About Me

I worked hard in film school. I took notes and asked questions in the classroom, and presided over my college’s screenwriting club outside of it. I threw myself into unpaid internships, where I covered scripts, coordinated casting calls, and smiled up at the Oscar-nominated director I was on the ground rummaging through a recycling bin for, pretending like he hadn’t already forgotten meeting me a few days earlier. I got the grades and read the books. I networked. I picked brains between sips of coffee. I circled back and followed up. I wrote scripts, entered competitions, and hung my laurels on Instagram like a wreath on my apartment door.

I did all the things they say you’re supposed to do, believing it would get me where I wanted to go. I graduated from film school cocky, wide-eyed, and unshakably certain that I would be able to land a minimum wage agency assistant job before my diploma’s frame came in the mail. God Himself could not sink this ship.

In reality, five months of applying, cold calling, and popping beta-blockers on the train as I thumbed through iterations of my once-sparkling resume was enough to knock me down a peg. Then the 2023 Writers Guild of America strike began, bringing the industry to a crashing halt, and I was pegless.

YouTube was a Hail Mary of sorts—an excuse to stop applying to entry-level jobs I never came close to getting and actually create something again. Not expecting it to work, I deliberately gave myself little time to try—if I wasn’t monetized in three months, I’d tuck whatever videos I’d made into a portfolio for editing jobs and attempt breaking into the industry through a window. With only a week left of my deadline, my second video, Did Pretty Little Liars Groom Us?, gained traction overnight.

I got very, very lucky, and I kept getting very, very lucky.