Writing Samples
Sample #1
The gusty breeze off the ocean is a relief as I step outside onto the pool deck. I make a bee line for the fence overlooking the water, getting as far away from the music as I can, but the tenor’s powerful voice carries effortlessly even out here.
I sigh, leaning against the clean white wood. It’s chilly out here, but I need the air. As soon as I get my breath back, I’ll make my excuses to Andrew and leave.
“You seemed quite moved by the song,” a deep voice murmurs behind me, and I jump. As I turn, my heart skips a little in my chest as I see Nick Hamilton standing with his hands casually in his pockets, his silhouette framed by the rapt audience facing the stage behind him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he smiles.
I clear my throat and self-consciously touch my mask. “It’s all right,” I manage to choke out.
“Are you an opera fan?” he asks as he walks toward me and leans on the fence at my side. The wind carries his scent toward me, a particular musk with hints of cinnamon. I wonder fleetingly if it’s cologne, but something tells me it’s just his natural smell.
“Not really, actually,” I reply, wishing my brain would work a little faster, but the closeness of him has sent a buzz humming throughout my body that seems to be interfering with my thought process.
“I wish I knew what he was saying...” he says, nodding back toward the house. Each of his movements are easy, almost silken.
I pause, listening to the end of the aria and translating as best I can. “Her heart beating, her heart beating to hear, our sighs confounded as one/ Heavens, yes, I could die. More I can't ask, I can't ask. Heavens, yes, I could die/ More I can't ask, I can't ask/ Yes, I could die, if I could die of love.”
He glances at me, lips slightly parted as I speak. The song ends, and the crowd applauds. I blush as I realize Nick is staring at me, and Moretti launches into another song, this one in Russian.
“I hope you’re not going to ask me to translate this one. I don’t stand a chance,” I laugh, breaking the silence between us.
He shakes his head, and in the dim light, I can just see a smile at the corner of his lips. “So, you speak Italian?”
“Yes. And a little French and Spanish. Sorry, I don’t mean to brag,” I add, a little embarrassed.
“You weren’t. I wish I knew another language. I’m Nick, by the way. Nick Hamilton,” he says, offering his hand. I place mine in his, shivering as an electric current runs through me at our touch. I’m surprised to feel callouses on his palm.
“I know,” I reply with a smile. “Let me guess, you don’t recognize me either.”
“Should I?” he asks. I notice he hasn’t let go of my hand. “Have we met before?” I feel him move his thumb across my knuckles.
“We have,” I confirm, relishing having this little bit of power over him as I withhold my secret.
“And you’re not going to tell me your name?” he smiles.
“Mmm...no. I think I’m enjoying my anonymity too much,” I reply.
“Well, this is a masquerade,” he replies, finally letting go of my hand. I close my fingers around the heat his touch has left on my skin, as though I can save it from leaving.
Moretti ends another song and we can hear the waves crash against the beach before the crowd begins to applaud. He starts another song, this one with a waltz tempo.
“If you’re not going to give me your name, may I at least have a dance?” Nick asks after we’ve listened to a couple bars.
In response, I place my hand in his and step away from the fence. His arm snakes around my waist, and I feel his fingers touching the bare skin of my back at the base of the deep v. He holds me away from his body in a traditional waltz stance. I’m grateful for the distance, to be honest. I’m already having trouble breathing.
Sample #2
The night air is warm for the spring as I walk across campus to meet Cara and her friends. I pass other students heading out for the night and feel happy to count myself among them. I go over my rules for myself as I near the crew house, which is just across the street from campus. No more than three drinks. No talking about classes. No weirdness around Nate Thornhill.
"Brynn!" Cara yells from the opposite sidewalk. I wave as I head over. "I can't believe you got a Lawn Room! That's amazing!" I lean over to give her a hug. She's an effortlessly cool, petite brunette – the kind of girl that everyone considers to be their friend.
"Thanks!"
"Wow! You got a Lawn Room? Are you, like, a genius or something?" her friend Rachel asks, her jaw dropping.
"I wish! Then all those papers would have taken me way less time," I reply with a laugh.
"Cara says you've never been to a crew party?" Marie, the knockout of the group, asks.
"Nope...just never made my way over here I guess," I reply, downplaying the situation.
"Well, they have the best parties," she assures me. "And the hottest guys." "Lacrosse guys are hotter," Rachel argues.
"Of course, if you can get a combination of the two..." Marie murmurs, and they burst into laughter. My ears prick up – were they talking about Nate?
"Hey, you look great, by the way," Cara says to me as we walk up the front steps of the house. "Love that top."
"Thanks," I say, trying not to glow. A couple guys chilling on the front porch greet the other girls by name, and I blush as I feel their eyes glance over me. I tug my hair self- consciously as one of them grins at me.
Sweat and the scent of beer greets us as we walk inside. The lights are dim, barely illuminating the mass of people crowded into the main room, and I feel my heels sticking to the sticky floor.
"Cara, the love of my life!" a tall, brawny guy says, sweeping her up into a hug. I recognize him from the crew team. Not that I've studied their roster photos or anything...
"Oh, ha, ha," Cara says, rolling her eyes, though something about the gleam in her eyes tells me she likes the guy.
"Can I get you ladies a beer?" he asks, nodding to the keg behind him.
"Yes, please," Cara says. "Hey, Foster, this is my good friend Brynn. This is her first Crew party so treat her nice."
"I'm always nice!" Foster says indignantly, then bows in front of me and offers his hand. "M'lady," he says as I place my hand in his and raises it to his lips. Marie and Rachel giggle and then head over to another group as Foster hands them their beers. Cara and I follow Foster over to an old, mysteriously stained, couch in the corner. We weave around other scantily clad co-eds, and for the first time in my life, I feel like one of the cool kids.
I perch nervously on the far left cushion as Cara sits next to me, with Foster on her other side. I slowly sip my beer as he whispers in her ear. I've had beer before, even gotten tipsy a few times with Allison and Miriam when we first turned twenty-one and tried out some wine bars.
"Where's Nate tonight?" My head whips around as I hear Cara ask Foster the question. My heart stops for a second. I have to admit I'll feel crushed if he's not even here.
"He's somewhere around, probably getting crushed under a pile of women," Foster replies, rolling his eyes, and Cara laughs. I down half my beer. I can't believe that actually makes me feel jealous. I've never even met him!
Cara and Foster keep chatting, and though Cara makes an effort to include me, I'm feeling too nervous to contribute much to the conversation. By the time I finish my beer, I really have to pee.
"Be right back," I murmur to Cara, and go looking for the bathroom. I weave through the sweaty throng to a hallway along the stairs. I see a line of five girls outside of what I assume is the bathroom, and with a sigh, I step behind the last one. The door opens and a guy darts in front of the front girl.
"Hey!" she protests.
"Sorry! Emergency!" he cries, and shuts the door behind him. I lean back a little and glance up the stairs. There are several people hanging out on the landing, but it's definitely quieter up there, and I'm sure there's more than one bathroom in this place. Holding my legs close together, I turn around and hurry up the stairs.
I bypass the first couple rooms with open doors and come to a couple closed ones. I can see a room at the end of the hall that looks like a lounge, with a pool table in the middle of the room. One of these two rooms must be the bathroom. I lean toward the nearest one and press my ear against it. I can't hear anything. I knock softly and wait for a reply, and when I don’t hear one, I slowly turn the knob and open the door. I gasp as it's pulled open and out of my grasp.
My eyes fly up and into the eyes of Nate Thornhill.
"I...I..." I stammer. His pupils dilate as he stares at me in amusement. I let my gaze fall down his body. He's naked but for a pair of pale blue boxers. Good lord, his body is ridiculous. The line down between his six-pack abs looks like it was etched in stone. It's suddenly very difficult to breathe.
"See anything you like?" he asks drily. I snap my gaze back up. A brown curl of hair hangs just over one of his eyes. I clear my throat as I try to think of something to say. I feel his gaze travel over my body in return and desire pools in my stomach.
"Oh, no, I was—"
"You wanna join us?" he says, pulling the door open a little more. I glance over his shoulder and see a naked girl in bed covered in rumpled sheets.
"Nate!" the girl says with a giggle, and pulls a sheet up over her breasts.
"Come on. If I weren't already naked, I'd say you were undressing me with your eyes," he says smugly to me. I feel my cheeks turn scarlet.
"No, sorry," I murmur, and rush down the hall and back down the stairs as I hear the girl dissolve into laughter behind me. I run straight out of the front door and down the front steps before I stop on the sidewalk.
Ugh, I'm such an idiot. I raise my hand to my mouth and wipe the back of my palm across my lips, smearing off my lip gloss. I don't belong at parties like this, and I certainly don't belong with Nate Thornhill. I've never been so embarrassed in my life. And his arrogance! Asking me to join him and that girl as though I actually would!
Hot tears build up behind my eyes and threaten to spill over. I had such high hopes for tonight, such high hopes for him. And he ended up being so crude.
I pull my phone out of my wristlet and shoot off a quick text to Cara: Hey, just got a terrible headache. Headed back to my dorm. See you later!
I head back across campus and to the safety of my dorm room. My phone buzzes and I pull it back out to see her response: Feel better!
I envy Cara. Everything seems to come so easy to her. She can fit in anywhere, make friends with anyone. I guess I'm just not that kind of person, much as I'd like to be.
Sample #3
FADE IN:
EXT. MAIN STREET - WINTER - DAY - ESTABLISHING
A picturesque street in a small college town. There are a few shops, a movie theater, and that one fancy restaurant your parents take you to. Everything’s currently covered in a foot of snow, though since this is Massachusetts, life is proceeding as normal.
There are Christmas lights strung up and wreaths on every street lamp. It’s that time of year, baby.
INT. BOUTIQUE - DAY
Inside the most upscale shop, a SALESWOMAN (30s, African- American, kind) pauses by the door of a changing room.
WOMAN’S VOICE (O.S.)
Oh, Professor, how droll. More
prosecco? That’s just the ticket.
INT. BOUTIQUE - CHANGING ROOM
CORA ABNEY (22, Caucasian, smart, tenacious, has a thick Southern accent that only comes out when she’s drinking) tries on a sophisticated sheath dress, and talks to herself in the mirror.
CORA
Jolly good. Ugh, why am I British?
We hear the saleswoman knock. Cora jumps.
SALESWOMAN (O.S.)
Everything OK in there?
CORA
Oh, yes, yes, thank you. Quite.
She shakes her head at herself and unzips the dress.
INT. BOUTIQUE - LATER
The dress sits on the counter between the saleswoman and Cora. Cora is now dressed in her usual clothes, which are the best she could find at Goodwill.
She hands the saleswoman a credit card.
CORA
And then fifty on this one, and
then here’s the rest.
She hands over a carefully counted stack of bills.
CORA
It should all add up.
SALESWOMAN
You sure you want to --
CORA
I’m sure.
EXT. MAIN STREET - LATER
Cora exits, carrying the shopping bag. Her phone rings and she glances at the screen. It’s a very old, beaten-up iPhone, and the screen reads “Call from Mom.”
Cora silences it and continues walking.
Impossibly quickly, there’s a text alert. Cora glances at it and sighs. “PICK UP.”
Her phone rings again. She picks up.
CORA
Hey, Mama.
EXT. TRAILER PARK - NORTH CAROLINA - ESTABLISHING
A bit of snow on the ground. Well-maintained single and double wide trailers surround a common picnic area.
INT. ABNEY HOME
A cheery, clean double wide. WILLA MAE ABNEY (40s, Caucasian, thick Southern accent, enthusiastically embraces the “trailer trash” stereotype and then bedazzles it) drinks beer from a can in a camouflage coozie while talking on the phone.
WILLA MAE
Your card’s been stolen. I just got
an alert from the bank.
INTERCUT SCENES
CORA
It wasn’t stolen.
WILLA MAE
Probably a raccoon. He got his
dexterous little hands into your wallet --
CORA
I’m so confused. A raccoon stole my
credit card, went to a store --
WILLA MAE
No, silly. He stole it, attracted to
the shine, but then he thought, what am I supposed to do with this thing?
So he drops it. That’s when --
CORA
Let me stop you there. No one stole
it, raccoon or otherwise. I needed to buy a dress,
but don’t worry, I’m going to return it.
WILLA MAE
Jesus Christ and Dolly Parton. What
do you need a two-hundred dollar dress for?
CORA
There’s a holiday mixer for all the
pre-law students and it’s a really big deal.
WILLA MAE
So? I got you that dress from
Marshall’s for your birthday.
CORA It has sequins.
WILLA MAE
That’s how they know you’re fun.
CORA I have to go.
WILLA MAE
Honey, if they can’t appreciate you
in rainbow sequins, then they’re just not worth your time.
CORA
Noted.
WILLA MAE
Love you. Can’t wait to see you for
Christmas.
CORA
You, too.
END INTERCUT
EXT. FRAT HOUSE - SIMULTANEOUS - ESTABLISHING Empty beer cans sit on top of the snow banks.
INT. FRAT HOUSE - LIVING ROOM
A dozen FRAT GUYS sit on dirty couches and lean against the walls. A spirited debate is barely being contained by JOHNNY (22, African-American, the most responsible of the bunch).
NUBS (22, Caucasian, his life is definitely going downhill after college) yells the loudest.
NUBS
It’s a matter of tradition. Honor.
Sacrifice. These are all words. Important words that I’m using!
JOHNNY
Everyone take a breath.
NUBS
This is the defining moment of our
lives. We’re a part of history.
JOHNNY
We’re talking about streaking
through the library, not storming the barricades.
MATEO MORILLO (22, Cuban-American, hiding his inner sensitivity under an affable bro-ness, usually wears polos and khakis) walks in, carrying a box.
JOHNNY
You’re late.
MATEO
Sorry. My mom sent some more
cookies in a care package, though.
NUBS Nice.
There’s a feeding frenzy.
MATEO
What’d I miss?
NUBS
(his mouth full)
They’re talking about not doing the streak! It’s a travesty, a crime against humanity. Back me up here.
MATEO
Technically exposing ourselves is a
crime, but it is tradition.
JOHNNY
It makes us look bad.
MATEO
We do have to think of our image.
NUBS
(under his breath)
The image of our hot butts.
JOHNNY
Really helpful. Let’s just put it
to a vote.
Nubs leaps to his feet.
NUBS
If anyone votes against me, I WILL
FREAKING END YOU. I will take you to a cabin in the woods
and make you watch The Ring video. I will climb into every one of
your beds after atomic wings night and dutch oven you. I will --
He grabs his chest.
NUBS
My chest is doing that weird thing
again. Oo! Feels like there’s a butterfly in there.
Never mind, it’s gone.
Mateo and Johnny exchange alarmed glances.
INT. ACADEMIC BUILDING - HALL - NIGHT
Grand. Fireplaces abound. Black-and-white photos on the wall display the college’s illustrious history.
Well-dressed STUDENTS mingle with PROFESSORS and DEANS.
Cora walks in, nervously clutching her old coat over her fancy new dress.
ATTENDANT
May I take your coat?
CORA
(suspiciously)
Why?
(realizing)
Oh, yes, that will be fine.
She hands off her coat and smooths her dress, then walks a few steps in.
A waiter stops and offers her a champagne flute from a tray. Cora looks around -- should she? Everyone else seems to have a glass, so she takes one.
KIKI (22, Asian-American, sarcastic) and a couple other CLASSMATES spot Cora and wave her over.
KIKI
(quietly to Cora)
You look amazing.
CORA
It was so expensive.
KIKI Worth it.
CLASSMATE #1
How are you feeling about
Hillegan’s final?
CORA
I don’t know. He always manages to
sneak something unexpected on there. I’m sure I’ll be cramming until
the last minute.
KIKI
You always say that and then you
always get an A.
CLASSMATE #2
Did you guys know that he’s best
friends with the Dean of Admissions at Harvard?
CLASSMATE #1
Seriously?
CORA
Yeah, they went to law school there
together.
CLASSMATE #2
Someone’s done their homework.
CORA
I don’t just cram books, I cram
people. That came out wrong. I study people. You get it. It’s my top choice.
CLASSMATE #2
It’s everyone’s top choice.
KIKI
Can we please talk about something
other than school? What are you guys doing for break?
CLASSMATE #2
My family’s going to the Dalmatian
Coast again.
CLASSMATE #1
Ugh, I love it there. But skip
Dubrovnik -- so touristy.
KIKI
You guys know you sound like
assholes, right?
Cora glances around the room, and spots him -- PROFESSOR HILLEGAN (50s, Caucasian, silver fox, charming and sophisticated).
CORA
Be right back.
She makes her way over to him.
CORA
Hi, Professor Hillegan. I’m Cora
Abney, from your comparative politics --
HILLEGAN
You don’t have to keep introducing
yourself. You’re one of my top students. I’m not going to forget your name, Chloe.
CORA
It’s Cora.
HILLEGAN
I was kidding.
CORA
Oh! Ha. That is funny. Very funny.
HILLEGAN
How are you? Looking forward to the
holidays?
CORA
Yes, very much. I actually had a
question for you, though. I, um, well, I really love your class, and your opinion
means so much to me, and I was wondering if you would consider writing
a recommendation letter for me for Harvard Law.
HILLEGAN
Well, as I’m sure you know, I only
choose one student to recommend every year, and unfortunately,
I’ve already chosen William Beaumont.
He nods over to WILLIAM BEAUMONT (22, Caucasian, slightly inbred-looking), who is standing by the hors d'oeuvres table taking selfies.
HILLEGAN
His father and I are old friends.
CORA
Right. Of course. I understand.
HILLEGAN
But Cora, you’re a very talented
student.
CORA
Thank you, I --
HILLEGAN
You were on the short list, but
sometimes it comes down to...other considerations.
CORA
I completely understand. Well, um, see you in class, then.
She turns away, and runs smack dab into William Beaumont. His plate of crab cakes and tartar sauce flips onto her dress.
WILLIAM BEAUMONT
Oh, shoot. Sorry about that.
CORA
(barely holding it
together)
It’s fine.
WILLIAM BEAUMONT
You know what’ll get that out?
Vinegar and baking soda. My nanny swears by it. Swore by it, I mean.
I’m a big boy now and definitely don’t still have a nanny.
CORA
‘Course not.
INT. FRAT HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT A rager. Bass music thumps.
Mateo sits alone in a corner, anxiously refreshing his e-mail on his phone.
MATEO
(to himself)
Come on, come on...
HARPER (22, preppy, fun, party girl) drops into his lap. She’s wasted.
HARPER
Babe, can you believe we only have
like, one semester left? This is the best time of our lives.
Mateo pockets his phone.
MATEO
I know, so crazy.
He takes an enthusiastic sip of his beer.
HARPER
Promise me that when you’re in
business school we’re still going to have fun, you know? I don’t want to be like
one of those people who just has to keep buying racehorse after racehorse
to make myself feel alive. Like, we have to keep going out and stuff.
MATEO
Yeah, totally. We’ll do that no
matter what I’m doing, whether I’m in business school or not.
HARPER
(sharply)
What does that mean?
MATEO
I, um -- kidding. I was kidding.