Here it is: The beginning of our as-of-yet-unnamed collaborative novel. We hope this piece will inspire authors to come up with some great writing, as we believe our project is capable of some truly interesting storytelling.

Again, we welcome submissions from authors from around the world, with each selected contribution continuing the story from the previously posted section. Submissions may be sent to kip@ smile.net.il or to kotarim2@gmail.com . Authors are also welcome to contact us via Twitter, Facebook, or Google+.

And now, without further ado, the opening text to our global book:

The telephone rang at precisely 7:40 in the morning. I remember, because I had looked at the clock on the wall and thought to myself how early it was and asked myself who could possibly be calling me at that hour. Relatively early, of course, since I hadn’t worked for a few months already and no one had seemed to notice my absence in the world. I picked up the phone and the voice on the other side of the line identified himself as a lawyer named Danny Shapira. The name sounded familiar somehow, but I didn’t think about it for long and just said, “What happened?”

There was silence on the other end, as the lawyer wavered for a moment and finally said: “Your father, Matthew, wasn’t feeling well last night. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but, he passed away.”

A strange grunt escaped my mouth, something between a squeak and a groan. A sort of “uhheh”. I caught myself and asked the man: “How do you know my father? Wait, aren’t you from Ruby’s office? The newspaper's lawyer? So what’s your connection to my father?”

There was another a short bout of silence on the line, a pause that revealed some hesitation on the part of the young lawyer. A thought entered my mind: Perhaps, in looking for me, someone had contacted the newspaper where I used to work and that’s why I was getting a phone call from this Danny Shapira.

“This isn’t connected to the newspaper,” the lawyer continued, in an almost whisper. “Your father was in a relationship with my sister.”

Even though I hadn’t seen my father for seven years and I knew next to nothing about his life, it didn’t surprise me to hear that he was with a younger woman. But this lawyer sounded like he must have been in his thirties, which made me curious.

“Wait, you mean a relationship? As in, they were together? How old is your sister?”

Once again, there was a pause before he finally answered: “My sister… is 38. I know this sounds strange. How old was your father, 65? 70?”

“Eighty,” I answered. “He was 80.”

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