I was born into something of a showbiz family: my dad was a successful TVand radio announcer, and my mom was a Columbia Studios starlet and model. Asfor me, I was a creative little kid—always being silly, always making peoplelaugh, always keeping folks entertained. But I truly fell in love at ageeleven—not with a person, but with a Super 8 camera. It was 1974, and thatlittle machine opened a door to a world where imagination ruled. My friends andI made movies with cardboard props and wild ideas, edited them with tape andscissors, and screened them for anyone willing to watch. We weren’t chasingfame or fortune. We were chasing joy.

At Beverly Hills High School, I found my tribe. The film and TVdepartment was a dream factory, and for four years, I lived inside it—writing,directing, acting, editing, even building sets. The school had its own cablechannel, broadcasting our work across parts of Los Angeles. We were kids, butwe were creators. And that mattered.

After high school, I kept going—live theater, more video productions, anda stint in the film industry as a still photographer, grip, and even astuntman. I met cool people, learned the rhythm of a set, and soaked in theenergy of storytelling. Did I make a fortune? Not even close. But I madememories, friendships, and art. That’s a different kind of wealth.

In the ’90s, I turned to screenwriting. Working at a talent agency andmajor studios gave me access to hundreds of scripts. I studied them like sacredtexts. Eventually, I optioned one. Sold another. Saw my first film produced in1999. That moment—seeing something I wrote come to life—was electric. Notbecause of the paycheck, but because I had added something to the world Iloved.

The journey hasn’t been smooth. Scripts have been shelved. Projects havefizzled. There were days I considered giving it all up and becoming a potatofarmer. But the spark never died. I kept writing. Kept dreaming. A couple moreof my scripts have been produced—though not yet released. Still, they exist.They were made. And recently, I discovered the joy of novel writing—two booksso far. No royalties (well, nothing you could call life-changing), but endlesscreative freedom—and wow, unbelievably fun to write.

And yes, it’s important to pay the bills. I’ve worked plenty of “regular”jobs—waiting tables, hauling boxes in warehouses, doing security at major filmstudios, even grinding through mindless tasks at big Beverly Hills talentagencies. None of it was terribly glamorous, but it kept me (and my family) fedand afloat. The point is: you can do both. You can work to survive and stillcarve out time to create. It’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it.

And I’m still writing screenplays. In fact, I’ve got three newscripts—each in a different genre—currently being sent out, or about to be sentout, by my manager. The thrill of crafting something new and watching it findits way into the world hasn’t faded one bit.

So, to the young dreamers out there: if you’re wondering whether tofollow your creativity even when the money’s uncertain—do it. The world needsyour voice, your vision, your weird little stories. I’ve lived a life rich inmeaning, even if the bank account didn’t always agree. And the only regret I’dhave is if I’d ignored that eleven-year-old kid with a camera and chosensomething “safe.”

Create boldly. Love the process. And trust that joy is its own reward.