In the Spotlight
ACTING
This spot aired on TNT at the top of the pre-game show for the National Hockey League’s Winter Classic game played outdoors on January 2nd in Miami, Florida. I was honored to play Old Man Winter.
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WRITING
My current work in progress is a novel/screenplay entitled "The Wonderful Life of Clarence Oddbody," a tale that is a prequel, at first, and then runs alongside the classic "It's A Wonderful Life." His faith shattered when the afterlife fails to reunite him with his beloved Rachel, bumbling Clarence must cross dimensions, overcome his deepest fears, face his lifelong nemesis and help a suicidal George Bailey rediscover his will to live if he hopes to earn his angelic wings and ever see Rachel again.
Excerpt: Clarence Meets Rachel for the First Time
Outside Hemingstone Manor, the birds and continue to greet the morning while the cow, emptied of her milk, rests quietly, satisfied. Theodore can be heard hitching Festus to the wagon as Clarence, now thirteen, stands alone in the den, both eyes firmly shut, one hand resting on Roland’s megaphone. He clutches it as though sheer determination might coax out some scrap of magic, mojo, aura, or any other mystical ingredient seldom found in the average household pantry.
He murmurs his plea with ceremonial seriousness, looking for all the world like a junior wizard hoping the wand will finally cooperate.
The door nudges open, and Theodore pokes his head inside, his expression carrying the weary patience of a man who has learned not to question whatever ritual his son has invented this week.
“’Bout time to go, son.”
Clarence opens his eyes, satisfied in the way only a boy convinced he has just absorbed ancient power can be.
“Ready, Papa!”
Later that same morning, the chapel of St. Genevieve glitters with Christmas decorations—so many garlands and wreaths that the walls seem prepared to compete in a holiday pageant.
Clarence stands at the front, singing a solo. His focus stays on Theodore, who sits alone without Erin beside him. Clarence’s voice, earnest but uncooperative, cracks in mid-verse, snapping like a twig in a winter breeze.
Among the congregation sits adolescent Rachel Turner, visiting cousins for the holiday. She grace a seat on the aisle with a curious sparkle—the kind that suggests she might turn a simple church service into an adventure if given five unsupervised minutes. Her girl-next-door charm pairs neatly with the light blue ribbon in her hair.
In the back row, a cluster of older teen boys lounges with the relaxed confidence of youths who have not yet had life explain its rules to them. Their leader—Robin Jeffreys, tall, impeccably dressed, possessing eyebrows of almost theatrical grandeur—rests a gleaming rapier at his belt. He is visiting a school chum, and appears determined to outshine even the tinsel.
Clarence sings, his voice wobbling perilously:
"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy!
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy!”
Every crack of his voice ricochets through the chapel, leaving congregants wide-eyed and frozen. Mrs. Burgess smiles supportively, but even she looks a touch startled.
Outside after the service, the back-row boys saunter toward Clarence. Robin leads them with the sort of confidence typically reserved for men who own large estates or have never once doubted their hairstyle.
He leans into Clarence and says, “Mate? Might you join us on our next duck hunt?”
Then, after a beat, “We could use a good caller.”
They stroll off, chuckling, leaving Clarence standing there with a sadness settling around him like an ill-fitting cloak.
But then Rachel approaches—closer than he expects any pretty out-of-towner to dare stand. She looks directly into his eyes, smiling bright enough to outshine the December sun. The light blue ribbon glimmers. Clarence’s heart performs an involuntary somersault.
Then, she speaks, her words sound like music carried to him on the wings of angels.
“I absolutely loved what you did! You were...courageous.”
She pats his shoulder. For her it was a simple gesture, but it was a nudge his shoulder would remember for all time and into eternity.
Clarence reels as she rejoins her cousin. He watches her leave, his sadness vanished entirely, replaced by a buoyant, impossible hope. The sun catches her hair, making it shimmer, and a robin trills a bright song as though recruited to underscore the moment.
Clarence whispers, “Soft, what light in yonder window breaks?”
The words hang sweetly in the air, as if fully satisfied with where they have landed.
He murmurs his plea with ceremonial seriousness, looking for all the world like a junior wizard hoping the wand will finally cooperate.
The door nudges open, and Theodore pokes his head inside, his expression carrying the weary patience of a man who has learned not to question whatever ritual his son has invented this week.
“’Bout time to go, son.”
Clarence opens his eyes, satisfied in the way only a boy convinced he has just absorbed ancient power can be.
“Ready, Papa!”
Later that same morning, the chapel of St. Genevieve glitters with Christmas decorations—so many garlands and wreaths that the walls seem prepared to compete in a holiday pageant.
Clarence stands at the front, singing a solo. His focus stays on Theodore, who sits alone without Erin beside him. Clarence’s voice, earnest but uncooperative, cracks in mid-verse, snapping like a twig in a winter breeze.
Among the congregation sits adolescent Rachel Turner, visiting cousins for the holiday. She grace a seat on the aisle with a curious sparkle—the kind that suggests she might turn a simple church service into an adventure if given five unsupervised minutes. Her girl-next-door charm pairs neatly with the light blue ribbon in her hair.
In the back row, a cluster of older teen boys lounges with the relaxed confidence of youths who have not yet had life explain its rules to them. Their leader—Robin Jeffreys, tall, impeccably dressed, possessing eyebrows of almost theatrical grandeur—rests a gleaming rapier at his belt. He is visiting a school chum, and appears determined to outshine even the tinsel.
Clarence sings, his voice wobbling perilously:
"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy!
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy!”
Every crack of his voice ricochets through the chapel, leaving congregants wide-eyed and frozen. Mrs. Burgess smiles supportively, but even she looks a touch startled.
Outside after the service, the back-row boys saunter toward Clarence. Robin leads them with the sort of confidence typically reserved for men who own large estates or have never once doubted their hairstyle.
He leans into Clarence and says, “Mate? Might you join us on our next duck hunt?”
Then, after a beat, “We could use a good caller.”
They stroll off, chuckling, leaving Clarence standing there with a sadness settling around him like an ill-fitting cloak.
But then Rachel approaches—closer than he expects any pretty out-of-towner to dare stand. She looks directly into his eyes, smiling bright enough to outshine the December sun. The light blue ribbon glimmers. Clarence’s heart performs an involuntary somersault.
Then, she speaks, her words sound like music carried to him on the wings of angels.
“I absolutely loved what you did! You were...courageous.”
She pats his shoulder. For her it was a simple gesture, but it was a nudge his shoulder would remember for all time and into eternity.
Clarence reels as she rejoins her cousin. He watches her leave, his sadness vanished entirely, replaced by a buoyant, impossible hope. The sun catches her hair, making it shimmer, and a robin trills a bright song as though recruited to underscore the moment.
Clarence whispers, “Soft, what light in yonder window breaks?”
The words hang sweetly in the air, as if fully satisfied with where they have landed.
