growing up, the question of, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” stumped me. at one point i wanted to be a lawyer. when i was a kid, i wrote a contract for my father to sign to ensure that he would always stick to his word. after that, i wanted to be an actor. well i didn’t explicitly say that but i did want to be on television kissing pretty women. in high school, i still didn’t know what my career would be. i just knew i wanted to get paid to be myself. back then i took dancing seriously enough to injure myself trying new moves during my private practice sessions, but i didn’t want to be considered a dancer. at the time i was sure women weren’t checking for dancers, but it shouldn’t have mattered. after high school, everyone seemed to find their thing and i was still searching for mine. i’ve always had an opinion about the world around me but doesn’t everyone.

i hate calling myself a creative, so i don’t. i consider myself an artist and writing is my craft. i’m not sure when i discovered that i had a connection with writing. i didn’t enjoy writing until i completed my first screenplay. it was such an emotionally liberating experience that i knew i couldn’t stop. for the first time, it felt like i found the thing i was meant to do. some people can separate their career from creative interests, but i can’t. its difficult working for a company that cares about their bottom line above everything because i could never be more to a number to that company. no matter how high i climb in management, my worth is directly correlated to the amount of money that i can make said company. that’s how capitalism operates but i’d rather bust my ass for my own brand or career instead. there’s no incentive to be excellent and even when there is incentive, the reward is rarely what you truly deserve.

its hard to find time to write. silence and solitude are key components to my writing process. if its a screenplay, i’ll need to write with music blasting the whole time, but i still have to be alone. the process of “kicking it” is so exhaustive. i still enjoy a great party with great music and endless libations but its too distracting. i’ve been standing on a couch with a drink in my hand thinking about my protagonists’ fatal flaw forgetting that i’m there to be social. quiet time is my busiest time. you’re better off texting me at work or during a class. i’ve missed countless calls and texts in the name of writing. there are things that i would never say to the people closest to me but i can put it in a story.

i don’t know where writing will take me and it makes me nervous. i’m a bit of a control freak so everything about life makes me anxious because there’s no way to control it all. i literally have dreams about being successful. i recently had a dream that i was dating amber rose. i have screenplays that force me to jot down notes anywhere i am. i believe in myself but i have some days full of doubt. like today, i realized that i haven’t worked on enough film sets and i haven’t directed enough shit. i haven’t acted enough either. i don’t have the time to write like i used to. i tell myself that these are merely obstacles. i’ve given up on finding joy through meaningful relationships with other humans (damn that sounds sad). i experience joy from creating things that will speak for me long after i’m here. on days i feel like a hamster on a wheel, i keep going because quitting is no longer an option.