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Why do I write?

I write because I believe that words are our biggest downfall as humans. We misunderstand each other trying to convey out great love affair of life of each other from the subtle wordless space in the in-between. Between words is where you find the breath of life, it is in those moments, that words become meaningful, to find those meaningful moments through words is a challenge but it when done right can change how we understand each other on a deep level

Why work with me?

Storytelling is my greatest passion. I take it very seriously and I work through my heart and soul to grip the audience with characters and interesting plot. Simply because I love it and love through it

Paradoxically I struggled with writing since I was young, with mild dyslexia and being prone to phonetical spelling, (I'm sure you will find some here on my webpage) which made me doubt if writing was something I could do, yet what I discovered is that when you have a passion for something and you work from your love, it does not matter what you do. I also learned that there are people who love to do what you find difficult, and when you team up with those people, magic happens


I'm currently working on a novel about the journey and meeting between three characters. It is about the beauty that we don't notice but is often hidden in plain sight

I have the outline for a fantasy series for children-young adults and another book about a group of people living in London, and how their lives intertwine 

I work with:

  • Story development

  • Story structure

  • Story and script consulting

  • Script writing

  • Short stories

  • Song lyrics

  • Poetry

BLUE - Extract from screenplay

(A story set in a surreal black and white world, about a blind pianist who falls in love with a man who has monochromatic vision)

Int. Gallery/Entrance - Day (Black and white)

The gallery is light with paper thin, white walls, so light they almost seem to hover. The art; sculptures, paintings hanging on strings all blur together in pale shades of grey tones. People behind the thin walls appear as unfocused, anonymous silhouettes.

BLAKE enters the gallery. He stands out in his black and white suit.

He takes a deep breath, then picks up a glass of champagne and drinks. The taste makes him grimace with disgust.



                       Cheap shit.

BLAKE continues to drink while glancing at the silhouettes of people.

SOUND of the tapping of a cane similar to a metronome.

BLAKE looks at the silhouette of GRAHAM who appears from behind a wall.

BLAKE finishes his drink, puts the glass back and strokes his tie once.

Int. Gallery/Sculpture - Day (Black and white)

GRAHAM stops in front of an art work, a sculpture which he gently touches with the tips of his fingers while murmuring to himself. He is wearing an open grey suit with a white shirt underneath. His hair is blonde and wavy, his eyes are light and unfocused.

BLAKE, with his hands in his pocket, stands next to GRAHAM and looks at the sculpture with his head tilted.

The sculpture is O.S.

GRAHAM notices someone next to him, and smells his perfume. GRAHAM appears a bit nervous and clumsy.


                       I must warn you, the wine here's got the

                       most horrid taste imaginable.

BLAKE finds a silver lighter in his suit pocket together with a silver case with cigarettes.


                       I noticed already, but thank you.

BLAKE attempting to light a cigarette.

SOUND of hammer of the revolver clicking back.



                       I'm sure you're not allowed to smoke

                       inside the gallery.


                               (Inhales the smoke)

                       Excuse me, I just saw you touching the

                       sculpture, now that's definitely not allowed.



                       You'll set off the smoke alarm.

BLAKE looks at GRAHAM.

                                     GRAHAM (ConT'D)

                       We'll all get wet.


                       Wouldn't want that now would we.

BLAKE puts out the cigarette in the silver case and puts it away.

GRAHAM smiles and touches his earlobe like a nervous tic.

                                     BLAKE (Cont'D)

                       I'm Blake Whitman.


                       Graham, Graham Blau.

GRAHAM holds out his hand and BLAKE shakes it.


                       No way, Blau? The pianist?


                       Yes, the same.


                       I'm curious Mr Blue, why did you touch

                       it? The sculpture I mean.


                       Well I, I rely on touch to experience objects.


                       Yes, yes, I understand. But there's

                       something else. You're touching objects

                       in a place where you're only allowed to

                       look at them. Yes you are experiencing

                       the art, but also experiencing something

                       else, now that's intriguing, perhaps

                       there is also a thrill of being exposed?

GRAHAM nervously touches his earlobe.



                       You're always this direct?


                       Yes. I like reading people.



                       Me to.




                       By touch?



                       Or sound, or scent.







                       Your perfume, ehm, ginger... lemon,

                       and a hint of vanilla. It's...






                       Layered... secretive and sensitive.



                       And the sculpture? What did you read from that?



                       A mix of things.

                               (Clears his throat)

                       It's very emotional.

BLAKE carefully scrutinizes GRAHAM.

GRAHAM fiddles with the grip of the cane. He has a small nervous twitch to one eye.





BLAKE looks at the sculpture rationally, then back at GRAHAM.

                                     BLAKE (Cont'D)

                       That's not how I see it.

Spectrum - Extract from short story


His mouth is dry, his lips are cracked. He finds a silver flask from his suit pocket together with an array of multi coloured pills, energy portals into multiple dimensions, anywhere but here. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, four too many. Why do they have different colours? They all taste the same… 

He swallows the pills, drinks from the flask and splits you into them. Their hands all over him. Rose, Scarlett, Amber, Hazel, Olive, Skye, Cerise… White skin and black-laced underwear - Shut their lips, cover their eyes, bind their hands! They become empty silhouettes. Their nails ripping MAN's back and spilling his blood, which runs through the valley of death, the serpent road, the crevice between the muscles holding his spine.

Paradox - Song lyrics


You say - Please don’t disappear - but

I am gone when I am here - so

I make black and white shaded colour schemes

But they don’t mess with your illusions of dreams


I am true when telling lies - look

You get blinded by my eyes - and

Even though I throw shadows in your light

They won't influence a clear line of sight



     You are tripping over broken lines

     While looking for a string of signs     

     That will guide you back towards the time

     When we were still going on cloud nine


I am little by a large - now

You are a spark but not in charge - then

I am locked tight in your open mind

I hide in the pipedream the truth can’t find


We are a plain paradox - yes

Until the time stops the clocks - so

I will keep speaking the unspoken words    

You will be making sense of the absurd



      You are tripping over broken lines

     While looking for a string of signs     

     That will guide you back towards the time

     When we were still going on cloud nine


     But I am presently an absentee

     and somehow you still love me     Repeat


     Tomorrow I’ll go

     Tomorrow I’ll leave

     Don’t ask me to stay

     I will go away



     I am tripping over broken lines

     While looking for a string of signs     

     That will guide me back towards the time

     When we were still



SP_Art_Concept Gallery05_SAjpg.jpg

Concept art for Blue by Sara Aunbirk

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