The Ghost Writer (2)

Here is the second installment of my pet project The Ghost Writer.

(This idea is copyrighted by me)


The typewriter had been a gift from her boyfriend, Dean Calloway, for her 19th birthday. As far as Casidi knew there wasn’t anything special about it. It couldn’t read minds or anything. How her dream had ended up on there in the perfect mystery novel form was beyond her.

Finally, Casidi pushed the odd incident out of her mind and worked on her Modern World History assignment.

At 7:30, Casidi donned her jacket, packed everything into her book bag, and set out for the café. She and Dean have a standing date every Friday morning at 7:45 and they haven’t missed one since the spring semester began two months ago.

He was waiting for her in their spot. As soon as Dean spotted her, he stood up and pulled out her chair.

“Thanks babe,” She said as he kissed her cheek.

“Anything for you,” Came his reliable answer. He sat across from her and adjusted his brown-rimmed glasses.

“So… something weird happened this morning.”

“What would that be?” Dean pushed a mocha towards Casidi, like he did ever Friday morning.

“You know that typewriter you got me?” Casidi clipped her long auburn hair out of her face.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I had this crazy dream last night, woke me up even, and it had been typed up. Every last detail, just like some fiction piece.”

“You probably did it in your sleep. Didn’t you tell me you sleep walk sometimes?”

“Yeah, but do you really think I could do that in my sleep? I mean, it was written well, the spelling was all correct… I don’t know, I just think it’s really weird.”

“What else could’ve happened though?” Dean asked as he sipped his steaming hot Americano.

“There isn’t really another explanation is there?”

“Well…” Dean got a glint in his eye. “The typewriter could have come alive and read your mind. Or you’re being possessed by some evil Japanese spirit… have you been to Japan recently? Or you are unknowingly part of some dream experiment. Or you are doing drugs. So which is it?”

By this point Casidi was laughing. “Ok, ok, I wrote it up in my sleep.”

“Mystery solved!” Dean spread his arms wide, causing a few sleepy eyes to glare at him with distaste.

They continued on with their conversation, talking about plans for the day and assignments they hated, not knowing that the entire conversation was being listened to.


A Break From Reality

Time to inject some fiction back in my blog. Here’s a little idea I was playing around with.


Casidi Porter was slowly bleeding to death. She had escaped her attacker ten minutes ago and was being the chased through the dizzying streets of her city, holding in the gushing red liquid as best she could. The pain from the stab wound was unbearable. Her side burned with an intensity she had never felt before.

She heard footsteps, quick and heavy. Her heart leapt into her throat and she staggered along the alley wall faster. Any moment now the cold-blooded killer would be upon her. The lamplight from the street was not enough to navigate the dark pathway and she tripped over a garbage bag. She could hear the man’s breathing now, so peculiarly calm while she was in such a panic. Casidi wanted to cry out in agony and despair but she refrained.

“Where are you going, Casidi?” the sinister, smooth voice called from the beginning of the alley. It had a silken undertone that would’ve been comforting if the voice was not so cold. Casidi couldn’t hold back the whimper threatening to escape her lips.

“I’m coming for you, Casidi.” his laugh then echoed around her, bouncing off the brick walls and crashing into her ears. Casidi had only moments before he finished her off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Casidi shot up from her dorm room bed in a cold sweat. She frantically grasped her side, checking for the wound, but her hand came back free from the sticky red blood. Her clock informed her it was 5:12 am. She needed to get up in 45 minutes anyway, and there was no way she getting back to sleep. Casidi decided to start her day early.

Her room was dark and deathly quiet. She didn’t have a roommate, she was the extra person at the end of the hall. As she crossed the small space to the bathroom, she noticed something odd. Something had been typed up on her typewriter. She examined it closer and discovered, in shock, that it was her dream. Her dream had been typed up in every detail, from the pain of the stab wound to silky smooth tone of her assailants voice.

She didn’t remember doing that last night. She had just woken up.There it was though. Every breath, every footstep, every drop of thick red liquid that had splattered onto the cobblestone ground.

She settled on the insane notion that she had written the entire thing up in her sleep. But a doubt tugged at the back of her mind. The spelling was perfect, correct grammar, interesting sentence structure…. it was written up like a mystery novel.


I would love some feedback for this. It was my mom’s idea and I have a couple interesting thoughts concerning it. Please talk to me 🙂

Don’t Fool Yourself

Here is my favorite writing tip:

You don’t write the story.

Yep, it’s true. You aren’t doing the work. You set it up, sure. You have some vague notion of where the plot is going. You probably even have an ending in mind.

But you don’t write the story.

That is the job of your characters. As soon as you create them, don’t try to control them. They have become living beings in your computer or notebook. They have brains, hearts, emotions. They will do what they please.

If you realize this, life will be so much easier. I’m sure many of you writers already have, but this writing rule is just beautiful to me.

Maybe I’m weird. I mean, I am weird, but maybe weirder than I think.

Anyways, let your characters loose in your pages.

What are your favorite writing rules? I would love to hear them!