Wow and Flutter
Every first crush needs a soundtrack.
Way back in 2003, in the heat of August, Anne and I left Hollywood for the first time. We moved with all our possessions to a little cabin in the woods.
We were young, and we desperately needed to lick our wounds and recharge. We had been bruised and battered and found ourselves KO’d on the canvas. And we didn’t know how to get up and fit into this Hollywood game we were trying to play.
So it felt like our only choice was to climb out of the ring and run away for awhile.
During our sojourn, we had the beautiful opportunity to live and work on our own terms. Our primary goal was to heal and re-group. But our secondary goal was to create a good short film. A film that would play film festivals all over the world and help us launch the next phase of our careers.
For the time being, there were no managers and agents and gate keepers hovering above us, out of reach. No executives or investors or fancy production companies on our horizons.
It was just us living off some money we’d saved. We counted every dollar and worked for our food at an organic farm down the road. The nearest grocery store was 45 minutes away.
Each morning we’d throw ourselves into the day. Creativity suddenly became so much easier. Hollywood often felt like a hall of mirrors — chaotic and confusing. Out here, we only had the woods, and the pace of our lives slowed to a crawl. No more fighting traffic in LA. No more pitch meetings. We simply operated as a team, with no one else to please but ourselves. It felt like every day was Saturday.
Over the first three or four months in the cabin, I developed numerous ideas and eventually wrote five short film scripts.
Every morning at about 10:30, we’d walk for miles in the woods with our dog Sedona. There was no real agenda or destination. On some days, we’d talk through story ideas and wrestle with which one we’d actually make.
It all happened organically, and one story eventually rose to the top of the stack. I worked hard on each of those scripts, but only one got us excited. A record obsessed kid making a mix tape for his first crush. That was it. Just thinking about it makes me smile even now — because I had been that kid. And I knew the idea was gold when a dangerous, book-burning kind of Christianity loomed behind it.
Annie, Rocky, Gary, Patrick, 2004
We found our beautiful cast in Medford over two sets of auditions. Ethan, who played David, was the last kid to walk in, and we immediately knew we had our lead. Like magic, everything in the universe seemed to cooperate with us to make this film. Even when doubts and road-blocks came along inevitably, they were quickly replaced with confidence and solutions.
The movie was shot over 6 half days on an ARRIFLEX BL-2 rented from our new friend Cal Kennedy. We used 35mm short ends purchased from a big production back in LA. Patrick Neary, who I met in Santa Barbara, came down to shoot it with a lean crew. We used a negative cutter in LA and made three film prints, anticipating a lot of festivals playing it simultaneously.
All the music in the film was a miracle — the right songs came along in the creative process and getting permission to use them was affordable and exciting.
You can watch it here — a film that came together with so much peace of mind and momentum. The film won awards and played many film festivals in both 2004 and 2005. It also became a significant factor in landing our cast for our first feature CALVIN MARSHALL.
Looking back now, it was an exercise in finding my voice. I worked organically and followed my emotions and trusted the process of excavating this story I already loved. With no one else looking over my shoulder, I knew it was there beneath the soil and if I was patient, the right script would gradually reveal itself to me.
Some of you are making your very first film or writing your first novel and you find yourself at an impasse — an uncomfortable place where doubts begin stacking up. A place where you’re not feeling it anymore and the excitement of starting something big is wearing off.
Questions arise. Is it good or good enough? Will I finish it? Should I start over? What about this other idea I have now?
Mid-stream, these kinds of thoughts are common, and sometimes they can even be devastating. The weight of doubt can sometimes feel greater than the strength you have to hold on to what you’re trying to accomplish.
When I get in this vulnerable spot, I always try to remember that I am the expert and architect of my story. A lot of people will have ideas about what I should add or change. Some of this input will be useful and helpful! But at the end of the day, what do I want it to be? How do I want to feel when I read my script or watch this film unfold on screen?
The brilliant, unimitable Thelonious Monk once said,
A genius is the one most like himself… I say play your own way. Don’t play what the public want. You play what you want and let the public pick up on what you doing. Even if it does take them fifteen, twenty years.
Thelonious Monk at Basin Street on April 11, 1956 in New York City
When we operate from our own DNA and collaborate organically with the universe, we can’t help but create something in our own voice. And we’ll create something that no one else could ever make. Not even AI.
Writing something requires every part of us, and that includes our doubts and our fears.
It doesn’t always feel good, but after wrestling with it all and using our reason to think critically? The pendulum usually swings back to that confident place of creating with joy.
There is no rule book. We must simply trust the process of creative alchemy. A process that magically mines all of our sensibilities, idiosyncrasies, talents, memories, thoughts and ideas. And a process that paves the way to telling stories in our own voice.
