Writing
Why do I write?
I write to live life. I live life through the act of writing. I write to love and I love to love life through the words which I type.
I t i s l o v e i s i t
Why work with me?
Storytelling is my greatest passion. I take it very seriously and I work through my heart and soul to grib the audience with characters and interesting plot. Simply because I love it and love through it.
Freelance
I'm currently connected to SLNda a Film Production Company in London as a freelance script writer.
I work with:
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Story development
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Story structure
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Story and script consulting
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Script writing
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Short stories
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Song lyrics
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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.
BLAKE
(Murmurs)
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.
BLAKE
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.
GRAHAM
I noticed already, but thank you.
BLAKE attempting to light a cigarette.
SOUND of hammer of the revolver clicking back.
GRAHAM
(Chuckles)
I'm sure you're not allowed to smoke
inside the gallery.
BLAKE
(Inhales the smoke)
Excuse me, I just saw you touching the
sculpture, now that's definitely not allowed.
GRAHAM
(smiles)
You'll set off the smoke alarm.
BLAKE looks at GRAHAM.
GRAHAM (ConT'D)
We'll all get wet.
BLAKE
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, Graham Blau.
GRAHAM holds out his hand and BLAKE shakes it.
BLAKE
No way, Blau? The pianist?
GRAHAM
Yes, the same.
BLAKE
I'm curious Mr Blue, why did you touch
it? The sculpture I mean.
GRAHAM
Well I, I rely on touch to experience objects.
BLAKE
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.
GRAHAM
(Smiles)
You're always this direct?
BLAKE
Yes. I like reading people.
GRAHAM
Me to.
BLAKE
(Smirks)
By touch?
GRAHAM
Or sound, or scent.
BLAKE
(Amused)
Yes?
GRAHAM
Your perfume, ehm, ginger... lemon,
and a hint of vanilla. It's...
BLAKE
Expensive.
GRAHAM
Layered... secretive and sensitive.
BLAKE
And the sculpture? What did you read from that?
GRAHAM
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
(Disbelief)
Really?
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
Chorus
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
Chorus
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
Bridge
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
Tomorrow
Chorus
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
Concept art for Blue by Sara Aunbirk