Eight years ago, I made a short film. I had been saying for years that I wanted to make movies, but I hadn’t done anything about it. I was scared and I found every excuse under the sun not to do anything other than talk about it.
Then I met a woman. She was interested in film. She was interested in me. I was intensely interested in her and I wanted her to fall in love with me. I wanted to impress her and I wanted her to be proud of me.
So I put aside my fear and my insecurity and my ignorance. I made a film. It wasn’t a perfect film, but it was good enough to get into 20 smaller film festivals and win five awards.
The woman and I did fall in love. In a very real sense, my film was a love letter to her. It never would have been made without her in my life.
I think about this a lot lately when I think about why I haven’t made any more films and why I’m not turning out the kind of art I’d like to be making. I have several scripts in various stages of pre-production. I have a documentary that I’m working with a producer to try to bring to life. I even wrote half of a book last year that I ended up deleting in despair because I didn’t love it enough.
But I’m not finishing things. I don’t have enough enthusiasm for anything. I’m not using the talent that I know I have. Why not?

If you beg someone to make you his priority, you hurt yourself
I keep trying to find the light, but my choices leave me in darkness
Barack Obama’s effort to imitate FDR’s ’36 campaign full of danger
Ohio high school shooting shouldn’t be excuse to take more guns away
We all love stories, but principles should trump anecdotes in debate
Facebook leads to marriage for couple whose love never died
DC hypocrites act like spoiled kids on playground by pointing fingers
Love & Hope — Episode 13:
Reality check: A stupid racial prank isn’t ‘the worst thing anybody can do’