It turns out it takes money to make a docuseries. Lots of it. The layers run deep and honestly, it’s overwhelming. It’s different than writing a book. When I sit down to write a novel, I lose myself in a world of my creation. Just me and my characters. We spend a lot of time there alone.
In fact, this process of making a visual story almost finds itself in the null set with writing a novel. Yes, there is still a story, but there are all sorts of layers involved which makes it very different. First, when you write a book, you just need time. You don’t need to raise oodles of cash before you can do that part. Maybe just an angel whispering in your ear while you wistfully await your next word. In the beginning of the writing process, you also don’t need to build a platform, assemble a tribe of people who will feel the same passion you do about your project, and so many more differences. Film, however, is ENORMOUSLY collaborative.
So much for time alone in my head in my big red chair, just me and my imagination, Kai’s head on my thigh.
But the beautiful part of this medium called film, aside from the enormous reach factor, is just that: the collaboration. Today, my head is swimming after two very long calls with my crowdfunding guru, Leah, and my docuseries co-director, KTEE. Half the time I have no idea what they’re saying. They have to rewind, reword, and break it down, which they are so kind to do. Thanks, guys.
There are also a gazillion portals. There’s Basecamp, and Seed & Spark, and email, and…okay, maybe only three. But it FEELS like a gazillion. I’m probably going to dream about Basecamp. Like I’m stuck there. In the campfire. Trying to figure out who is doing what. (Not even kidding. There’s totally a campfire.)
Today, my main assignment (from my list of 200) was to write the story of why I’m even doing this and not in Bali right now, meditating. As I stepped into different versions of it, and danced across the floor of my why, I found myself losing my voice to this authoritarian disconnected person that doesn’t even resonate with me. I did the same thing when we were making videos for the crowdfunding. Maybe I do it because I’m terrified or maybe it’s my law firm voice from days gone by. Whatever it is, it’s weird how it pops up to take over. Leah reminded me about my blog I’d written a few months ago. THAT’s your voice, she said.
Ah yes. The infamous nebulus voice they talk about at all writers’ conferences and drive writers nuts because they just aren’t sure what that even means. I think today I had an epiphany: your voice is your heart and your authoritarian voice pops up when your heart is feeling vulnerable and wants to hide in its big red chair.
This project is my heart. But in writing it, I also want to protect the ones who are so deep inside my heart: my children. I find myself worried about saying anything that might hurt them. I know this is the same feelings parents have when their child first starts showing signs of mental illness, whether mild or severe. They worry for their children. They worry how the world will treat them. They worry about how their lives will unfold.
And that’s the whole point of me stepping into this world–to create a massive empowerment for worried parents and teachers, young people trying to navigate their own path, and all those that stand by wondering how to help. This project is for those heroes and I will spend time in all these arenas to get this done, including crowdFUNding.
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