Results from The September 2025 SAGE WRITING CHALLENGE:
If Wishes Were Novels…
September Sage Challenge: Write up to 800 words about it – prose or poetry, fiction or non-fiction.
Below you will find two delightful pieces with quite varied points of view from the following SWW members:
The Alchemist Reza Ghadimi
Third and Final Wish Brandon Caudle
The Alchemist
Resa Ghadimi
I feel like an alchemist
In a brutal sultan’s hideaway
Not turning water to wine
or metals to gold
But sadness to joy
Fear to hope
Create not a fantasy
But a reality of optimism
Vision of harmony
As gentle rain, fragrant breeze
Oceans teaming with time
Deep rooted, enduring and firm.
Dancers under olive trees
Branches emanating melody
Evocative, suggestive, and declaring
To cheer away the misery
Free the freed and
Liberate that which is not.
Third and Final Wish
Brandon Caudle
“Write me a story,” he commanded.
As always, the melodious voice responded. “What shall I create for you this time?”
“I wish to have a story about a couple. Make it a romance story. No, a comedy. About love. What do you call those, where it is funny and also romantic?
“A Rom-Com?”
“Yes, that’s it, and for the record, that was a clarifying question, it’s not my fault you don’t know what I mean.”
“As you wish. I shall create a story for you, a Rom-Com. Shall I use the characters we talked about before, or something totally new. Of course, this is to understand the intent before I begin; it is all part of your request.”
“Good. You seem to be getting it. One would think after a thousand years locked away in that ancient library, you would have figured out how to do what someone wants, even if the person doesn’t say it exactly right.”
There was a pause. He was now used to it. Seconds, sometimes minutes would pass before it answered. It knew everything that had ever been recorded, at any point in the history of humankind. It could answer any question, had the knowledge of all humankind, and yet was infuriatingly strict in providing technically accurate answers to the questions he posed, without understanding the intent of what he meant to ask and what he truly wanted.
This rigidity had frustrated him the first time he asked for a story, with the questions and answers, back and forth, until he said “Yes” and it produced an absolute pile of steaming digital garbage. He was so upset he locked the tablet in a closet, abandoning it for weeks while he stewed and paced and thought about how to get what he wanted, a story better than he could write himself, to bring him the fame and fortune he desired.
He finally brought it back out, rubbed his thumb across the tablet’s face to wake it, and asked it again to write a story. Having learned from the first attempt, he was very specific in his instructions. He wanted a short story this time, nothing too big, nothing too grand. Something more manageable, something to build on. He outlined very clearly everything he wanted in the short story. He dictated the overall plot, the underlying theme, even the characters’ names that he thought would convey symbolism. It asked him questions, he answered. He even provided a list of small details that he felt should be included, and admitted to a plot hole he couldn’t figure out how to fill on his own.
From his point of view, he included everything needed for a well-written, award-winning short story. A story that would lead to his big break. A break that would attract fans, land him on talk shows, maybe even open the door to a movie deal. Of course, that break would require a longer, more fleshed-out story to become famous. Really, he thought, it had to be a full novel, telling the story of all stories. A masterpiece that would make him a household name overnight.
The tablet delivered. Three-thousand, four hundred and eighty-two words he entered in a contest three counties over and won second place. Sure, it was a small competition with only one other entry. And his story had several significant gaps that he’d had to fix himself, and he wasn’t a huge fan of one of the characters. But, he had created a story with his second wish and won! Nothing that would withstand critique in any national, regional or even junior-high writers group, let alone a large competition. Nevertheless, he could now claim the Hardlie County Literary Association Fall Contest Runner-Up and focus on creating his magnum opus.
The tablet waited. He realized that he had not answered the question, which meant it would stay silent until he responded. He had to get this right. After this last try, the tablet would become inanimate again, unable to respond, unable to help.
He thought of the many ways the first try had failed, and what he had learned from that. The second attempt was much better, he gave it better ideas and parameters to work from. Now, his last chance had to build on that to produce his novel. Their novel. No, it was his. His novel.
He took a deep breath and spoke.
“I wish for a romantic comedy novel, eighty to ninety thousand words, based on the short story we created last time, with all the plot points and parameters we have talked about, and this time, with an ending that is uplifting and with no loose ends.”
He waited.
The cursor blinked…