Without intending to, I conducted an experiment for the past year or two. Basically what I’ve been doing is seeing if I could be happy not making another movie. Instead, I’ve made other things—paintings, food, some dresses, this website. I was hoping I could be happy doing other stuff because making a movie is hard, there’s a lot that can go wrong, and there are a few key reasons why independent filmmaking is currently, arguably, a foolish pursuit. But what I’ve found is that avoiding doing what you really want to do can be as painful as reaching for something that always seems just out of your grasp, which is how I view writing and making a movie: it’s like you’re never going to be smart enough or good enough to capture on paper, and then on film, what’s in your head.
I wish I had a good ending for this but I don’t.
See what I’m saying? It’s just like writing a movie—you know there’s a better, more perfect ending, but…
Anyway. When I turned a corner on this, when I realized how tired I was of avoiding writing a new script and decided I was just going to plunge ahead, despite it all, I felt like a big weight had been lifted off of me and I burst into tears.