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:

  • 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.

                                     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