Lessons from Austin Film Fest

I got my start in the arts as an actress. My childhood ambition was to belt it out on stage where all eyes were on me. But then my personality shifted, and although I still loved to act, the level of social interactions required to become successful at the job were anxiety inducing. Maybe that's part of the reason my focus shifted to an even more intimate form of story telling. But despite the trope of the aloof genius writing in a cabin, turns out small talk is just as important for writers too.

Hence my flutter of trepidation mixed with excitement while packing for the 2016 Austin Film Festival. I had every reason to be confident. My script was chosen out of more than 9,000 feature screenplays to be a Second Rounder in the competition. I was notified that if I came, a special badge would be waiting for me that labeled with me with this honor, and thus allowing special access to events for people just like me.

Heart pounding, I got off the plane from Los Angeles and headed to the grand Driskill Hotel for registration. When the friendly volunteer handed me my greatly anticipated badge, my heart dropped. Not only did it designate my status as a Second Rounder, it was emblazoned with the title that got me there, "Confessions of a Cutter."

Seeing as I had written that script in part to overcome a real cutting addiction, having that particular title hanging around my neck for everyone to see was simply horrifying. Suddenly my accomplishment felt like a diving albatross rather than a badge of honor.

And sure enough, people asked me about it. And once my paranoia subsided a bit that I was being outed, I started to open up to the sea of opportunities around me. The panels, the films, the people--all an overflowing cornucopia of connection and shared passion.

My next test came the next day: Pitch Fest. I hadn't chosen which of my stories to condense into 90 seconds before a room full of peers and professional judges. I knew which one I should do--the one that got me into Austin Film Fest--but then again, the fears of being outed bubbled into my throat at the thought. It's not that I hadn't come out, so to speak, to anyone before. But only to individuals I trusted to see deeper than my perfectionist persona I projected, This was a room full of strangers, of peers, of superiors. I finally settled with the decision I knew was right all along, and scrambled to figure out how to frame one of the darkest chapters in my life into 90 seconds.

So after about 9 other nervous writers went to bat, I took a deep breath and walked to the front of the room. I said my name, and that I was pitching my Second Rounder script, "Confessions of a Cutter." Then I proclaimed, "You know, a comedy." The tension in the room broke, both for the audience and myself. It was an apt way to begin, after all, the script is full of jokes. And I promise you, I'm being serious, "Confessions of a Cutter" is full of jokes. I didn't write a melodramatic after school special, I wrote something that would've helped me when I was lost. Humor is my favorite coping mechanism.

I was remarkably calm going through the beats, but then I got to my character's reasoning for why she doesn't ask for help, "People think cutters just want attention." There it was, the crux of my shame. If I was honest as to why I was the perfect vessel to write this script, would this confirm to the faceless idea of society that I did this for attention? My mind went blank for what felt like eons, but was probably a few seconds. I found my voice again, but I skipped the climax which would've revealed the reason my character (and I) where who we where. However, I still closed strong with the end beat.

Then the judges comments, where I was informed I forgot to tell people what a Cutter was. I guffawed out loud. I forgot that there were people who knew nothing about the private hell kids as young as 7 are experiencing (The National Library of Medicine National Institutes of HealthSearch database). More research is needed, but the danger zone seems to be high school through college ages with somewhere between 7%-24% of adolescents and older adolescents engaging in self-injury (The National Library of Medicine National Institutes of HealthSearch database). I suspect it's on the higher end, due to the secrecy the behavior is shrouded in.

I credit Demi Lovato for giving me the courage to confront my problem head on. For those who don't know, Demi Lovato was a good girl Disney darling who pulled herself out of a downward spiral after taking the time she needed to address her bipolar disorder and cutting addiction. Rather than be ashamed, she used her story to reach others like her, others like me.

As the judges continued with their questions, I felt to answer with anything less than honesty would be an insult to my role model and myself. So I came out with it, "She's me." And instead of shame, I felt freedom. My personal journey of the pitch followed the arc of my character, choked by secret shame, and released by honesty. It's funny how sometimes you have to learn the same lesson multiple times before it really starts to sink in.

And Austin had one more trick up it's sleeve to make sure I was ready for my final exam. The day after my pitch confession, my complimentary Austin Film Festival bag ripped. Luckily I caught it before all of my money, notebooks and pens spilled everywhere. So I went back to the Driskill registration kiosks to see if I could replace it. Who happened to be there, but the young woman who held the timer while I made my 90 second pitch. I didn't recognize her at first, she never spoke while I was up there, and my memories get a bit blurry in times of intense adrenaline. As I started to depart with my new satchel, she stopped me, "I liked your pitch. I really want to see your movie."

It was more the way she said it, than what she said that stopped me. Looking into her eyes, I felt something deeper than you can ever feel in front of a crowd. I saw myself in her. Whether or not she's a cutter, I have no idea. But she identified with my story of being lost in secret isolation while yearning for an accepting community and felt moved enough to tell me.

And then I remembered why I wrote that screenplay in the first place. Not only to figure out why I did what I did, but to give my experience purpose. To pass on the torch to the next person I may never know, as Demi Lovato may never know what she did for me.

I walked away from Austin with a new fire simmering in my heart, "I'm making the goddamn movie."

It's because of this fire I contacted an indie production company about why I need to make "Confessions of a Cutter" from a script into a film. We're now negotiating an option agreement with myself attached as a producer.

Thank you Austin for forcing me to learn the lesson I knew all along.

Happy New Year.