Recently members of Brand New Aspiring Writers took part in a group prompt exercise. The challenge? To write a short story using only dialogue.

Talented Australian fiction scribe Jaime shares with you her take on this idea in the story below.





"I wouldn't mind being dead."

"How can you say such a thing? Oh! That cloud looks like ma, I swear it."

"Think about it. You don't have to worry about eating. You don't have
to answer the phone. You don't have to be afraid of death."

"I'm not afraid of death."

"Most are, just a little. Even if they don't know it. It's something
unknown. Something… out there. But think about it, if you're dead, you
already know all about it. You don't have to worry about when or how
you're going to die or what it's going to be like."

"True. Oh, look at that beauty! A sunflower, I'd say."

"I hate how sad people get, though. I understand it, but I don't like it."

"People need to be sad for a bit. You saw what happened to auntie when
unc bob died and she didn't even want to say he was gone. The men in
the white coats ma used to talk about took her not long after that.
Remember?"

"You saw that?"

"Yeah."

"Ma wouldn't have took kindly to that if she knew."

"Nah, but she don't know, and she don't need to know. Ah! Now you
can't tell me that cloud don't look like one of them boats grandpa
used to make."

"Huh. You're right. I think you spend too much time looking at cloud
shapes."

"What's the harm in it?"

"None, I suppose. Looksee, I should be getting back to the house."

"Ah, okay. It was nice talking to you again. Same time next week?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, anybody say anything yet about you coming out here to the
graveyard every afternoon?"

"Nah, they don't mind or talk. They know I'm just talking to my
brother. I haven't told anyone that you talk back."

The Fic-Blog

Fictional Blogging, or the fic-blog, has become an interesting offshoot of blogging. Instead of blogging as yourself, you create a character and a story to blog about. You write as though YOU are the character.

I started my fic-blog, The New Years Resolution, at the end of 2006 and it will last for the whole of 2007.

The blog belongs to Lilly Edwards, a bright and cheerful girl who wants to make some changes…

Here’s her first post…

The Resolution

It's nearing the end of 2006 and I've decided I need to make a change. I'm fed up with my life the way it is. I've just split from my boyfriend, I've got a job that I hate and I'm bored out my skull.

My Boyfriend dumped me three days ago claiming it wasn't me, it was him and that he didn't feel he could be with me anymore. How lovely, huh? Bastard.
My job has to be the worst job in the world, I work in a supermarket and it does nothing with the skills I learnt at College.
My boredom stems from living in a place that has nothing to do, nothing to see and absolutely nothing appealing about it whatsoever.
So. I've decided to make a New Year's Resolution - to make something of my life. To do something BIG in 2007 and by 31st December, I'll be where I want to be and I'll be happy.

Follow my journey! Come along for the ride! Join in the fun!

And so her big adventure started….

She moved away, got herself a new job and even a new boyfriend… but it’s never as simple as that… is running away really the best option?

It’s March now, is she well on her way to getting where she wants to be? Is she happy? Read her blog to find out! It’ll be one hell of a journey!!!


By A. Writer who is an Aspiring Chick Lit Author. She hopes to soon finish the editing process of her first novel If Not Now, Then When? Read more about her writing journey at:



Her Blog
Her Fic-Blog

Her Website

I was going to write a book, but Oprah was on.

You want to write a book. It is on your to- do list right between Lose Weight and Travel More. It’s one of those things you definitely want to get to before you die. Or maybe you are more serious, you have a notes, outlines, a good idea about who your main character will be. You, at least, know it will be about a man. Or a woman. Definitely one or the other.

Still writing a novel is your dream.

But how much respect are you showing that dream? Do you work toward it every day? Week? Month? Ever? Do you think you will die wanting to write a book or having written a book?

I know all the stall tactics. I’ve done them. I’ve said “I’ll write after the holidays,” and I have said “I’ll start that novel as soon as life calms down a bit.” I’ve made writing like dieting, always next month.

Then I read one of those inspirational self- help style books for aspiring writers. In it one part spoke about how many hours you have each day and the sacrifices you have to make in order to write. No, you don’t have to stop watching American Idol, never see another Superbowl, or go without your daily fix of Access Hollywood- we all want to know what is the current status of Britney’s Spears hair, don’t we?

But what if you did have to give up all that in order to become a published writer? Could you? Could you stay inside hunched over a computer on the first day of Spring when you can almost feel the breeze calling your name? Could you type until you work up a sweat, your hands cramp, and your eyes feel like they will bleed? Of course, you could. Will you?

To become a published writer you don’t have to give up everything else in your life. All your experiences make you a more well rounded person and a better writer. But you do have to give up something. And it just might be Oprah.

Take one hour of TV watching a day and instead write. Even when you have nothing to say, write. Even when you think you are a talentless hack, write. Even though no one may ever see your words, besides your mom. That is if you could convince her that your half-finished novel about aliens who take over the bodies of Hollywood A-listers is a Mother’s Day present. Even if no one but your cat knows you are a writer, write.

If your dream is to write a novel then you have to give up something to get that dream. Once you are writing everyday you are moving toward your goal. It’s easy to say one day. Let that one day be today.

If not today, when? When Oprah is over?

Or are you going to put your dreams first for once?

Are you still reading this? Grab a pen or open a word document. Write that novel. Now.


By Sara Pufahl

If you are a writer who aspires to write your first novel but needs support and encouragment then join Brand New Aspiring Writers Group

"You can't!" he said.

"Just watch me," she hissed.

"Just stop for one second, Sandra. Think of the consequences!" he raised his voice.

"Let go of me!" she screamed.

"I will not let you do it!" he warned her.

"What are you going to do? Follow me around 24 / 7? Stand by your phone at home to filter the calls?" she mocked.

"You will not ruin my life. Or yours!" he said through clenched teeth.

"What life?!" she sobbed, grasping his shirt, "The only life I have now is with you…"

"But Alex…" he said, his resolve liquefying.

"Alex has a lot of admirers John. We have an understanding…" she said, her voice trailing off.

"No, no, no. You've got it wrong. I…" He shook his head tiredly.

"You can't leave me John. Please don't leave me," she cut in before he could finish.

"I don't want to Sandra. But…" he stopped short.

"We can make it work, I know it..." she said between broken sobs, "I have enough money for us to start over somewhere new. Somewhere people don't know us. We can take Ricky with us. He'll love it in Whitewater. My old house… we can renovate it! It will be everything we'd ever wanted John!"

"Oh Sandra… I can't." he said in resignation.

"But you said so yourself! You don't love Carol anymore!" she said, her voice shaking with frustration.

"No. I don't." he mumbled, "… but it's more complicated, Sandy."

"No! It's not complicated John!" she yanks her arms from his grasp, "I love you, you love me! You've spent most of your weekends here in San Diego with me…"

"It's not just about you and me!" he yells at her.

"Who else is there? You're not in love with Carol. I've nothing left with Alex. Your son Ricky will be fine coming with us, you know he will," she pleaded.

John sighed, his shoulders slumped in resignation, "You really can't see, can you?"

"See what?" she demanded, "All I can see is how you're growing distant each day. It's like the more you spend time here with me, the deeper you get involved again with Carol!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he growls at her.

"Those little trinkets that you buy back for her – the gold necklace, the silk scarf – all those little trinkets you insist on buying for her while you're here!"
she said, her voice quivering, "Sometimes I don't know if you're really out of love with her. Sometimes I wonder if I'm not just a past time for you!"

"For the last time, I'm not in love with Carol!" He shouted.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were here." Alex apologized, halfway through the front door.

"No, it's okay Alex. I was just leaving." John stammered.

"Have you told her?" Alex asked.

Sandra looked at John, bewildered, "Told me what?" "I tried to…"

John said nervously, going for the front door, "I don't know if this is a good time Alex."

"Okay, then I'll tell her." Alex turned to Sandra, "John and I are in love, baby."

"What?!" Sandra gasped, "What are you talking about? You're a lesbian!"

"Yes, well I thought I was," Alex said, turning to look at John, "Until I met John. You shouldn't have brought him here. You were right. He is quite a man."

"Alexandra, you bitch!" Sandra hissed, her hands clenched in anger.

By Sal, an ex-travel writer, now struggling housewife and aspiring fiction novelist. She lives in Malaysia with British husband and dreams to publish her first novel and adopt a Siamese cat one day. Though not necessarily in that order.

Read more about this author's life at Aquarius Sal

A Lost Time

it was the residence of my
disillusionment.

it was the era when I grasped, caught nothing.

it was the start of my fall
from grace. my slipping into space,
racing then waking
to lose myself.

chasing and aching, glaring
at your ghost.

it was the home of lost hope.

it was my home of lost

hope,

lost hope.

By Sara Pufahl

To read more of her work visit The Shores of My Dreams

Ten Tips for Strengthening Your Novel

No matter how great your idea may be, or how skillful a writer you are, there are always ways to improve the manuscript you're working on. Perhaps you've already tried some of these, you may be too far along in the process to benefit from others, and a few won't work for every novel. Still, the chances are you can find something here you could use.

Of course, keep in mind these aren't magic spells. They won't breathe fresh life into any story, just because you went through the motions. You have to learn to use them wisely and well. That's true of any writing skill; you need to take the time to know and master it. Whenever you blindly follow a set of rules you don't understand, everything you write will come out wooden and unnatural.

1: Keep writing!

Don't hold back because every word, or every story, might not be perfect. Even if the result isn't always your best work, you'll have more chances of writing a masterpiece if you keep on writing. And that fleeting thought as you struggle for the perfect word might be just as important. So get as much as you can down on paper; you can always go back to rewrite it later.

2: Write yourself into a corner, then find a way out.

When your characters, or your plot, run into trouble, make sure they, and you, are focusing on the real problem. Consider every possible angle of attack. Look for answers that aren't obvious. Real, tough problems you have to struggle with keep your readers interested. Difficulties you have ready answers for look dull and predictable on paper.

3: Understand every character.

Each one must have reasons for what they do, hidden traits, and contradictory impulses. The most evil villains often believe fiercely in their choices, and the purest of heroes must battle baser motives. Brutal men have family and friends, who may even view them as kind. Decent men are lured into awful deeds by good intentions. No trait is as simple as it seems.

4: Combine the unexpected.

Pairing mismatched characters, or plunging your protagonist into a setting or situation utterly alien to them, is certain to generate excitement. Force a biker to cooperate with a book dealer. Strand a sailor in the desert. Relocate a hillbilly in the midst of a huge city. Make a recluse get involved with an acting troupe. Then stand back and watch the sparks fly!

5: Don't take shortcuts.

Resist the temptation to save your characters, and yourself, a lot of work. When they have to accomplish something to move the story forward, make them do it honestly. It's much more interesting reading about their struggles to build a raft to escape the wilderness than about the convenient discovery of an old boat that just needs a little moss stuffed in the cracks.

6: Pursue paradox.

Train yourself to recognise the opposite forces at work in most situations, and to explore them in your writing. This will add depth to your work. Explore the issues many paradoxes raise. They can lend extra dramatic tension to your story. Handled skilfully, such a treatment may even highlight the ironic aspects of life, or illuminate some of the deeper truths life has to offer.

7: Let your characters fail!

If you find your protagonist about to make a serious mistake, avoid the temptation to intervene. Instead, follow them as they deal with failure and its consequences, then pick themselves up to try again. Watching them go through this process enriches the story for your readers, and allows your protagonist, and your readers, to savour success even more when it comes.

8: Build up layers of metaphor.

While metaphor can be an excellent way of describing things in a fresh way, there are other ways to use it in your story. Look for unexpected similarities between very different things, then weave these into the fabric of the story itself. Such a technique can enhance your theme by providing fresh insights into the topic you have chosen to explore.

9: Save everything.

When you find passages or scenes that must be trimmed, don't discard them. Put them in a separate file instead. This will free you to cut out parts that need to go, secure in the knowledge they won't be lost forever. Later, review what you've kept. Well written scenes or passages might, with some changes, be the nucleus of a sequel or even an entirely different book.

10: Live your own book.

It's fine to jot down descriptions of your characters, or notes on your setting, but don't rely solely on those. Try to see your characters in your mind, hear them talk, sketch places where they spend their time. Get to know even minor figures. The better you know the people, places, and events in your book, the more real you can make them seem to your readers.


By Ray

To read more from this writer stop by The unending Journey of the Wandering Author

The Accident

12 years before The Wake...

Cassandra hated begging. But she would beg for this man. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to make Marcus see her, really see her and her heart.

They were standing in the hall by the restrooms at The Celtic Heart, at the end of a long night of drinking ale. Their six friends- the rest of the group that always seemed to be together- were scattered at the darts, the bar, the pool table. Living out their own dramas of unrequited love and jealousy.

But all Cassandra could think of was that Marcus had just kissed her for the first time. Right after she said, “Happy Birthday, baby,” her words soft and private. He had leaned over and let his lips meet hers, giving in to what they both wanted at last.

“Don’t pull away,” she said as he did just that.

“I shouldn’t have.”

Too long they had danced around this. Because he was dating Melissa, because they were just supposed to be friends, because Andrew loved her and no one wanted to hurt Andrew. But Cassandra couldn’t stop her need for this man. Marcus was who she wanted for herself- the rest of them be damned.

Too many times she put them all first, tried to keep them all together, to make these college friendships last a lifetime. But now she needed to think of herself. She needed Marcus to kiss her again, to slide his arms around her and pull her close, to take her away from this crowded bar and home to his bed.

“Melissa...” he started, his dark eyes meeting hers.

“Tell me that you love her more than me. Can you say that?” Cassandra watched his eyes, seeing how dark they were with desire. “I didn’t think so.”

Marcus took a step back, adjusted his clothes, and slipped back into the role he played instead of living. The script that made him seem the perfect boyfriend, the loyal friend, the one with the bright political future. Only Cassandra knew that without alcohol he couldn’t even fall to sleep at night.

While his girlfriend Melissa had some kind of otherworldly ability to not see the truth about him. Especially if that truth didn’t suit her unblemished image of her first love.

“Don’t go there, Cassie.” He gave her a sad smile. “I’m going to get another drink. Want one?”

When she didn’t answer Marcus shrugged and headed for the bar without her.
XXXXXXXXXXX

Peter danced with Cecily but his eyes and mind stayed on his friends. He watched as Melissa and Andrew sat in a booth, their heads leaned closer together, obviously sharing secrets. Her eyes were clouded with warring emotions that he could see even from across the room.

This group clung so tight to each other they were destroying the very thing they claimed to be fighting to protect: their friendships.

Peter figured they had spotted Marcus and Cassandra in that lip lock, bodies pressed desperately close to each other, as everything they kept under the surface for months finally came to life. All his friends thought they kept their desire hidden and their envy unspoken but Peter saw it all.

“You’re daydreaming again,” Cecily scolded.

It wasn’t the first time she begged him to get out of his own head and come back to her. But in his mind was the only place he could be with Cassandra. Where she loved him and didn’t fawn after that over privileged trust fund brat Marcus.

“Just thinking about you,” Peter lied to his girlfriend.

During the next song, Cassandra rushed from the bar with tears in her eyes. Peter counted to five and then, just as he thought would happen, Andrew was headed out the door after her. Melissa stalked over to her best friend, not her lover, Jake and started ranting. It wasn’t long till he was out the door after Cassandra too.

Peter seethed inwardly. Soon it would be his turn to be the one Cassandra turned to... or else....




XXXXXXXXXXX
Twenty minutes later, Cassandra was sobbing in the passenger seat of a borrowed Jaguar.

“Cassie, sweetie, come on. Stop,” Jake encouraged her. But her shoulders kept shaking, seemingly in rhythm with the rain that slapped against the windshield. “He’s not worth all this.”

Cassandra straightened, her tear stained face turned toward him. “I only wanted Marcus to love me. Why won’t he?”

Jake had no answer for her. He couldn’t even make sense of his own life, let alone the messy ones his friends led. He dug around his mind for some sooting lines that wouldn’t sound like a cliche.

Cassandra cried, “I don’t want to live without Marcus anymore!”

His head jerked to the side, in time to see the wild and broken look that flashed in her eyes. Then the tires started to slide and before he could refocus on the road they were in a spin out.

The Jag spun, tossing them, the past, and the future around like a kaleidoscope, leaving everything in a different place as they smashed into the utility pole.
XXXXXXXXXXXX

At the bar, Tina showed up late as usual. She spotted Melissa sitting in their normal booth.

“Where’s everyone else? I missed all the fun?” Tina asked

“Fun?” Melissa laughed, the sound hollow and bitter. “They all took off a while ago. Cecily got a cab after fighting with Peter for not paying her enough attention again.”

Tina laughed as she sat down. “Nothing new about that. I can’t believe they got engaged when they can’t go a week without having a row.”

Melissa took another long drink of her ale.

“I hate that I missed Marcus birthday but I got stuck late at the lab again. I swear I am dropping out of the pre-med program. It just drains me to spend every second of the day studying or working.” Tina noticed the far away look in her friend’s eye. “What did Marcus do to you this time?”

Melissa met her eyes. “Nothing. Everything is fine. He’s the perfect boyfriend, you know that.”

Tina could tell her smiled was fake and that something must have gone down here tonight. Her curious mind would not stop mulling over the possibilities until she could figure out a way to get one of her friends to spill the truth. Tina decided to ask Cassandra. She was never any good, unlike the rest of them, at keeping secrets.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marcus knew he shouldn’t be driving.

No matter how drunk he ever got he couldn’t quiet that part of his brain that sounded like his father’s booming voice, “Don’t embarrass the family with a scandal! This country won’t elect you if you give them any little reason to see how incompetent you truly are.”

But keeping up appearances was wearing him down. So whenever he found the chance he threw back as many drinks as he could, long before tonight when he turned the legal drinking age of twenty-one. Because when he was drunk he could not think so hard, try so hard, or feel so much.

The rain grew more intense, making it hard to see the deserted country road he was flying down. But instead of easing off the gas pedal he pressed down harder. Jake borrowed his car when this old Caddy wouldn’t turn over. Marcus fiddled under the hood and got it going a little while later. He sped out of the parking lot determined to meet Cassandra at her place and talk more about them.

Marcus told himself he didn’t plan to sleep with her. But that was just a lie to make it okay to go over there. Once they were alone, he knew, this would be their night. That kiss earlier hadn’t been enough to quell the heat in either of them.

He slammed on the brakes when he spotted the Jag in the ditch, its front end crushed against a metal pole. Jerking onto the side street, he parked the Cadillac and then took off in a run toward his friends. His feet slid over the wet pavement , bringing him to his knees, but he scurried onto both feet again.

Jake lay in the grass on his back. Marcus bent and felt for a pulse, it was strong beneath his fingers. He moved to the car, finding the door pulled open already, and saw Cassandra in the driver’s seat. Her eyes were open but there was no life in them.

Marcus took her in his arms, his body wracked by sobs, “Cassie, hey, Cass...baby...no.. come back.....please...Oh my God...no...Cassandra...”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Peter sped threw the downtown city streets at full speed, moving as far and fast away from that country road as he could. His breaths came in gasps, his hands shook.

Why was she moaning Marcus’ name? the angry thought repeated in Peter’s head over and over.

Only covering her mouth and nose, ever so gently, had been enough to make Cassandra stop.

She had looked so pretty.

XXXXXXXXXXXX
The police found Marcus still holding her. They had their doubts about his version of the events. Especially when they went to look for Jake’s Cadillac and found it gone, stolen if Marcus was to be believed.


The official story was Cassandra was driving when the car spun out. Jake couldn't remember anything to say otherwise. Marcus refused to speak to any of his friends again after that. He folded into himself and all but disappeared. Wandering around Europe in the years that followed, he did his best to forget the way her eyes looked when he found her, the way her lips tasted earlier that night.

The group fell to pieces, leaving each person searching on their own for a version of the truth, looking for a way to live as a survivor when Cassandra was gone.

But that was the thing. Everyone knew there was more to the story about what happened out there that night but no one could prove or disprove what it was....

THE END

By Sara Pufahl

This story is my version of a prequel to The Wake.

To read the story that inspired it check out the first five entries on this blog.

The Accident is dedicated to my fellow Brand New Aspiring Writers member Salmah for coming up with the idea to have each of the four writers of The Wake write down their ideas about what happened the night Cassandra died.