Name the thing you do not say out loud.
You had a five-hour window last Saturday. You cleaned the kitchen. That is not laziness and it is not a scheduling problem. You avoided the work because opening the file means finding out whether you can still do it.
As long as the file stays closed, you were good once. Open it, and you might learn something you cannot unlearn. So the years pass and you protect the thing by never testing it, while raising a person who has never watched you make anything.
I will not tell you this is a phase, or that the work returns when you are ready. It does not come back on its own. You go and get it, on a Tuesday, in forty minutes, badly at first.
Six calls. One finished piece.
Not a course. Not a community. Six conversations and a deadline, with me on the other end of them, and nothing you tell me gets lost between one call and the next.
Every two weeks, about 45 minutes
Weekly coaching becomes a second job and you quit it by week three. The fortnight is long enough that you have to make something, short enough that you cannot quietly disappear. Every call gets written up the same day, so we are never starting over from scratch.
Voice notes in the gaps
When it falls apart on a Wednesday you do not wait nine days to tell me. Record ninety seconds in the car and I answer. No calendar, no waiting until you have composed yourself.
One piece, chosen on day one
A short, a proof of concept, a photo series, a single scene. Small enough to finish inside your real week, real enough to submit with your name on it. Nothing left to negotiate with yourself about.
It exists. You can send it.
You do not leave with a plan, a board, or clarity. You leave with a file. That is the whole point, and everything else is arranged around it.
* All photos on this page are behind-the-scenes stills from THE REMOTES, my current film.
I have sat on the side of the table that decides.
I have been in the room where films get chosen and films get shelved, reading the same three sentences of a logline a director rewrote for six months. So when I tell you what separates a stalled project from one that finds an audience, that is not a framework I read about.
I am also not coaching you from a finished life. I am a working filmmaker and a parent, in the same tension you are in, with a TIFF selection on my slate right now and a kid asleep down the hall. I know what it costs to keep making work with a family, because I am paying it.
You finish one submittable piece in 90 days, or I keep coaching you free until you do.
No conditions, no claim form, no window to claim it in. I can say that plainly because the deliverable is chosen on day one to be finishable inside your actual life, and because I would rather work eight months for nothing than become one more thing on your list that did not work.
Three ways in. Most people take the middle one.
One 90-minute Reset Session and a written plan you keep, whether or not we work together again. For testing that this is real before spending more.
Apply for Starter →Six calls across 90 days, async voice notes between every session, one finished submittable piece. Covered by the guarantee. This is the program: the other two are edges of it.
Apply for Core →Everything in Core, plus two sessions applying my festival and juror experience to where the finished piece goes and how it is framed. For work heading to festivals, not just out the door.
Apply for Premium →You want to talk about making work more than you want to make it. You are looking for permission to wait until the kids are older. Forty minutes a week is genuinely not available yet, in which case come back when it is. I will still be here.
You trained for this, worked in it, and have not made anything in a year or more. You still privately think of yourself as an artist and you are frightened that it is no longer true. You would rather find out than keep wondering.