Writing Samples

The One 

The December night air was chilly but I couldn’t feel it clothed in the warmth of my first

Christmas drink of the night. It didn’t take long for my downstairs neighbour’s door to

open after I knocked. Nell Dowles looked me up and down.

“Do you want to come upstairs? We’re having a party,” I said, dangling a

cigarette between my fingers on one hand, and clutching a beer in the other. It was

Christmas Day evening in East London, 1972 - the days of long hair, wide-collared shirts

in the shops, and Marc Bolan and Led Zeppelin on the radio. At 21, I was the height of

fashion as much as I could be for a working-class boy from Edinburgh. I must have been

quite the sight to Nell/ Nonetheless, she accepted my invitation. She and her daughters,

Rosemary and Jeanette, would attend our festive gathering. My life would never be the

same.

Earlier that day, my mother had convinced me to invite “the single mum and her

daughters” in the flat above us in our council building. Not because we knew them but so

they wouldn’t be angry about the noise. I pushed my way past some of our other guests

when the bell rang and answered the door. There stood Jeanette next to her mother. A 17-

year-old beauty with cropped Cilla Black light brunette hair and eyes that drew you in. I

know it sounds weird, but I swear, I saw an aura around her. I knew in that moment that

someday I would marry this girl.

Truth be told, I was no angel. My whole life at this point consisted of waking up,

going to work and having a pint at the pub after. I had no fixed relationships with women.

If I happened to meet a girl on a night out, it never lasted longer than one frenzied

encounter. Somehow, watching Jenny at that party, I knew she would be different. It took

me the better part of the evening (and a few more drinks) to muster the courage to

approach her. I not only feared our four-year age difference, which was considered large

at that time, but also that she was out of my league. Finally, I moved over to her side of

the room. She was shy and kept looking down. We chatted for a while and after I

suggested a date, I was sure she was going to give me the brush-off.

Until she said “… I’m free tomorrow night!” Our first date would happen on Boxing

Day. The rest, as they say, “is history.”

Eulogy for a Friend

We were 12 when we met and remained best friends until our late ‘30s. Rebels in a sea of conformity. Watching Evil Dead while everyone else watched Cosby. Listening to Dead Kennedys while everyone else listened to Night Ranger. Reading Oscar Wilde while everyone else read Nancy Drew. Writing sketches and jokes to crack each other up while others played sports. 

She was my shadow and my light for more than 30 years. A better writer, smarter, prettier and wittier than I ever could be. Her own shadows were deeper and darker than anyone I have known and her light so brilliant as to transform a room full of people and leave all in its glance enamored. Perhaps it is apropos that hers was not a face to grow old and lose its luster. A light that never goes out in the grieving hearts of those who knew her. 

Oscar Wilde wrote, “Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.” 

We are all better people for having known her, flawed and beautiful a woman as she was. Human as she was. Rest in Peace, my friend. I love you. Always. 

Review:
Naked Massacre (1976)
From the Series: Chilling Classics Month
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A film review "that makes you want to watch the movie immediately." - Sam Panic, B&S About Movies