I walk out of the Burlington airport waiting for my rideshare. He’s late. There’s one other person next to me and a handful of others waiting for their rides, deserted by LAX standards. I take a deep breath of crisp Vermont air, ventilating out the Los Angeles smog from my system. Filling my lungs with it, I allow myself to be transported back to memories of summers in Switzerland as a child. The sweetness of cow shit.
A truck pulls up, the driver rolls his window down, we do the thing, identifying ourselves. It doesn’t help that my profile pic on the app is a portrait of a baboon in formal wear and cravat.
I jump in.
My driver apologizes profusely, it’s chaos at the airport. I nod, politely, as I stare at the open airport road in front of us. I do my best to reassure him of my foreignness: Totally, I say.
He informs me that many of my kind have descended on Stowe. The worst kind I say, writers. He gets a kick out of that. I get a kick out of passing the Jazzercise Burlington Fitness Center. I do a quick search on Google maps and discover that the Ben and Jerry’s factory is forty minutes away.
I fantasize about soothing the inevitable three-day ego-death as mentors and fellow writers obliterate my screenplay, gorging on an endless flow of Chunky Monkey. Then, in a case of Catholic guilt, I'd drive myself to the Jazzercise center and take my first step toward becoming a certified instructor, clearly a more lucrative and stable endeavor than filmmaking.
I was rejected from the Stowe Story Lab’s Narrative Features Lab two years before. In fact, I had been rejected by almost every screenwriting program and competition I submitted to before 2018. I did have some success with my short films and scored a best director nomination at a local festival. I lost to a high school directing duo who won for their short musical comedy about a chiropractor. Being nominated is an honor. Being nominated is an honor. Being nominated is an honor.
I received my acceptance letter from Stowe in 2021 but because of scheduling chaos courtesy of the COVID19 pandemic, I was offered a spot in 2022. This was a problem because I was scheduled to film the feature script I submitted, two weeks after the lab. Just my luck, it felt pointless. I thought there was no way this lab could have a meaningful impact on my project and since I did not win a fellowship, I had to pay for my attendance, money I could use towards the budget of my debut feature film. My producer wasn’t happy with my decision to attend, but she understood.
The Narrative Lab is very pitch-oriented. I don’t think I fully grasped that at the time. Much of the effort revolved around getting participants to present their stories in about three minutes. The lectures and group feedback do support development but for the most part it was about the pitch. The rationale being that in the event of an elevator pitch moment we would be armed and ready to go. In addition, by focusing on the ability to pitch our stories in a short time, we could potentially surface issues with plot, character, etc.
Photo by Jesse Schloff Photography
So, there I was, two weeks out from shooting a feature, at a lab that would teach me to pitch it. Seems like a backwards situation but surprisingly, I wouldn’t have been able to make the feature I ended up making had it not been for my first Stowe experience.
As it turned out, we only had enough budget to shoot the film, we didn’t quite have production insurance yet and, to top it all off, I was stuck on a major casting decision and hadn’t secured a leading role. Only one of these things was resolved directly by sharpening my pitch and yet all of it came together because of my weekend in Vermont.
Impostor syndrome is a real drag and a wise person once told me that one of the best ways to get over it was to not want anything from anyone before going into a room, event or situation. I stayed about a 45 minute walk from the art center where the narrative lab was held.
On my first walk, I decided that I would be of service to others and to be curious about their projects. To be as supportive as possible and to contribute what I could. Perhaps it is my immigrant roots yelling at me to make myself useful - more on impostor syndrome and immigrant guilt another time.
Call it avoidance, call it a lack of self-worth but, turns out, being of service is a pretty good way to sneak up on the thing you actually needed.
I spent that first day asking the other writers about themselves. Tons of questions, one after another, all to avoid the questions about me and my story: Hopes, dreams, children, pets, favorite Power Ranger, you name it.
Turns out most of us were carrying the same doubts about the creative work and also considered other endeavors like dolphin training as an alternative form of expression. What is amazing about sharing fears with each other, is that your own doubts get quieter. Jazzercise instruction loses its appeal after a few drinks at the end of an inspiring day.
As the days rolled on, my pitch got stronger and bonds began to form. The thing about the indie spirit is that it's much more contagious than the coronavirus and usually a lifelong affliction that flares up like gout when around other infected hosts. The difference is that instead of being paralyzed by pain you are overcome with a sudden surge of overconfidence bordering on hysteria. Suddenly everyone's cause is your cause. You MUST make your mid-life coming of age story about a woman who bankrupts her family by spending her savings on vaginal rejuvenation. The world NEEDS it.
What I needed was production insurance. One evening, after a few cocktails infused with CBD, the indie spirit took hold and I decided to put it out there to my cohort. 2001's Grammy winning, Billboard chart topping song Arms Wide Open by Creed crescendos over the bar speakers and a producer appears.
Almost instantly, like a televangelist's palm to my forehead, she offered me production insurance. I was struck, a baby-Jesus-like miracle manifested. "With arms wide open, now everything has changed."
Excitedly, I slurred the good news to my own producer that night. Mildly impressed and still very much annoyed that I left two weeks before principal photography, she reminded me that we're still short. She also wanted to know if I made a decision on which actor will play the female lead. We're running out of time.
The next morning over breakfast, as I nursed my CBD infused hangover, one of the lab mentors, a very established casting director, asked me how things were progressing and quickly we got onto the topic of impossible-to-please producers. The subject of my casting conundrum came up and after what felt like a somatic therapy session over coffee and a black bear sighting, she guided me through the decision making process. Before the day had even begun, I made my conclusion: There's definitely something in the maple syrup.
"It's not for everybody." is a lazy way of putting anything. In my opinion, it's timing and what you bring that defines an experience. Except for one thing: Community. I make an exception for anything that expands my community. Ironically, filmmaking is a lonely road that is highly dependent on networking. Therefore any effort a filmmaker puts into developing their relationships is always going to be a worthwhile endeavor.
I think networking is a bit of a dirty word actually. There's a "grab the bag" mentality associated with it. The friendships that come out of programs like Stowe are not networking. It's something closer to trauma bonding. You've watched each other be scared in front of a room, open up and ask a group of strangers you just met for help. That doesn't unstick easily.
On the final day over lunch, I cornered one of the co-founders and gave him a piece of my mind regarding the entire affair. I asked him who had given him the right to create this amazing experience in a beautiful corner of the world and expect us to go back to reality with fleeting memories of a creative utopia. I understood what Lucifer must've felt after being banished. I obviously guilted him enough because to this day, beyond that weekend and the following year-long Launch Fellowship with Stowe in 2024, he remains my friend and mentor.
Still short on money for the film, I learned about Stowe's Fiscal Sponsorship program and was encouraged to apply. A couple of months later, my project won sponsorship and we were able to raise money for post-production.
I went to Stowe two weeks before shooting a feature, thinking it was going to be a distraction. It turned out to be the reason the feature happened the way it did. To this day, I believe it came together because I stopped trying to get anything. Instead, with a future as a Jazzercise instructor as a safety net, I welcomed the ego-death.
It may not be for everyone but, I think the thing you need is almost never the thing you go looking for.