“Majoring in film scoring? That’s awesome! What exactly… is that?” A question I’ve heard a million times. People don’t know whether scoring films makes me a film critic, director, or even an actor. I say that means I write music for film, and I hear “Oh, I love musicals,” or “So like Danger Zone in Top Gun?” “No, background music,” I tell them, and I usually have to reference John Williams’ scores to get them to even know what I’m talking about. To the average moviegoer, a musical score seems invisible, inconsequential, and intuitive, but as a film composer myself, I assure you it is not. From the films and video projects I’ve scored, I’ve learned that film music has no roadmap, and that’s what makes the art form so fascinating. My favorite scores are ones that don’t merely follow what is on screen. People think that if a character is sad, you just write “sad music,” but there’s a difference between composition and musical storytelling. I’m passionate about scoring that adds multiple layers of meaning to a story by associating musical lines and textures with characters, locations, plot events, literary themes, and even real-life cultural references. Composers brilliantly repeat, alter, and combine such ideas throughout a film to create a tapestry of psychological experience for the filmgoer. In his score for Pixar’s, Up, one of my favorite composers, Michael Giacchino, uses a cheerful musical theme during a montage of Carl and Ellie’s relationship, conditioning the audience to associate hearing the theme with the couple’s happiest times. Giacchino repeats and develops this theme throughout the film, even after Ellie has passed away, causing the audience to remember the couple’s happy years together at key moments of nostalgia and grief. There is no need for stereotypical or shallow “sad music.” Instead, Giacchino uses “happy music” to create a sense of loss. By reminding the viewers of Ellie, her absence is felt. What fascinates me the most is that the viewers’ brains can understand these layers of meaning without even realizing they are listening to music in the first place. This sheer magic is what inspired me to become a film composer. In my early teens, I became passionate about dissecting film scoring technique. A desire to understand musical associativity pushed me to research music theory vocabulary, cultural perception of musical elements, compositional craft, and human psychology. I studied these concepts independently through middle and high school, and I am now in my third year of a Film Scoring bachelor’s program at Liberty University. I also minor in Cinematic Arts and recently started my career as a freelance composer, scoring student films and video projects. Multiple films I have scored have been premiered in front of hundreds of fellow students. I also recently composed and recorded a string quartet and harp arrangement of three themes I wrote for student film projects. I have included the PDF score as my music portfolio piece. The first theme, entitled “Friendship,” represents the friendship of two characters in a recent film I scored. The second, “Family,” was written for a film about love that endures family quarrels. The third theme, “Love,” originally underscored a romantic montage in a film I ended up not being hired for, but that I liked quite a bit. I decided to dedicate these themes to my friends, my family, and my boyfriend, respectively, since they have relentlessly loved, provided for and supported me throughout my film scoring journey. One day I hope to make a living from my composing work, telling stories that people may never notice, but will never forget.

Blockbusters and pop hits – the dynamic duo. This summer it was Nicki Minaj and Metro Boomin in the theater, but the original summer blockbuster created an unexpected new era in popular music. In the heart of the rock era, the 1975 thriller, Jaws, made orchestral composer John Williams a star. His neo-classical style scores to 1975’s Jaws and 1977’s Star Wars conquered the era, bringing the musical past into present consciousness. The Star Wars main theme even hit number 10 on the Billboard Hot 100! Williams’ musical approach is very similar to the pop-hit formula. The crux of any pop song is its hook, a lyric or melody that repeats and, most importantly, is darn catchy. Williams is known for his extremely hummable melodies. I bet you can hum Harry Potter, Indiana Jones, Jurassic Park, and several tunes from Star Wars off the top of your head. Williams crafts these as meticulously as the pop arena’s hooks, saying, “I don’t know how many permutations I will go through,” and that he “spend[s] a lot of time on these little simplicities which are often the hardest things to capture” (MaestroSanaboti). Similarly, the thrill of a pop song comes when the hook returns and we sing at the top of our lungs. In Williams’ films, the main melodies return at big cinematic moments, giving us that same sense of reward. If you need further proof Williams is a pop star, look at current trends passed down from the 70s! Collectors scramble for vintage scores as passionately as any retro pop album! Thousands of fans flock to concert halls for live film score performances. Williams said, “I don't make a particular distinction between 'high art' and 'low art.' Music is there for everybody. It's a river we can all put our cups into and drink it and be sustained by it” (Grieving). The sentiment shows. That is Williams’ legacy. He creates what would otherwise appear as “high art,” with all the wealth and skill of the great, “serious” classical composers, but does so with a heart for normal folks, most of whom couldn’t begin to understand his music, and gives them a magnificent experience. Williams’ stunning 50-year career has inspired generations of fans to enjoy orchestral music as a living part of culture. Thanks to him, a little girl who began simply liking Star Wars, eventually decided to pursue film scoring as a degree and a career. Currently, as I work with film directors, musical performers, and other composers, I learn that Williams’ impact on culture was greater than I could have ever imagined, inspiring countless other artists and ushering in not just a trend, but an era of popular film scores. As Williams said, “This is the very beginning of an artistic medium that is going to develop in ways that I wish I could be around to see” (Classic FM). This scholarship puts me one step closer to that vision. If I can succeed through the trials and competition of my field and the barrier of entry for women in Hollywood, then I can truly embody the highest message of Williams' career -- that film music is for everyone. He changed the world for us, and I’m ready to change it in return. References: Classic FM. (2022, September 14). John Williams: ‘I’d love to compose a Bond score’ | Exclusive 90th birthday interview [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0tT1KJAUuv0&t=322s Grieving, T. (2015). John Williams on ‘Force Awakens’ score: ‘I felt a renewed energy, and a vitality.’ Los Angeles Times. https://www.latimes.com/entertainment/arts/culture/la-et-cm-star-wars-force-awakens-music-score-john-williams-20151217-story.html MaestroSanboti. (2011, November 4). John Williams Scoring Session Indiana Jones [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THMZl5OfCHQ&t=409s

I destroy toxic definitions of success and point others to true meaning, even if it burns like soap in the eyes of society.

Tomorrow, on my first day of college, I will walk down the steps from my new dorm to my first film scoring class. I can hardly believe that the path I have been dreaming of for years is becoming a reality. This journey has taken years of passion, analysis, practice, and now a music degree. Perhaps you would like to hear how that journey started. Maybe you would expect my love of film music to begin with, well, a film, or maybe a soundtrack album, but it did not. While I will not deny that those things were important, my real journey began with a book. I was eleven years old. That day, I walked into Barnes & Noble with barely containable excitement. For months I had been printing sheet music samples from the internet to satisfy my musical hunger, but today I was going to pick up “Star Wars: A Musical Journey,” a book of sheet music selections from the greatest film saga of all time. Later that day, I rode home in the passenger seat, the book open on my lap to “Duel of the Fates” as I tried to hum the song by looking at the sheet music. I got home and immediately ran to the piano and attempted to play “Across the Stars”, even though it was far beyond my skill. (I had insisted on buying the most difficult versions of the music because it sounded the most like the orchestral recordings.) I sat at the piano for hours with that book, day after day after day for years. I spent that time not only learning the pieces, but scouring for connections between them, looking some musical relation between character themes or event underscore. I learned about associative themes, leitmotif, and the beauty of what makes Star Wars music tick. I started learning music theory as well, and I soon began to realize that I could not understand what John Williams was doing harmonically. In excited confusion I retreated back into the internet and devoured as much music theory as possible. From this, I learned to analyze music and to play by ear, and I was able to compose more complex pieces myself. All throughout middle school and high school, something was growing in my soul. I decided I wanted to be a film composer, just like John Williams, John Powell, Michael Giacchino, and Ludwig Göransson who inspired me. I knew in the depths of myself it was the work I cared about most, and so I applied for Liberty University’s Film Scoring program. The music theory John Williams taught me placed me into advanced music theory class. Even now "Star Wars: A Musical Journey" sits in my backpack less than three feet away from me, worn and ugly from use. I am not pursuing film scoring on a whim. That would be extremely foolish of me. Every composer in the business knows this dream demands grit, passion, luck, and hard work. I have in my possession SEVENTEEN books of film and game score sheet music to prove that my love of film music continues to grow. I won’t let the difficulty scare me. My dream started with one book. That book then propelled me into the fascinating world of contemporary film scoring and taught me musical skills I would not have possessed otherwise. Film music is powerful, and if it has changed me, I believe it can change the world. “Star Wars: A Musical Journey” was my first step. I hope this scholarship will help me take the next. See you guys in the credits.

Heart pounding, my shaky feet stole down the creaky bunk ladder to the floor. It was 3:24 A.M. and dark as a Hungarian minor scale. My eleven-year-old hands fumbled for my sister’s red flashlight. I’m getting braver… Then I heard the flashlight fall hard onto the wooden dresser. A wave of adrenaline and panic shot through my quaking body. Did anyone hear me? No one was aware as I tip-toed to the den floor with my journal and purple ink pen. My best song ideas always came at night. Most of them would escape by morning, but not this time. Often my mother, tied up in her endless housework, would ask for my help: “Kara, can you take the trash?” I would yell from my hiding place, “Not right now! I’m writing down a song idea!” Next came her long, breathy sigh. She knew me. She knew that by the time I finished, I would have forgotten all about the trash. My dad, himself a songwriter, would smile knowingly, “I’ve got the trash.” It was my dad who inspired my first attempts at writing music. He was constantly writing and performing, but he always took time to look at my songs and show me how to develop them, even sharing his work with me. Worded songs came first, but as soon as I started teaching myself piano at ten, I was writing sheet music. Seven years, three piano teachers, and an obsession with Star Wars later, I decided I wanted to become a film composer. The more I learned about the incredible things a score could do, the more I couldn’t help but see studying music as my next step. I wanted to learn from people who understood the intricacy and power of music, the same intricacy and power possessed by a good story. Music not only sets a mood, but can reveal a character’s, intent, personality, heritage, and destiny. The score can cause us to know, want, love, or even miss things we never cared about before. I ached to know how to do that myself, yet I knew both the film and music industries were notoriously difficult to get into, let alone succeed in. Would the sacrifices I would inevitably make be worth it? My parents believed so. From the beginning, they taught me an unconventional view of success. My dad toiled through three jobs every day to keep his music ministry alive, and my mom gave up her job as a teacher to homeschool me and my siblings. My parents realized that reaching their true potential was not synonymous with other people’s ideas of success, so they never compromised, and never told me what to pursue. They let my imagination run wild, constantly exploring, learning, trying, until I found what I loved. All the while they demonstrated incredible resilience as the unpredictability of life raged around them. I know I will also face such storms, but I cannot sacrifice my passion for music to a craving for stability. Indeed, this loyalty and passion are what make film music itself so unique. While most music follows a form, a set of rules dictating what can come where, the music in a film rides an ever-changing story. Every turn calls for something different, yet the music does not cease to pursue its purpose. It keeps singing out the swells and the sighs alike. That is what my parents did. That is what I must do. We are resilient. We embrace the adventure, ride the waves, and keep creating music in whatever way our story calls for in the moment.

This fall, I begin a Bachelor’s in Commercial Music - Film Scoring at Liberty University. I want to compose for film because I believe musical storytelling is more important than most understand. Stories change history, and music changes culture. Together, they are a powerful force. George Lucas famously said, “Sound is 50 percent of the movie-going experience,” and he is right. The score creates a subconscious network of context in our minds. For example, the score keeps us from needing a narrator to tell us “This baby on-screen is Luke Skywalker. Remember? The one that lived on the desert planet, swung across the chasm, and blew up the Death Star? Yea that Luke Skywalker.” No one has to tell us that because when we see the child’s face in Revenge of the Sith, we hear the first seven notes of Luke’s theme, written by composer John Williams. Those seven notes were also heard in A New Hope when we first saw Luke on the desert planet, when he swung across the chasm with Leia at his side, and when he flew with the Rebel fleet to destroy the Death Star. The story of who we already know Luke will become is brought immediately to our consciousness by those seven notes. We don’t need an explanation, not a single line of dialog, to grasp just how significant this baby is. That is the power of associative themes. Just as incredible are the compositional talent and discernment required to create themes that sound like what they represent. For example, “Gollum’s Song” from The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers by composer Howard Shore, builds a unique, sad, and hypnotizing chord progression out of chromatic mediant, double chromatic mediant, semitone, and tritone modulations rather than diatonic chord motion to communicate Gollum’s sense of wandering, disorientation, melancholy, and hopelessness. The piece removes the presence of any “home note” for most of the piece. It occasionally implies one exists, but never arrives there, ending the chorus with an unsatisfying half cadence and a jarring transition down a tritone. Gollum, musically, cannot go home, and just when home is in sight, it vanishes. There is no satisfaction, no direction, only yearning and lostness. It matches his story perfectly. These examples just scratch the surface of what a score can do, and there is even more to discover! Film scores have been wonderfully influential in my life, and I desperately want to contribute in some way to the fantastically rich musical and cultural tapestry begun by those before me. It's my turn to add vibrance to the appreciation, legacy, and progression of musical storytelling, but there is something in my way. Traditional film and music alike are suffering the threat of becoming obsolete as the new standard of accessible personalization becomes all-consuming. The film industry is seeing a decline in theater attendance due to simultaneous streaming releases. Composers desiring custom jobs in film, TV, and video games face a threat from the prevalence of online music libraries which provide content creators with pre-composed music, ready to use and edit immediately for any purpose, stripping it of its more nuanced storytelling capabilities. Navigating the changing market will be hard. Composing for film is my dream, but I’ll have to fight hard to make it a reality. I believe a film composer’s work is important culturally, relationally, intellectually, and personally, and this belief pushes me forward. I and others like me in the film and music industries continue to value musical storytelling amidst the clamor of its cheapening. We must keep it alive together. Will you help me?

As a child, I grew used to hearing adults say how "smart, talented, and well-behaved" I was. While it managed not to go my head, it sparked an unhealthy perfectionism in me. I feared anything I might fail at. I hated games I could not win. I refused to teach my siblings piano for fear they would become better than me. I lost motivation to practice myself when I realized the simplicity of the songs I was struggling with. I became frustrated when people didn’t compliment me, a prisoner to validation, trapped in an expectation that crippled my freedom. At ten years old I experienced a crisis where I did not know who I was or what I thought. I tried to know what others thought or wanted of me. I apologized for everything. My father would encourage me to stop worrying and just be myself, but I started falling apart. I could not for the life of me figure out who I was. Then I realized that I would never have anything to be proud of if I didn't learn to be brave. I started practicing my confidence and starting conversations with people. I stopped assuming people hated me. I realized the sooner you start learning a skill, the sooner you don't suck. I started claiming my own life for once, and it worked. I could take risks and enjoy things, fear grades and rejection less, experiment with my art, improvise, compose, and sing lead with the band. I could be honest with myself and others, stop being a pushover, and shrug things off. I discovered my personality because I was no longer afraid of imperfection, but inauthenticity. This new outlook makes me excited for college and the future. I realize now that nothing holds me back except myself.

When I first discovered the power of musical storytelling, I was hooked. Film scores do things I never thought they could do. They create emotion, sure, but they also vividly describe and connect story elements in the audience's mind. The score keeps us from needing a narrator to tell us “This baby on screen is Luke Skywalker. Remember the one who lived on the desert planet, swung across the chasm, and blew up the Death Star? Yea, that Luke Skywalker.” That isn't necessary because when we see the child’s face in Revenge of the Sith, we hear the first seven notes of Luke’s theme, composed by John Williams. Those seven notes were also heard in A New Hope when we first saw Luke on the desert planet, when he swung across the chasm with Leia at his side, and when he flew with the Rebel fleet to destroy the Death Star. The story of who Luke will become is brought immediately to our consciousness by those seven notes. Without explanation, we grasp just how significant this baby is. That is the power of associative themes. Immense musical talent and discernment are also required to create themes that sound like what they represent. In “Gollum’s Song,” from The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, composer Howard Shore builds a unique, hypnotizing chord progression using chromatic mediant, semitone, and tritone modulations to communicate Gollum’s wandering, melancholy, and hopelessness by removing the presence of any “home note.” Gollum, musically, cannot go home. There is no satisfaction, no direction, only yearning and lostness. It matches his story perfectly. These small examples show film music's power. I want to compose for film so that I can grow the incredible legacy of film music and inspire others to love it as much as I do.

Heart pounding, my shaky feet stole down the creaky bunk ladder to the floor. My eleven-year-old hands fumbled for my sister’s red flashlight. A wave of panic shot through me as it fell hard onto the dresser, yet no one stirred as I tip-toed to the den with my journal and purple ink pen to write down the song in my head. My dad, also a songwriter, took time out of his hectic schedule to read my songs and share his with me. After starting to learn piano at ten, I wrote sheet music as well. Seven years, three piano teachers, and an obsession with Star Wars later, I decided to pursue film composition. Music not only sets a mood but reveals a character’s thoughts, intent, personality, heritage, and destiny. It helps us know, want, love, or miss things we didn’t before. I ached to do that myself but knew the film and music industries were both notoriously difficult to enter. Would the sacrifice be worth it? I believed so. My parents taught me to view success unconventionally. My dad juggled three jobs to keep his music alive, and my mom gave up her job to homeschool us. They realized that reaching their potential was not synonymous with common views of success, so they let my imagination run wild while demonstrating incredible resilience. This concept is what makes film music itself so unique. Most music follows a form dictating what can come where, but the music in a film rides an ever-changing story. Every turn calls for something different, yet the music pursues its purpose. It sings out the swells and sighs alike, like my parents did and I will do, embracing the adventure, riding the waves, and creating music in whatever ways the story calls for in the moment.

Constantly, as a child, I was told how smart, talented, and well-behaved I was. It became normal to me to hear these things, and while they managed not to go my head, they produced in me an unhealthy perfectionism. I feared what was new and things I was bad at because of standards I didn’t know I was setting. I would cry at the end of games I could not win, and I refused to help teach my siblings piano for fear they would become better than me. I found it hard to find the motivation to practice myself when I realized how simple the things I was learning were. I became frustrated when people didn’t compliment me. I was a prisoner to validation, trapped in an expectation that crippled my freedom. When I was around ten years old I experienced a crisis where I did not know who I was or what I thought. I only tried to know what other people thought and wanted, and I would apologize for everything. My father would pull me aside, encouraging me to stop worrying and just be myself. Before long I fell apart. I could not for the life of me figure out who I was. Then, when I was fourteen, and a good deal better at the piano, my father asked if I would play keyboard with the band he leads at church. Keyboard technique was unfamiliar to me. It was so different from sheet music! How could I just walk up on stage and play? I wasn't qualified! My dad had tried before to teach me improvisation using simple scales and chords, but I had resisted it, always afraid of what I couldn’t do. Still, he somehow got me to play on stage. I wasn’t perfect, and my face for sure didn’t look very worshipful, but I did it. And then I did it again. And then he told me I should start singing backup. I told him I couldn’t. He saw the fear in me, and he pushed me to go on. Somehow, he got me to sing. He encouraged in me a mindset that, as it grew, began to affect every part of my life. I could finally take a risk. I started to enjoy games more, fear grades less, experiment with my art more, improvise and compose, sing lead at church while playing keyboard along with the band. I began to fear rejection less. I could be honest with myself and others. I could introduce myself and start a conversation. I could shrug it off if no one laughed at my joke. I discovered my personality because I was no longer afraid of imperfection. I can be myself and succeed. It is this new outlook that makes me excited for college, life, and the future. I realize now that nothing holds me back except myself. Bring on the challenge!

Hi! I'm Kara! I'm a 17-year-old with big dreams and a big family! I'm the oldest of five homeschooled siblings, and since our house is crowded, it's good I live in my head! I'm a music theory nerd, a Star Wars superfan, an MBTI enthusiast, and a writer. I especially have an obsession with musical storytelling (like scores and musicals). I'm also a happy cat mommy with four perfect floofs to care for! I'm an extrovert who enjoys a bit of chaos because it helps me understand the world. I spend my free time writing, socializing, and playing in my dad's band! I start a film scoring degree this fall!!!

I am a pianist, composer, and music analyst. I believe art and music are experiential gifts from the artist. Art is how we empathize with ourselves. The art we create is derived from the realm of our experiences. We turn to music or to art or to writing when we feel no one understands us, when we feel what the world around us cannot. We turn to it when we forget ourselves, who we were when we didn't have to think about who we were. Art is our exaggerated, immortalized understanding of our experiences. That is why music and art are used so heavily in and as entertainment: they bring about an experience. A true artist is one who can encode their own experience in a work of art, writing, or music that creates the same experience for the viewer or listener. It takes strong awareness to understand one's own experiences, and even more to communicate them to someone else, yet when we witness the work of an artist who accomplishes this, we feel understood. We feel that someone somewhere at some time in this vast world has felt as we do at this moment right here. It seems they have cared enough about us to paint our thoughts upon a soundscape. It feels they know us so deeply that each mark on their canvas reflects us. As we experience their art, we come to know ourselves better. Maybe we didn't know how we felt until someone put our feelings and knowings into song or verse or color. Science is objective; art is subjective. Often when we try to communicate our experiences to others, we are met with their cold explanations - their science. We seek compassion, their art, yet they lack the context to empathize with us. We know we are detached from the world of science. We know we will return to it one day, that we will not stay here, but while we exist in experience we crave the artist's explanation, a sympathy to our confusion, a companion in our discovery of a space science cannot explain. Soon enough we will drift back into the real world, forgetting this whirl of uncertainty. Soon enough, art will reappear as something to be judged, pondered, criticized, or praised. We will cease to understand the world in which we existed days ago: that precious liminal space between reality and consumption by ones own mind. That is where art exists. We cannot live forever in that space, yet when we visit, art is our assurance that others have been there as well. We enjoy this space in solitary bliss unrivaled by the world of science and rationale and the tangible. People become artists in hopes to live in this space and to fill it with as many visitors as could ever fit inside. Those who succeed as true artists must learn to help others into this space whether or not they exist in it themselves. They must try as hard as they can to remember what that space is like so that they may recreate it for others every day. Every time you listen to a song that sends chills down your neck or arms, that is an artist who did their best. That is an artist who found their purpose. That is an artist saying "I love you" as they open tho door to an experience they once had, so wonderful it became their mission to recreate it for you, a stranger, because they understand you. Art is a blessing, and being an artist is the greatest blessing of all.

As a child, I was always told how smart, talented, and well-behaved I was. This became normal to me, and while it managed not to go my head, it sparked an unhealthy perfectionism in me. I feared anything I might fail at. I hated games I could not win. I refused to teach my siblings piano for fear they would become better than me. I lost motivation to practice myself when I realized the simplicity of what I was learning. I became frustrated when people didn’t compliment me, a prisoner to validation, trapped in an expectation that crippled my freedom. At ten years old I experienced a crisis where I did not know who I was or what I thought. I tried to know what others thought or wanted. I would apologize for everything. My father pulled me aside, encouraging me to stop worrying and just be myself, but I started falling apart. I could not for the life of me figure out who I was. A few years later, he asked me to play with his band at church. I resisted. How could I play without sheet music? But I did. I wasn’t perfect. My face didn’t look very worshipful, but I did it, and then he suggested I start singing harmony. He started teaching me a mindset that affected every aspect of my life. I could take risks and enjoy things, fear grades and rejection less, experiment with my art, improvise, compose, and sing lead with the band. I could be honest with myself and others, introduce myself in a conversation, and shrug things off. I discovered my personality because I was no longer afraid of imperfection. This new outlook makes me excited for college and the future. I realize now that nothing holds me back except myself.

As a child, I was always told how smart, talented, and well-behaved I was. This became normal to me, and while it managed not to go my head, it sparked an unhealthy perfectionism in me. I feared anything I might fail at. I hated games I could not win. I refused to teach my siblings piano for fear they would become better than me. I lost motivation to practice myself when I realized the simplicity of what I was learning. I became frustrated when people didn’t compliment me, a prisoner to validation, trapped in an expectation that crippled my freedom. At ten years old I experienced a crisis where I did not know who I was or what I thought. I tried to know what others thought or wanted. I would apologize for everything. My father pulled me aside, encouraging me to stop worrying and just be myself, but I started falling apart. I could not for the life of me figure out who I was. A few years later, he asked me to play with his band at church. I resisted. How could I play without sheet music? But I did. I wasn’t perfect. My face didn’t look very worshipful, but I did it, and then he suggested I start singing harmony. He started teaching me a mindset that affected every aspect of my life. I could take risks and enjoy things, fear grades and rejection less, experiment with my art, improvise, compose, and sing lead with the band. I could be honest with myself and others, introduce myself in a conversation, and shrug things off. I discovered my personality because I was no longer afraid of imperfection. This new outlook makes me excited for college and the future. I realize now that nothing holds me back except myself.

A very meaningful experience in my life has been my time at Uplands Reach Conference Center. When I was nine years old, I began to attend their summer camps, and I have been involved with them every year since (with the exception of 2020). I found the camp director to be a thrilling speaker even as a child, and my team captains and leaders were some of the coolest people I ever met. The days were filled with intense and unique activities that wore out my body but ignited my mind, and there having fun with the campers were the captains and leaders: teenage volunteers who woke at 5 a.m. at the latest to run themselves to breathlessness five days a week, two weeks in a row, just to get kids excited about a great experience and a great Savior. To say that the camp environment was exhilarating is a serious understatement. It is the single most fast-paced wild thing I have ever been a part of, and, as I found out when I volunteered there myself, the energy does not decline when the campers leave. Serving as a Captain and later a Leader, I was entrusted with the safety and emotional well-being of my campers, and my job was essentially to be the best “big sister” ever. The other captains became like siblings, too. There is a sense of comradery, I believe, that comes from washing each other’s hair in the river and dragging each other out of bed to clean for an hour before eating breakfast in the dark. There was a magic in being tired enough to chug a warm Coke® for caffeine, yet energized enough to debate the pronunciation of “cream cheese.” Like I said, that contagious energy didn’t stop when the campers went home each day. We cleaned for hours to return the campus to its “before” state — quite a feat, even with our combined effort. My fellow teen volunteers and I cleaned for three hours every day after the children left, mucking horse stalls, cleaning bathrooms visited by hundreds of muddy children, running supplies across campus, meticulously trash sweeping the property, hosing out coolers and trash bins, sweeping only to discover layer after thick layer of dust on the floor, and of course, putting away all the equipment from the day’s fun. After the number and rigor of the tasks we completed together, sitting down for meals felt like finding an oasis. Yet, even as my worn-out limbs had to convince each other to take step after step, I enjoyed it more than anything I’ve ever been a part of, and I tell you, I saw very few forced smiles at Uplands. I believe the incredible atmosphere was created by the presence of so much to do and the necessity to do it together. It constantly reminded us why we were there. Each year we were told by the directors, “If you knew the stories we know about these children, you would be sobbing.” Each year we knew we had a joy to share that our kids might never see again. We had a handful of hours to show them they mattered. If the experience I gave them is anything like the one I received, they will never forget. I spent a total of 456 hours working for Uplands Reach. Hard work and hard play bring people together in a strangely personal way, and for that reason, experiences like mine are a treasure. The fact that so many children were reached in the process makes it the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.

Constantly, as a child, I was told how smart, talented, and well-behaved I was. It became normal to me to hear these things, and while they managed not to go my head, they produced in me an unhealthy perfectionism. I feared what was new and things I was bad at because of standards I didn’t know I was setting. I would cry at the end of games I could not win, and I refused to help teach my siblings piano for fear they would become better than me. I found it hard to find the motivation to practice myself when I realized how simple the things I was learning were. I became frustrated when people didn’t compliment me. I was a prisoner to validation, trapped in an expectation that crippled my freedom. When I was around ten years old I experienced a crisis where I did not know who I was or what I thought. I only tried to know what other people thought and wanted, and I would apologize for everything. My father would pull me aside, encouraging me to stop worrying and just be myself. Before long I fell apart. I could not for the life of me figure out who I was. Then, when I was fourteen, and a good deal better at the piano, my father asked if I would play keyboard with the band he leads at church. Keyboard technique was unfamiliar to me. It was so different from sheet music! How could I just walk up on stage and play? I wasn't qualified! My dad had tried before to teach me improvisation using simple scales and chords, but I had resisted it, always afraid of what I couldn’t do. Still, he somehow got me to play on stage. I wasn’t perfect, and my face for sure didn’t look very worshipful, but I did it. And then I did it again. And then he told me I should start singing backup. I told him I couldn’t. He saw the fear in me, and he pushed me to go on. Somehow, he got me to sing. He encouraged in me a mindset that, as it grew, began to affect every part of my life. I could finally take a risk. I started to enjoy games more, fear grades less, experiment with my art more, improvise and compose, sing lead at church while playing keyboard along with the band. I began to fear rejection less. I could be honest with myself and others. I could introduce myself and start a conversation. I could shrug it off if no one laughed at my joke. I discovered my personality because I was no longer afraid of imperfection. I can be myself and succeed. It’s this new outlook that makes me excited for college, life, and the future. I realize now that nothing holds me back except myself. Bring on the challenge!

Heart pounding, my shaky feet stole down the creaky bunk ladder to the floor. My eleven-year-old hands fumbled for my sister’s red flashlight. A wave of panic shot through me as it fell hard onto the dresser, yet no one stirred as I tip-toed to the den with my journal and purple ink pen to write down the song in my head. My dad, also a songwriter, took time out of his hectic schedule to read my songs and share his with me. After starting piano at ten, I wrote sheet music as well. Seven years, three piano teachers, and an obsession with Star Wars later, I decided to pursue composition for film. Music not only sets a mood but reveals a character’s thoughts, intent, personality, heritage, and destiny. It helps us know, want, love, or miss things we didn’t before. I ached to do that myself, but knew the film and music industries were both notoriously difficult to enter. Would the sacrifice be worth it? I believed so. My parents taught me an unconventional view of success. My dad juggled three jobs to keep his music alive, and my mom gave up her job to homeschool us. They realized that reaching their potential was not synonymous with common views of success, so they let my imagination run wild while demonstrating incredible resilience. This concept is what makes film music itself so unique. Most music follows a form dictating what can come where, but the music in a film rides an ever-changing story. Every turn calls for something different, yet the music pursues its purpose. It sings out the swells and sighs alike, like my parents did and I will do, embracing the adventure, riding the waves, and creating music in whatever ways the story calls for in the moment.

As a child, I was always told how smart, talented, and well-behaved I was. This became normal to me, and while it managed not to go my head, it sparked an unhealthy perfectionism in me. I feared anything I might fail at. I hated games I could not win. I refused to teach my siblings piano for fear they would become better than me. I lost motivation to practice myself when I realized the simplicity of what I was learning. I became frustrated when people didn’t compliment me, a prisoner to validation, trapped in an expectation that crippled my freedom. At ten years old I experienced a crisis where I did not know who I was or what I thought. I tried to know what others thought or wanted. I would apologize for everything. My father pulled me aside, encouraging me to stop worrying and just be myself, but I started falling apart. I could not for the life of me figure out who I was. A few years later, he asked me to play with his band at church. I resisted. How could I play without sheet music? But I did. I wasn’t perfect. My face didn’t look very worshipful, but I did it, and then he suggested I start singing harmony. He started teaching me a mindset that affected every aspect of my life. I could take risks and enjoy things, fear grades and rejection less, experiment with my art, improvise, compose, and sing lead with the band. I could be honest with myself and others, introduce myself in a conversation, and shrug things off. I discovered my personality because I was no longer afraid of imperfection. This new outlook makes me excited for college and the future. I realize now that nothing holds me back except myself.

Heart pounding, my shaky feet stole down the creaky bunk ladder to the floor. My eleven-year-old hands fumbled for my sister’s red flashlight. A wave of panic shot through me as it fell hard onto the dresser, yet no one stirred as I tip-toed to the den with my journal and purple ink pen to write down the song in my head. My dad, also a songwriter, took time out of his hectic schedule to read my songs and share his with me. After starting piano at ten, I wrote sheet music as well. Seven years, three piano teachers, and an obsession with Star Wars later, I decided to pursue composition for film. Music not only sets a mood but reveals a character’s thoughts, intent, personality, heritage, and destiny. It helps us know, want, love, or miss things we didn’t before. I ached to do that myself but knew the film and music industries were both notoriously difficult to enter. Would the sacrifice be worth it? I believed so. My parents taught me an unconventional view of success. My dad juggled three jobs to keep his music alive, and my mom gave up her job to homeschool us. They realized that reaching their potential was not synonymous with common views of success, so they let my imagination run wild while demonstrating incredible resilience. This concept is what makes film music itself so unique. Most music follows a form dictating what can come where, but the music in a film rides an ever-changing story. Every turn calls for something different, yet the music pursues its purpose. It sings out the swells and sighs alike, like my parents did and I will do, embracing the adventure, riding the waves, and creating music in whatever ways the story calls for in the moment.

I am a composer, performer, and songwriter. I always craved to know how and why music works, from the big picture of musical form, to the tiny details of acoustics, and every inch of theory in between. As a child, I wrote song lyrics and sheet music and taught myself to play piano from books. I also became increasingly intrigued by the art of film scoring. I started taking lessons, progressing though three teachers and working hard on performance skills. I got my theory questions answered, feedback on my compositions, transcriptions, and arrangements, and someone to listen to me rant about film scores. I also began playing keyboard and singing backup at my church, learning how to improvise and underscore on stage, simultaneously play and sing, run multiple keyboards, mix backing tracks, and run sound. I also got a few gigs with my dad's band. As for my personal composition, I went through many stages. For example, last year I focused on writing just melodies, over and over, experimenting with contour and rhythm and different variations. A good melody is a powerful tool and I was trying to sharpen it. Other tactics I employed to improve my skills included crafting essays like I would song lyrics, to make them flow and fit. I collected sheet music from my favorite movies and games to analyze and feel in my hands. I scoured the internet for information on acoustics, theory, musicianship, musical storytelling, and interviews. I applied the techniques and concepts I learned into my composition and improvisation, and constantly analyzed the music I played and listened to. Through all of this, I learned how to play anything I wanted by ear. I can’t wait to study theory and composition when I graduate this year! I have so much more to learn!

I have composed since I could read music. A love for film and music and access to the internet drove me to educate myself diversely and extensively, and before long, I was bent on film scoring as a career. A score not only sets a mood but can reveal what or who a character is thinking about, their intent, their personality, their heritage, their destiny. It can cause us to know, want, love, or even miss things we never cared about before. I ached to know how to do that myself. I knew studying music was my next step, but what about the step after that? Once I could tell a story, where would I find people who would let me? I knew both the film and music industries were notoriously difficult to get into, let alone succeed in. But I believe it is possible. From the beginning, my parents showed me that reaching one’s true potential was not synonymous with common ideas of success, and so they never told me what to pursue. They let me find what I loved and encouraged it while demonstrating incredible resilience in their own unpredictable circumstances. We couldn’t sacrifice passion and calling to a craving for stability. Indeed, this resilience is what makes film music itself so unique. Most music follows a form, a set of rules dictating what can come where, while music in a film rides an ever-changing story. Every turn calls for something different, yet the music does not cease to pursue its purpose. It keeps singing out the swells and the sighs alike. That is what my parents did. That is what I must do. We are resilient. We embrace the adventure, ride the waves, and keep creating music in whatever way our story calls for in the moment.

I have composed since I could read music. A love for film and music and access to the internet drove me to educate myself diversely and extensively, and before long, I was bent on film scoring as a career. A score not only sets a mood but can reveal what or who a character is thinking about, their intent, their personality, their heritage, their destiny. It can cause us to know, want, love, or even miss things we never cared about before. I ached to know how to do that myself. I knew studying music was my next step, but what about the step after that? Once I could tell a story, where would I find people who would let me? I knew both the film and music industries were notoriously difficult to get into, let alone succeed in. But I believe it is possible. From the beginning, my parents showed me that reaching one’s true potential was not synonymous with common ideas of success, and so they never told me what to pursue. They let me find what I loved and encouraged it while demonstrating incredible resilience in their own unpredictable circumstances. We couldn’t sacrifice passion and calling to a craving for stability. Indeed, this resilience is what makes film music itself so unique. Most music follows a form, a set of rules dictating what can come where, while music in a film rides an ever-changing story. Every turn calls for something different, yet the music does not cease to pursue its purpose. It keeps singing out the swells and the sighs alike. That is what my parents did. That is what I must do. We are resilient. We embrace the adventure, ride the waves, and keep creating music in whatever way our story calls for in the moment.

I have composed since I could read music. A love for film and music and access to the internet drove me to educate myself diversely and extensively, and before long, I was bent on film scoring as a career. A score not only sets a mood but can reveal what or who a character is thinking about, their intent, their personality, their heritage, their destiny. It can cause us to know, want, love, or even miss things we never cared about before. I ached to know how to do that myself. I knew studying music was my next step, but what about the step after that? Once I could tell a story, where would I find people who would let me? I knew both the film and music industries were notoriously difficult to get into, let alone succeed in. But I believed it was possible. From the beginning, my parents showed me that reaching one’s true potential was not synonymous with common ideas of success, and so they never told me what to pursue. They let me find what I loved and encouraged it while demonstrating incredible resilience in their own unpredictable circumstances. We couldn’t sacrifice passion and calling to a craving for stability. Indeed, this resilience is what makes film music itself so unique. Most music follows a form, a set of rules dictating what can come where, while music in a film rides an ever-changing story. Every turn calls for something different, yet the music does not cease to pursue its purpose. It keeps singing out the swells and the sighs alike. That is what my parents did. That is what I must do. We are resilient. We embrace the adventure, ride the waves, and keep creating music in whatever way our story calls for in the moment.

Heart pounding, my shaky feet stole down the creaky bunk ladder to the floor. It was 3:24 A.M. and dark as a Hungarian minor scale. My eleven-year-old hands fumbled for my sister’s red flashlight. I’m getting braver… Then I heard the flashlight fall hard onto the wooden dresser. A wave of adrenaline and panic shot through my quaking body. Did anyone hear me? No one was aware as I tip-toed to the den floor with my journal and purple ink pen. My best song ideas always came at night. Most of them would escape by morning, but not this time. Worded songs came first, but as soon as I started teaching myself piano at ten, I was writing sheet music. Seven years, three piano teachers, and an obsession with Star Wars later, I decided I wanted to become a film composer. Music not only sets a mood but can reveal what or who a character is thinking about, their intent, their personality, their heritage, their destiny. The score can cause us to know, want, love, or even miss things we never cared about before. I ached to know how to do that myself, but I knew it would take determination and passion to make it a reality. While most music follows a form, a set of rules dictating what can come where, the music in a film rides an ever-changing story. Every turn calls for something different, yet the music does not cease to pursue its purpose. It keeps singing out the swells and the sighs alike. That is what my amazing parents modeled to me my whole life. That is what I must do. We are resilient. We embrace the adventure, ride the waves, and keep creating music in whatever way our story calls for in the moment.

Heart pounding, my shaky feet stole down the creaky bunk ladder to the floor. It was 3:24 A.M. and dark as a Hungarian minor scale. My eleven-year-old hands fumbled for my sister’s red flashlight. I’m getting braver… Then I heard the flashlight fall hard onto the wooden dresser. A wave of adrenaline and panic shot through my quaking body. Did anyone hear me? No one was aware as I tip-toed to the den floor with my journal and purple ink pen. My best song ideas always came at night. Most of them would escape by morning, but not this time. Worded songs came first, but as soon as I started teaching myself piano at ten, I was writing sheet music. Seven years, three piano teachers, and an obsession with Star Wars later, I decided I wanted to become a film composer. Music not only sets a mood but can reveal what or who a character is thinking about, their intent, their personality, their heritage, their destiny. The score can cause us to know, want, love, or even miss things we never cared about before. I ached to know how to do that myself, but I knew it would take determination, flexibility, and passion to make it a reality. While most music follows a form, a set of rules dictating what can come where, the music in a film rides an ever-changing story. Every turn calls for something different, yet the music does not cease to pursue its purpose. It keeps singing out the swells and the sighs alike. That is what my amazing parents modeled to me my whole life. That is what I must do. We are resilient. We embrace the adventure, ride the waves, and keep creating music in whatever way our story calls for in the moment.

When I was ten, I reluctantly attended a summer camp called Uplands Reach. I fell in love with it and eventually started working there. I was entrusted with the safety and emotional well-being of my campers, and my job was essentially to be the best “big sister” ever. The other captains became like siblings, too. There was a sense of comradery that came from washing each other’s hair in the river and dragging each other out of bed to clean for an hour before eating breakfast in the dark. There was a magic in being tired enough to chug a warm Coke® for caffeine, yet energized enough to debate the pronunciation of “cream cheese.” That contagious energy didn’t stop when the campers went home each day. We cleaned for hours to return the campus to its “before” state — quite a feat, even with our combined effort. Sitting down for meals felt like finding an oasis. Despite exhaustion, I enjoyed it more than anything I’ve ever been a part of, and I tell you, I saw very few forced smiles at Uplands. I believe the incredible atmosphere was created by the presence of so much to do and the necessity to do it together. It constantly reminded us why we were there. Each year we knew we had a joy to share that our kids might never see again. We had a handful of hours to show them they mattered. If the experience I gave them is anything like the one I received, they will never forget. Hard work and hard play bring people together in a strangely personal way, and for that reason, experiences like mine are a treasure. The fact that so many children were reached in the process makes it the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.

Heart pounding, my shaky feet stole down the creaky bunk ladder to the floor. It was 3:24 A.M. and dark as a Hungarian minor scale. My eleven-year-old hands fumbled for my sister’s red flashlight. I’m getting braver… Then I heard the flashlight fall hard onto the wooden dresser. A wave of adrenaline and panic shot through my quaking body. Did anyone hear me? No one was aware as I tip-toed to the den floor with my journal and purple ink pen. My best song ideas always came at night. Most of them would escape by morning, but not this time. Worded songs came first, but as soon as I started teaching myself piano at ten, I was writing sheet music. Seven years, three piano teachers, and an obsession with Star Wars later, I decided I wanted to become a film composer. Music not only sets a mood but can reveal what or who a character is thinking about, their intent, their personality, their heritage, their destiny. The score can cause us to know, want, love, or even miss things we never cared about before. I ached to know how to do that myself, but I knew it would take determination and passion to make it a reality. While most music follows a form, a set of rules dictating what can come where, the music in a film rides an ever-changing story. Every turn calls for something different, yet the music does not cease to pursue its purpose. It keeps singing out the swells and the sighs alike. That is what my amazing parents modeled to me my whole life. That is what I must do. We are resilient. We embrace the adventure, ride the waves, and keep creating music in whatever way our story calls for in the moment.