Senior Writer
United Kingdom 🇬🇧

Sam E

Hire Writer

Bio

Sam is a screenwriter, award winning filmmaker, and (almost) award winning stand-up comedian. He lived in Paris for many years, producing theatre and running comedy shows. However he returned to London because he missed the food and good weather. He studied film production at university and has an MA Screenwriting from the National Film and Television School. He’s taught English, worked in advertising and now freelances as a writer and video editor. Basically, Sam speaks in visuals but he has also been known to speak in broken French.

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As a Story Terrace writer, Sam E interviews customers and turns their life stories into books. Get to know our writer better by reading the autobiographical anecdote below!

My Coin

Standing up for myself almost killed me.

I was 6 and it was half term. Every day after camp I would visit the tuck shop then wait for Mum in the car park. But the shop was shut that day. So I watched cars vacate the camp and played with my 50 pence piece.

“That’s my coin.”

I turned. The bigger boy’s big rabbit teeth were chunky fangs which made him salivate as he spoke.

“No it’s not,” I squeaked.

“Bollocks,” he drooled. “That's mine.”

I’d never experienced injustice before so I could only restate my protest and look for an adult to help. I found a camp supervisor, we explained our dilemma and he decided that the fairest thing was to hand the coin over to whichever parent turned up first. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Soon a mother did arrive. <em>His</em> mother.

“Yeh that’s his coin. This kid musta nicked it”, she muttered, sneering at me.

<em>What is going on?</em>

The supervisor handed my coin to the smug little shit and he bounced off, clearly excited to have something to gnaw on. I was already in tears by the time Mum arrived. No amount of sweets or hugs could compensate for this violation. Yet, this other mother took the chance to mock me publicly.

“You’re just sad that you was caught lying.”

Her son cackled.

Now I had had enough.

“Your son is a thief,” I said. “Just like you.”

Her face turned to stone. “What did you bloody say?”

Uh-oh.

Mum chucked me in the car and we sped off. They squeezed into their own vehicle – her son’s shit eating grin pressed up against the glass – and barrelled after us.

We weaved through traffic and accelerated around corners but this diabolic duo were unrelenting. Then up ahead we saw a set of traffic lights turn amber. It was now or never. Mum hit the gas and we squeezed through the intersection just in time. Our harrasers were not so fortunate.

BAM! A milk truck T-Boned them against a lamppost.

I stuck my head out the window, hair blowing in the wind, and saw smoke billowing from their engine and them shaking their fists in the air like cartoon villains.

We were lucky. In another universe that coin toss came up heads. But all things considered, learning to stand up to bullies was worth the price.

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