I remember, too vividly, crying and pleading to God in strained wails while I laid my older sister's bed. I and my other two sisters clung to each other in a frenzy as we heard the news from my father. I suppose we were lucky, as my mother had to witness it. She passed away at a birthday party, only 16 days before her own. It's a day I can recall so clearly, even if the memory isn't welcome. It's a strange thing, to be called 'gifted.' Of course, it's a compliment, but it means that the accomplishments you've made aren't from your efforts, but are instead a result of innate talent. My older sister Krista had long since eclipsed any natural intelligence I had with her determination. She reached and soared beyond my aptitude for education through willpower alone, to become a Supreme Court Justice. To make that dream a reality, she was headed to Whitney Young Magnet High School, one of the best high schools in the state, in the fall of that year. Would have. All my teachers were vocal about their surprise at us being siblings, always with a telling grimace in my direction. It must've been aggravating to give me a passing score on an assignment after substituting their class for naptime. Instead of grieving, I buried myself in video games and other coping methods, blowing off school entirely. It didn't matter how easy the subjects were, I wouldn't bother with the homework. Seeing this, my mother asked me a favor. She wanted to see one of her kids at Whitney Young. She had gone there herself and wanted someone to follow in her footsteps. And I knew who she had originally intended to fulfill that wish, and I found the whole situation so ludicrous that I couldn't help but laugh right in front of her. I never asked to be put in that situation. I couldn't help happening to understand things quickly. I couldn't help people finding my writing "special," even if I gave my words no thought. Krista couldn't help being the sole reason I'd even bother doing those assignments, being the sole person making me put the slightest effort into anything, and having dreams that exposed the lack of passion I'd put into my artistic endeavors. She wasn't given anything but a desire to be great, and a heart too weak to handle those desires. And here I was, struggling to turn in homework on time. It's been a decade since then. I graduated from Whitney Young, got into college, kept writing, acting, and living. And even now, I sometimes find it hard to motivate myself to keep going. But her voice, nagging me as usual, is never far off. And I know if she were here with me, she'd be outpacing me by a mile. So I'd put more effort into that exam, project, play, or application, since that's the only way I could ever keep up with her daring ambitions.

To be a writer, you gotta read. I can't count how many times I've heard that advice online, and yet the people who give it always think it's novel guidance. Well, that's not fair either, because despite that advice being passed around like Covid, there are still too many writers immune to good plotting, realistic dialogue, and honestly...common sense. And this extends to the screenwriters who think they can get away with releasing some of the most atrocious two-hour attacks on the human lifespan in recent memory, in my humble opinion. I just want a better quality of writing in everything I spend time watching, and even if my dedication to mastering storytelling is noble, it amounts to little more than throwing one plastic bottle in the recycling bin a week. That is why, if I could snap my fingers and make a wish come true, I would become a world-renowned novelist with the skills to bring my ideas to life. Unfortunately, this particular genie came with some rules, and if my omnipotence is limited to coerced literacy, then the book I would have everyone read is Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting. A mouthful yes, but it's the book that has probably done the most in developing my rhetorical ego and style. Robert McKee broke down the essence of storytelling in a way I'd never seen before and then gave me the vocabulary to understand it. It's special to me. Why this book? Well, it's not a perfect fix, but the plan is to accomplish two things. First, it's to get the basics into the minds of those screenwriters I love so much earlier and raise the bottom line of competency. This will also do wonders for writers, actors, and anyone involved in the filmmaking process. Second, and more importantly, it will reach the consumers like myself. The only reason bad movies exist is because we tolerate them with our money! If we as a society hold production companies to a higher standard of product, the product will have no choice but to improve. What I want is simple: better shows, movies, and of course, books to read. In the same way that I want others to hold media to a higher standard, I want those same people to hold my writing to a higher standard. All we gotta do is read a little.

I must've been seven or eight. Maybe even younger? I was dragged by the collar to an acting workshop with my three sisters at the Salvation Army Kroc Center. They were already cast in the Christmas play and were snacking away at a massive table of Jewel-Osco goodies: chips, chocolate, sweets, soda, and all the sugary sludge a kid could ever want piled wide like the last supper. I stood to the side, not associating with the girly girls or the girly boys who were doing something as girly as acting. Still, I tolerated their girly aura so that I could ask the instructor for access to the snack table. She told me that only actors could eat the snacks and that if I wanted some, I should join the play. Somehow, the prospect seemed much less girly. Manly, even. It's been 20 years since I was born, and for over half that time, I've considered myself an actor. Calling yourself an actor is weird though. Usually when you think 'actor' you think 'famous.' They are almost synonyms, and if you ask any person who their favorite actor is, 999 times out of 1000 they will name a celebrity. That one time though, a person might name a family member who performed as a featured extra in varying movies and television shows, as they brag to their other mom friends about how talented he is. That kid, who eventually became a teenager acting on stage at the Black Ensemble Theater and reaching a finalist position at the August Wilson Monologue Competition, received extra training at The Goodman Theater and Vagabond to further hone his skills. Then, he was cast in two plays the very same semester he joined college, one being the lead role in Scotland Road. Truth be told, that guy is rather bashful and has trouble speaking about his achievements and exploits, so usually, he will talk about them in the third person or his mother will end up doing the bragging for him. I know that guy pretty well, and despite him not being a celebrity, I think he's earned the title of 'actor.' I like to think I can appreciate theater more than the average actor, considering a huge passion of mine is writing. They weren't good, but I've written a couple of plays myself and the process is more involved than your average short story or poem. Though my interest in the performing arts started as more of a whim, I think was nurtured by all my experiences on set and stage. In the long term, I'd love to return to the set, though I recognize that the number of barriers increases as I age. Being in front of a camera can be nerve-wracking, but there's a huge sense of belonging in performing your role properly. I also won't deny that it's the most lucrative hobby I've ever had, though there were better things to do if all I wanted was money. I don't say love often, but I do love acting. I love creating a character from the page, breathing life into it, and letting that character become me. He becomes my posture and tone, my dignity and pride, he fills my arteries and veins with twitches and fidgets and other fragments of personhood that are a life outside of myself. Well...I can try to explain it with the writing I like so much, but I can only say that I love acting. Finding a new agency and pursuing it again is my goal, and this time I'm doing it for the acting first.

It's a bit naive maybe, but I've always admired the people in TV shows who help their friends through adversity. With a few words, they could give people hope and the strength to move forward. I wanted the ability to overcome conflict just like they could. I would find myself trying to help people when they were down, giving advice when I myself barely knew their situation. Whenever I could actually solve a problem for someone, it felt as though I’d been able to push back at the omnipresent despair of the world by an inch or so, just like them. Those characters on the screen weren’t real people, of course, but their influence made me realize three very real things during my life. Despite my desire to support others, whenever my little sister was shivering and crying from acid reflux, why was it that I couldn’t find the words to comfort her? When my mother was being shredded from the inside by lupus, why couldn’t I simply tell her that things would all be alright? I wanted to help people, but the words never came out when I needed them to. Despite my proclaimed intelligence and theatrical skills, I couldn’t even act supportive when it counted most. Instead of trying to help others, I began living vicariously through fictional characters, wishing reality could be as simple as it is for them. After wrestling with my own incompetence for years, I came to my first epiphany. If the issue was with my inability to help others in the moment, wasn't there a way to do it ahead of time? Halfway through high school, I acquired a sudden interest in English. Specifically, I wanted to know more about story structure and crafting my own narratives. I stopped watching TV and started analyzing it, and my focus was awarded with another realization. Storytelling, as an art form, is the most persuasive tool in human history. Its ability to suck people in and take them on a journey from within the protagonist allows for transformative experiences like no other. Messages like “crime is bad” ring hollow for most, but show someone a thrilling drama about how failed gas station robbery leaves a person's life in shambles, or how a successful one leaves them feeling empty and remorseful, and people will understand it. I wanted to learn more about this, so I researched and wrote whenever I could. My preexisting love for storytelling in TV and movies gave me a talent for dissecting them. I wanted to write stories of incredible growth, where people feeling crushed under the weight of the world find the will to seize it instead. Maybe then, if someone were to see that, they would be inspired to fight a little harder themselves. And it was then that I came to my final realization. Watching all those people on TV fight so hard to help others might have given me a little motivation to do the same. It might have been the very reason I decided helping people was such a noble goal to begin with. And I saw those stories for what they were, beautiful things, each and every one of them. Even today, as I read short stories to my little sister to help her forget the pain, I think that she might be finding the strength to endure just like the girl in the pages. I see my sister smile at the girl’s determination being rewarded, and I feel as though the omnipresent despair of the world has been pushed back a few more inches.