie!” Ginger pup skipped over to him, he noted her notfur was a darker shade then the notfur from yesterday.

Sniff,sniff,sniff

Ginger Pup crouched down and wrapped her small human arounds him. He laid his head along her shoulder and back. She did not smell sad. Good. Some days Ginger Pup was very sad. He knew the sad she had been feeling. It was the sad of losing a parent. He knew that sad.

Sniff, sniff, sniff

Ginger Pup stood and he turned with her. They walked along the path, one of her hands rested on his back. She made noises as they walked. Some days she did and some days she did not. He preferred when she made her not sad noises. “Daddy says he got good news. He was real surprised about something Like good surprise. I think had been crying but like happy crying…”

Sniff. Sniff. Sniff

His head came around to look at her as they walked. Her sad was starting to come back but not strong. So he waited and walked with her as she sorted her own feelings. “I miss daddy being happy.” He leaned closer to her as she put more of her weight against him. “Since mommy went to heaven he is as sad as me but he always smiles at me but I know he is sad…..” she stopped walking and he stopped with her.

Sniff. Sniff. Sniff

He turned and faced her and with gentle effort he lifts up off his front paws and gave her a soft lick on her chin. She made the bubbly pleased noises. “Oh Duggie your such a good boy!” She gave him another hug and continued walking, he kept pace at her side.

Sniff, Sniff, Sniff

He walked her down the path to the den where all the pups went most days. They stopped at the small row of flower bushes where she crouched again and gave him double paw scratchings on his flanks which caused him to give her a happy dog grin. “You be a good boy, Duggie and I’ll see you tomorrow.” She pressed her mouth to his nose then ran off, her sad nowhere in evidence.

Sniff, Sniff, Sniff

The faint smell of the leaves in hot water reaches his nose. It was time for him to go to Silver Fur. She would need him to pick up the rolled bundle from the edge of her territory. She did not move well and was always happy when he made his way to her territory. He trotted through two territories towards the smell of leaves in hot water.

Sniff, Sniff, Sniff

“Oh there you are.” came her words of greetings. “Good morning, Sebastian!”

Do not publish your stories. There’s lots of work yet to be done.

And remember:

Subscribe to the Open-World Franklin newsletter has created: This update post will allow you to subscribe. Also, check out our slack and the worldbuilding hub for the open-world project.

Subscribe now

Brent Robbins

— Thaddeus Thomas

We’re looking for your favorites so we can assign people to write the next 8, stories which come before these. If you’re selected, you’ll be assigned* two stories, and your new story must include at least one character from each. At the end of that story, your readers will select which character they want to follow.

*One story will be the one you wrote, and I’d like for you to have the opportunity to pick your second story—but that might not work out. No promises.

Please read all 14 of these stories and note your favorites.

Part One with 9 stories.

Part Two with 3 stories

Part Three with 2 stories:

Here’s one I missed earlier!

Crash by

And a new one on Google Doc

The Ring and The Reaper by Sorianne Choate

Important note: this is an interior document. There's no need to restack or share. This isn't for the Substack community at large.

We're gathering this first round of stories to read them as members of the effort. We'll pick the 8 authors who will write the next round of stories. We have several rounds to work through, and when they're all done… we'll all publish at the same time.

Do not publish your stories. There’s lots of work yet to be done.

And remember:

Subscribe to the Open-World Franklin newsletter has created: This update post will allow you to subscribe. Also, check out our slack and the worldbuilding hub for the open-world project.

Subscribe now

Brent Robbins

— Thaddeus Thomas

I’ve looked everywhere and could only find three stories. If you sent me stories anywhere else, please email them to judasdthomas@gmail.com. Send me a draft link and put Open World Stories in the subject line.

Read these 11 stories. We’ll be voting soon. I’ll see if I can get some more submissions.

Important note: this is an interior document. There's no need to restack or share. This isn't for the Substack community at large.

We're gathering this first round of stories to read them as members of the effort. We'll pick the 8 authors who will write the next round of stories. We have several rounds to work through, and when they're all done… we'll all publish at the same time.

Do not publish your stories. There’s lots of work yet to be done.

And remember:

Subscribe to the Open-World Franklin newsletter has created: This update post will allow you to subscribe. Also, check out our slack and the worldbuilding hub for the open-world project.

Subscribe now

This article is NOT part of Literary Salon #3… because what we’re doing here is secret.

Remember this: Get thee to a computer or you can try viewing this from the browser on your phone (which I can’t guarantee will work). The preview links don’t work in the app.

Haly has written one for us since we were short:

https://moonlightbard.substack.com/p/7c404c68-c7e2-4d47-bcc3-d8721e3804d6

S M Garratt:

https://theoortcloud.substack.com/p/8db0817c-2060-44a1-9937-c6341eda1784

Wes Dearinger:

"Roll Call"

Noah locked his ford, bounced his keys in his hand and walked towards the Franklin VFW. The street lights from the small parking lot gave enough light to illuminate the sidewalk. The late May night was hot and humid. There was a waiting in the air that Noah felt was more than just the impending storm. His twenty years experience as Caretaker had leant him a sense of such things. He gave Old Glory a nod as the flag was whipped by the gusting wind, illuminated by the lights at the base of the pole. Noah unlocked the glass doors to the large red-brick building then pocketed his keys. The old man, 73 last September, hummed an idle tune as he entered. As he enters the pair of switches to the left flick up and the lights go on.

“Thank you.” he murmured as the door closed behind him.

Noah’s eyes went to the display cases as they did everytime that he had entered the building, going all the way back to the 2nd grade field trip. The displays were simple three shelf affairs enclosed in glass that lined three of the four walls.

“Good evenin.” he greeted with a nod, respect in tone and manner, then headed to the door on the left, still humming

Noah’s office was a simple affair. One wall held file cabinets and a wall locker while another sported a large framed map of Franklin. His desk was spartan, only having a laptop, a pair of small framed photos and an old army mug holding pens and pencils. Noah took a seat in the old battered chair behind his desk and pulled out his phone, sending a text to his wife. That done, he opened the laptop to continue work on the planning of the VFW’s 4th of July BBQ while he waited.

He didn’t know why he had felt compelled to come in. Experience told him that it would reveal itself when it was ready to do so.

And thus it was, twenty minutes later, he was mulling over meats when he heard an almost tentative rap on the glass. He looked up from his screen. As he did, the top left drawer of his old metal desk squeaked open an inch. He looked back and down at the open drawer.

“Oh really?” He murmured as he stood and stretched a moment before saying, quite firmly.

“At ease, now.”

Then he headed to the door leading to the lobby and its display cases. The lobby’s lights showed a young man in a faded blue hoodie and a backpack over one shoulder. Noah, an easy smile on his wrinkled features, opened the door.

“Evenin, What can I do for you?” The young man hadn’t looked at Noah. He stared past him at the cases. His expression was a mix of nervousness, anger and sorrow. Noah gave a mental nod of understanding. Now he knew.

“Why don’t ya come on in, young man. Might start rainin any moment.” As if summoned by his words a rumble of thunder rolled in the night sky above them. He stood aside and the young man swallowed and entered.

The young man, Noah judged fifteen or sixteen, walked the circle of the room, gazing into the displays. The shelves held an assortment of items. Personal items of the honored dead. Some were military in nature, medals being the most common, but not all. He knew at least three yo-yo’s regularly made appearances on the shelves.

“Have you come to add an item for remembrance?” he asked gently. The young man looked over at the Caretaker and nodded, eyes brightening with unshed tears. Noah nodded slowly. “I just need to know their name and rank.” he softly informed the grieving young man. The bag came off the shoulder and out came an olive green military flashlight. The young man held it almost reverently.

“Specialist Sandra Gibson.” he said in an almost whisper. “One of her… squad I guess… came to the funeral. Said she used this to bring in a helicopter to get them and their injured out. She….” tears began falling. “She got hit as it landed.”

Noah noded and laid a gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder. “She died so others could live. Others like her squad and those back home like you.” The young man nodded and started to hand the flashlight over when an earthshaking rumble of thunder sounded out a moment after a bright flash of lightning and then the lights went out. The young man let out a bit off shriek of fear. Almost immediately the emergency lights came on.

“It’s ok, lightning probably just hit a transformer… oh no…” Noah had begun to tell his guest as his eyes drifted out the glass door to see darkness with no light aiming upwards at the flag.

“Gonna have to ask you hold a moment. I need to bring in the flag.”

“But Why?” the young man asked, confused by the sudden change.

“Flag code says so…” his words was cut off as the flashlight lights up.” Another yelp, this time of surprised,

“I… I didnt turn it on.” the teenager declared, voice cracking. Noah waited in silence, holding up a finger as he gazed at the flashlight. The light dims and as it does the lamps outside begin glowing and shining upward, illuminating the Colors. Noah smiles. The young man stared between the flashlight and the flagpole, a look of wonder on his face.

“Let’s find that flashlight a place to rest.” Noah told the young man.

Twenty minutes later Noah entered his office and went to his desk. He pulled open the partially opened drawer, fetched out a small key which he used to unlock a file drawer and retrieved an old leather ledger. On the latest page he adds the entry Specialist Sandra Gibson, USA, Flashlight

“Welcome.” he called out the newest member of the VFW

Brent Robbins

— Thaddeus Thomas

We're gathering this first round of stories to read them as members of the effort. We'll pick the 8 authors who will write the next round of stories. We have several rounds to work through, and when they're all done… we'll all publish at the same time.

And remem5ber:

Check out the work has done in both on our slack and at the worldbuilding hub for the open-world project.

Subscribe now

This article is NOT part of Literary Salon, issue #1… because what we’re doing here is secret. You can still visit the magazine, though.

Remember this: Get thee to a computer or you can try viewing this from the browser on your phone (which I can’t guarantee will work). These links don’t work in the app.

These are the stories I’ve received so far. If you sent me your story and it’s not included, let me know. 8 out of 15 (1 author dropped out.)

How to Act in a Crisis by for the story CLICK HERE

This story was added after the initial mailing.

Apex by for the story CLICK HERE.

The "player character" is a cat named Bean.

Sky Bound Wishes by for the story CLICK HERE

This link goes to Google Docs.

The Management of Ravenwood Heights by for the story CLICK HERE

Electric Ghost by for the story CLICK HERE

Orange Light by for the story CLICK HERE

The link opens a Google Doc.

Achluophobia by for the story CLICK HERE

Two stories are included here in full.

Ermaline by Mary J Hunt and Untitled by Bradley Trapp

Ermaline by the story is included here:

Ermaline is strange. In appearance she is homely. Her grades among the other thirteen-year-olds in her class are mediocre at best, substandard at worst. She is unremarkable. But there is one unusual thing about her. She has an empathic personality that leads to both good and bad outcomes. Once she saw some boys taunting a small animal caught in a trap. She touched the torturous trap and freed the animal. A single tear fell from her eye as she touched the animal’s wounded leg, and it instantly healed. The boys were stunned, and afraid of her. She looked at them as they ran. Those who cause another to suffer will also suffer. Ermaline’s power is heightened by compassion and justice. The boy who was the instigator stepped into another trap and screamed out his pain.

Being raised by elderly grandparents, has unfortunately made her a spectacle among her peers. Initially Ermaline was mocked for her peculiarity, but as word of her strange power to heal or harm spread, she was given a wide berth, by her peers.

Ermaline’s small patch of the world is marked by woods and large trees that surround her small house.

Her mother died while giving her life, and her father died a couple of years later. Her grandparents took her in and lived by the old ways. Her grandmother was a seamstress, like her mother before her. She made all of Ermaline’s clothes with love. Money was sparse, but love was plentiful. While her peers prided themselves on wearing the latest fashions to school, Ermaline was proud of the long colorful dresses her grandmother created for her. She wore her long hair in a bun to school each day.

One day Carlton was crying. Athletic and handsome, his deep emotions have led to his peers having fun at his expense. Whereas Ermaline doesn’t care about the opinions of others, Carlton cares deeply. Innocent teasing leads to exaggerated outbursts of anger and tears from Carlton.

Today Ermaline brings her lunch to his table and takes a seat next to him. She can feel his pain.

“I can tell something is really bothering you, Carlton. Do you want to talk about it?”

Seeing the compassion in Ermaline’s eyes, he blurts out. “My parents told me my dog is dying. There is nothing they can do.” Ermaline loves animals. Her empathy is heightened by compassion. “Do you have a picture of your dog?”

He pulls out a picture from his pocket. I carry this with me every day, because my dog is my best friend.”

They live in a backwards community where cell phones are more of a luxury than the norm.

Ermaline picks up the picture of a beautiful lab. With one finger she touches the face of the dog. A single tear falls from her eye. “Don’t worry Carlton, Princess won’t die. She will be well when you get home.

“How do you know that?”

“I just know. Trust me. Just believe Carlton.” A bell rings, signifying it is twelve thirty, the end of the lunch period.

Now back in the classroom, Carlton feels better. She seemed so certain, so he tries to do what she said. I believe she is well; he repeats over and over in his mind. When he gets home from school, he immediately goes to check on his dog.

“Mom, how is Princess?”

“It’s the strangest thing. She is better. She seems fine now. Let’s go and check on her.”

Carlton discovers Princess is completely well. She ate all of her food and seems to have her energy back. She wants to play tug of war, her favorite game. All her toys are scattered about.

Carlton is exuberant. What happened mom?”

“I don’t really know. I had just finished my lunch. It was around twelve thirty. I went out to check on her, and she was running and barking, wanting to play. It is weird. A miracle really. She was dying.”

Carlton tells his mother what Ermaline said. His mother keeps the story to herself, until a futuristic event reminds her of Ermaline.

Something occurs to Carlton. He never told Ermaline or any of his peers the name of his dog, yet Ermaline knew it.

A few years later, Carlton’s father developed a strange disease. Doctors could find nothing to cure him. It was progressive. He started losing his ability to walk, then to stand, while his fingers curled and were useless. His father was a kind man, and the breadwinner of the family. One day Carlton thought about Ermaline as he played with his dog. He asked her if she would come to his place and meet his father. She agreed.

His father, now in a wheelchair, greeted her warmly. He reached out his gnarled hand to shake her young hand. She experienced intense compassion for the man. As she shook his hand, she could feel his kindness envelope her. Without understanding her own words, she spoke to him. “You have a grave condition. “Would you like to be healed?” she innocently asked.

“I wish I could be healed. I feel badly that I can’t support my family.”

“Then you will be healed. I will help you. Do you believe this?”

He doesn’t understand why he responds the way he does, but he tells her, “I believe.”

Then a heat radiates into the hand she is still holding and moves throughout his body.

His fingers straighten up, and his body is strengthened. He stands up. Carlton is amazed.

Ermaline tells Carlton, “I won’t be in school for a while. I will be helping a friend.” Her

fingers have begun to curl and stiffen.

Carlton’s popularity increases. as he spreads and embellishes the details of Ermaline’s actions. He attributes every illness or healing to Ermaline.

The healings and accidents continue to increase, along with fabricated tales of her power being the cause. As her notoriety spreads, only the truly desperate, or the very foolish seek her out.

Untitled

Untitled by the story is included here:

The late spring breeze carried the sweet scent of honeysuckle as Aviva shifted on the weathered wooden bench, the planks creaking beneath her. She tucked her legs underneath her—a habit she’d developed since they were too short to reach the ground—and adjusted the thick mythology book in her lap. The rushing waters of the Franklin River provided a constant backdrop to the cooing pigeons that pecked at her scattered breadcrumbs.

She twisted a strand of her copper-red hair, a nervous habit that always drew her mother’s gentle scolding. The sound of fabric rustling beside her caught her attention, but she didn’t look up. A figure in a simple black coat had appeared, his presence bringing an inexplicable sense of calm rather than the fear one might expect.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Aviva asked, her voice carrying the slight whistle from her missing front tooth.

The figure turned, surprise clear in his subtle head tilt. “What makes you say that?”

Aviva’s fingers drummed against her book’s worn cover. “You don’t look like anyone I’ve seen before. And you’re too quiet. People around here like to talk about the weather or the Cardinals, but you’re just... still.”

“You’re very perceptive for someone so young.” His voice carried an accent Aviva couldn’t quite place.

Aviva closed her book and looked at him directly for the first time. “You’re Death, aren’t you?”

Death’s hands—neither old nor young—folded in his lap. “I am.”

Instead of feeling scared, Aviva found herself studying Death’s features. He wasn’t anything like the skeleton in her mythology book. “You don’t look like I thought you would,” she said, running her thumb along the worn edge of her book cover. “No scythe, no skeleton. Just a boring coat.”

A sound like distant wind chimes filled the air as Death chuckled. “The scythe is a myth. And I thought this form might be less frightening.”

“It’s not scary,” Aviva said, fidgeting with her locket. “But it’s kinda sad.”

Death’s head did that peculiar tilt again. “Sad?”

“You look like someone who doesn’t get invited to birthday parties,” she explained, remembering her sister’s recent celebration, the cake frosting and laughter she’d watched from her window. Her chest tightened at the memory.

Death’s laugh was softer this time, like leaves rustling. “You’re very brave to speak to me this way.”

Aviva shrugged, tucking her legs more firmly under her as a cool breeze swept across the river. “I’m not scared of you. I’ve been sick for a long time. The doctors say I might not get better, but that’s okay.” The words came easier than she expected. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I’m just curious about... what happens next.”

The questions bubbled up inside her like the river rapids downstream. “What’s it like to be Death? Where do people go? Do you ever get lonely?”

Death’s answers came slowly, his strange accent growing more pronounced with each response. When he admitted he didn’t know where people went, Aviva noticed how his hands twisted together, almost like her mother’s did when discussing difficult things.

“It’s not my role to know,” Death explained. “I’m a guide, not a keeper of answers.”

The pigeons had drawn closer, unafraid of Death’s presence. One pecked near his feet, and Aviva noticed how the bird’s shadow seemed to waver, like heat rising from summer pavement.

“Do you get lonely?” she pressed, watching Death’s reaction.

He hesitated, and for a moment, the river’s rushing seemed to grow quieter. “Sometimes. But I’ve grown used to it. I don’t linger in the places I visit. It’s easier that way.”

Aviva frowned, her fingers finding the locket again. She knew about loneliness – the long hospital nights, watching other children play from windows. “That sounds lonely to me.”

The sun began its descent behind the trees, casting long shadows across the riverbank. Each one seemed to reach toward Death like seeking fingers. Aviva watched a leaf spiral down to the water’s surface before speaking again.

“You know, people probably wouldn’t be so scared of you if you talked to them like this more often.”

Death’s coat rippled in a way that didn’t match the breeze. “My presence is enough to bring fear. It’s better to remain distant.”

“Maybe that’s because you only show up at the end,” Aviva said, thinking of how her little sister had feared their new neighbor until they’d shared cookies and stories. “If people knew you were kind, they wouldn’t be so scared.”

Death turned to her then, and for a moment, Aviva thought she saw something ancient in his eyes, like stars reflected in deep water. “You’re very wise for your age.”

She grinned, running her tongue over the gap in her teeth. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

As twilight approached, the air grew sharp with an evening chill. Death’s coat rippled in ways that didn’t quite match the wind, and Aviva noticed how the shadows beneath the trees seemed to lean toward them, like curious children.

“Will it hurt?” she asked, clutching the silver locket her grandmother had given her—the one containing a mysterious photograph she’d shown no one.

“No,” Death assured her, his accent growing stronger with emotion. “It will feel like falling asleep. Peaceful.”

Aviva stood, brushing crumbs from her flowered dress. She hesitated, then pulled the locket from her neck. “Could you... could you make sure my little sister gets this? There’s something inside she needs to see when she’s older.”

Death’s hand closed around the locket, and for a moment, Aviva thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or memory. “You remind me of someone,” he whispered, but didn’t elaborate.

Aviva noticed the world blurred at the edges, like watercolors in the rain. The last thing she noticed was how Death’s hand felt warm instead of cold, and how the river’s song seemed to grow louder.

The bench creaked once more in the growing darkness, but Aviva no longer felt its weathered wood beneath her.

Brent Robbins

— Thaddeus Thomas

Part of the confusion is that I gave you all the facts in a post that was just too long. Additionally, I’ve been on vacation, and if you asked me for information while I was in Finland, the “facts” I gave you might have been fishy.

Let’s try this again, but I’ll try to keep it brief.

But first of all:

Check out the work has done in both on our slack and at the worldbuilding hub for the open-world project.

Subscribe now

This article is part of Literary Salon, issue #1.

What open-world writers need to know: Each author will write one story during this round. Do not publish it. You’ll message me the draft link and let me know if you’re available to write another story. When all the stories are ready, I’ll post the links for all of you to read.

The story you’re submitting now is meant to be the end of the story. Some of you didn’t understand that point, I know. We’ll figure it out.

Let’s read the stories and see where we stand.

Email your draft links to judasdthomas [at] gmail.com.

A note from Haly: It will be helpful to have a World Anvil account, jist a free one. Optional, bit it will give another income avenue to authors who want it.

Start DMing me with any character/setting details that didn't make it into the final cut of your stories, I'll begin building wiki articles. (They will be private until the beginning/mid July when we start pushing about release, the WA account will allow me to give authors early access.)

I'm going to start a second publication dedicated exclusively to Franklin; this is more than a section and needs it's own list and chat. (Don't worry, T, I have this, you don't have to manage anything. I know why you scaled back; I haven't hit that wall, this will only be my 2nd.)

What readers need to know: We’re building an open-world flash-fiction story. It’s similar to those choose-your-path stories from our childhood, but this time, you’ll get a flash-fiction story and then choose which character you want to follow into the next story.

That’s the important stuff.

Welcome to shared-universe, open-world fiction.

Rule 1: The unifying factor among the stories will be its location, an American city by a river. The place is fictional, but loosely based on St. Louis so writers can consult maps as needed. Its name is Franklin, and the state is intentionally unknown. (Franklin is the most common city name in the United States. There are 31.)

Rule 2: The time is present day.

Rule 3: Each story will be roughly 500-1000 words.

Rule 4: Your story can be any genre, but at the end, we return to the present-day city of Franklin, a city that has gone largely untouched by the events of your tale.

Flash fiction, by necessity, tells a story with few characters.

Rule 5: Each story will have at least two identifiable characters, and after the story’s end, the reader will have two choices of whose story they follow next.

In a recent story of mine, the second character was only identified as “the old woman”, and she would be a logical option to write about. The author of her followup story would give her a name.

Rule 6: No politics. No erotica. No slurs. No extreme gore. Nothing that undermines a group effort, not matter how justified it might be in a standalone story..

Brent Robbins

— Thaddeus Thomas

We have our author volunteers for this round, including as first alternative, but people might back out and, if you’re interested, understanding the concept will help speed up the second round.

Welcome to shared-universe, open-world fiction.

Rule 1: The unifying factor among the stories will be its location, an American city by a river. The place is fictional, but loosely based on St. Louis so writers can consult maps as needed. Its name is Franklin, and the state is intentionally unknown. (Franklin is the most common city name in the United States. There are 31.)

Rule 2: The time is present day.

Rule 3: Each story will be roughly 500-1000 words.

Rule 4: Your story can be any genre, but at the end, we return to the present-day city of Franklin, a city that has gone largely untouched by the events of your tale.

Flash fiction, by necessity, tells a story with few characters.

Rule 5: Each story will have at least two identifiable characters, and after the story’s end, the reader will have two choices of whose story they follow next.

Rule 6: No politics. No erotica. No slurs. No extreme gore. Nothing that undermines a group effort, not matter how justified it might be in a standalone story.

Let’s talk about how we’ll write our open-world story.

Not yet subscribed to Literary Salon?

Some of my essays are for paid subscribers only, and I have a special in place until I reach 100 paid subscribers. You’ll keep that discount for as long as your hold the subscription.

Specials

Deadline for first level stories (which are actually the climax of the tale(s)): May 15th.

— Thaddeus Thomas

Subscribe now

Weekly Flash Fiction for Paid Subscribers—these won’t be emailed to you, but you’ll find the link in my regular posts. Here’s one everyone can read:

(Remember, we’re writing these backward.)

Everyone reads and votes until May 20th.

Deadline for level two stories (which lead into level one): June 1st

Everyone reads and votes until June 6th.

Deadline for level three stories (which lead into level two): June 14th.

Everyone reads and votes until June 21st.

Deadline for level four stories (which lead into level one): July 1st.

There is no vote on level four.

I write the single level 5 story.

We are ready before August.

What you might have missed before:

Slack

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World Building

First-round authors have it easy. Follow the rules but write what you want. will be compiling Franklin lore for future writers to follow. We have a Frankling Worldanvil Bible being built!

—Thaddeus Thomas

If you need to back out, let me know, is our first alternative.

Slack

If you are a paid subscriber to either Literary Salon or Bookmotion, I’ll send you an invite to the members Slack where we are building discussion groups for the various Literary Salon projects. You do not need to be a paid subscriber to participate in Open World. Information will be shared in posts like this, and the DMs are open. If you want a paid membership but your financial situation makes that impossible, DM me, and I’ll set something up for you.

If you’re interested in becoming a paid subscriber, though, I’m running a special:

Specials

World Building

First-round authors have it easy. Follow the rules but write what you want. will be compiling Franklin lore for future writers to follow. We have a Frankling Worldanvil Bible being built!

Answers to Your Questions

asked about the intent to publish all in one day and whether this should be spread over a few days. That’s absolutely worth heavy consideration, but here’s my thinking:

There will be 32 stories in a round, but each path through the phase is only 5 stories deep. When we publish, I want a reader to be able to complete a path in one sitting. They can then start over and choose a different path however many times they wish.

asked about the names listed, and yes, these are the authors for the first round. Mary that includes you. If your name is listed above and you can’t participate in this first round, please let me know.

asked about timelines for writing. I don’t yet have deadlines for anyone, but we do need this published this summer, so those deadlines will have to go out before too long. I leave for vacation at the end of this month, and I want the dates set before then. In the meantime, we’re nailing down the concept and making sure that the original volunteers are still interested.

Haly will be in charge of worldbuilding and will be in charge of highlighting any problems that arise. (Reading with notes.) Alert:

also asked about the list of names, which are the writers for the first round. It’s possible we’ll have people drop out, but we’ll also need writers for round two (the next 32 stories to be set in the fall). The voting I talked about will be done by the 16 writers.

—Thaddeus Thomas

Welcome to shared-universe, open-world fiction.

Rule 1: The unifying factor among the stories will be its location, an American city by a river. The place is fictional, but loosely based on St. Louis so writers can consult maps as needed. Its name is Franklin, and the state is intentionally unknown. (Franklin is the most common city name in the United States. There are 31.)

Rule 2: The time is present day.

Rule 3: Each story will be roughly 500-1000 words.

Rule 4: Your story can be any genre, but at the end, we return to the present-day city of Franklin, a city that has gone largely untouched by the events of your tale.

Flash fiction, by necessity, tells a story with few characters.

Rule 5: Each story will have at least two identifiable characters, and after the story’s end, the reader will have two choices of whose story they follow next.

In a recent story of mine, the second character was only identified as “the old woman”, and she would be a logical option to write about. The author of her followup story would give her a name.

Rule 6: No politics. No erotica. No slurs. No extreme gore. Nothing that undermines a group effort, not matter how justified it might be in a standalone story.

Let’s talk about how we’ll write our open-world story.

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Deeper Stories

Now, let’s discuss:

Open-World Fiction

From the Note that introduced the idea, we currently have 17 possible authors including myself. For this first effort, I would like to go 5 levels deep, which leaves us with 31 stories to write.

Not including myself, we have 16 authors and 16 final stories on the fifth level, and that’s where we’ll start. Because this is the last level, you have freedom to tell your story. The first four rules still apply, but your only character requirement is that we have a named character for whom another author can write the prequel story.

Each of you will write one story. Do not publish it. You’ll message me the draft link and let me know if you’re available to write another story. When all the stories are ready, I’ll post the links for all of you to read.

You’ll send me your votes for your top 8 stories. I’ll compile those votes, and the top 8 authors (who are also willing to write another story) will compose the stories for the next level up. You’ll each pick two stories and write a single story that features the main character from each; we’ll have to work through the story-picking process so there’s no duplication.

We’ll repeat that with all 16 authors qualifying for a vote at each level. This time we’ll pick our top 4.

And then our top two—building backwards the entire way.

I’ll write the prime story based on the main characters of those final two tales.

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Traffic and Other Considerations

The better your story, the more likely readers will be to subscribe, but in sales they say the customer has to come across a product seven times before they make the purchase. If you’re selected to write another story, not only is it bringing you close to that seventh exposure, but the higher up the chain you go, the more traffic the story gets.

Before readers come back to read paths they didn’t take, each story should receive half of the traffic from the story before it.

You don’t have to write additional stories if you don’t want to, of course.

The primary concern for each story is just writing the best story we can. Genres can be all over the place.

Remember that the concept is that the reader is choosing which character to follow next. You have limited space to tell a full story and make two characters interesting.

We’ll schedule the stories to all publish on the same day at the same time. Each story will be required to have certain links before and after.

Before: The first story and the story immediately prior.

After: The next two possible stories the reader can choose from.

Let’s discuss this further in the comments. What mistakes have I made in my planning? What did I overlook? What questions didn’t I answer? What suggestions do you have?

Is there world building we need to agree on?

I’m looking forward to what we’ll create.

First update based on questions:

We will schedule the first round of story writing once everyone is comfortable with the plan. Slow writers (like me) can tell me how long they need for the deadline, please.

All stories in all rounds we'll schedule to publish together. That way a reader can read through, all at once.

— Thaddeus Thomas

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Weekly Flash Fiction for Paid Subscribers—these won’t be emailed to you, but you’ll find the link in my regular posts. Here’s one everyone can read: