Your Creative Value Is Not The Same As Your Personal Worth

Reconsidering Creativity and Rediscovering Enjoyment of the Creative Process.

One of the hardest lessons that I have learned in my career as a creative is that my creative value and personal worth are not one and the same. Having worked in film and broadcast since 2005, and having written my first novel at the tender age of 16, it might surprise people to learn that I didn’t figure this out until I was 39. It took the publication of my novel The Devil On God’s Doorstep and the resultant sales not meeting my expectations to provide the reality check required to learn this lesson.

Creatives tend to be at odds with the world in some way; to be a creative person means that on some level we identify that the world is lacking something, and believe that our creative process can offer a solution to filling that perceived void. It’s part and parcel of the artistic ego. For those of us working in the creative industries it can be as simple as having a story that we want to tell; in the case of remakes and reboots it’s often the result of someone saying “this is how I would tell that story”.

Part of the creative process involves listening to the artistic ego when it says “I am the one to tell this story” or, more often, “this is my story to tell”. It is the artist making the decision to create something, simply because the artistic ego says that we can, and should. To quote Richard Attenborough’s character in Jurassic Park, “creation is an act of sheer will” (I’ve listened to that speech a lot over the years).

The desire to create or contribute something new isn’t limited to artistic endeavours or the creative industries. In the business startup world, entrepreneurs identify a market need or a customer pain point that their startup can address through the provision of a product or service. Being a creative is by no means exclusive to artists – nor is having the desire to make a difference, have an impact on the world, or bring something new to the market.

Creativity is a fundamental, almost primal part of the human psyche, linked in some way to the sapience that our species developed. Sapience combines our ability to think as individuals, our ability to acquire knowledge, and our capacity to develop our intelligence as a result, all of which stems from the evolution of the human brain and the development of the ego in our species.

Creativity is a very natural process, and one way for us to communicate our ideas, thoughts, and dreams to others. We are all of us creative animals whether we work in the creative industries or not, and irrespective of whether we consider ourselves to be creative artists. It is part and parcel of the creative process that, when someone creates something that they consider to be of value, they assume that other people will be able to see the same value in it. If we dwell too much on this concept, if we spend too much time ascribing value to our creative endeavours, we can sometimes confuse the perceived value of our creative output with our own personal worth.

In the case of a writer such as myself, spending twenty years to bring a novel to publication, I have lived half of my life with a story in my head. Half of my entire existence on this planet has been spent imagining, shaping, writing, and editing a single story. The personal value of The Devil On God’s Doorstep for me, the meaning that that story has, the influence it has held over my life, and the weight that the story still holds over me – those things have been incredibly overwhelming. The lengthy creative process involved in taking that story from conception in March 2001, to publication in June 2022, has dominated and overshadowed my life to the extent that when I finally let go of it and released it to the world, it was never going to live up to my expectations.

Click the Affiliate Link above to purchase The Devil On God’s Doorstep in hardback, paperback and e-book.

My story is just that – my story – it doesn’t necessarily have to mean anything to anyone else. Just because I felt compelled to write a book, it doesn’t mean that anyone else has to feel compelled to buy it, let alone read it. Just because I took twenty years of my life to tell that story, it doesn’t mean that I am suddenly owed book sales that cover twenty years of even minimum wage. It may take an additional twenty years for the book to reach that kind of value. What has become imperative is that I move on, to other stories, and to finding a more time-efficient way of telling them.

During the two decades that I spent developing, writing and editing The Devil On God’s Doorstep, and certainly in the eight months or more spent taking it through the publishing process, the weight of the story and the time and effort I had invested in it were magnified in my mind. In order to make the story “worth” my time and effort, it seemed like I needed to generate book sales that would make my efforts financially “worthwhile”, and like most debut authors, those figures failed to materialise in the first year. This led me to question whether it was worth me taking all of that time to tell the story, which led me down a dark path of questioning whether my creativity was worth anything, and ultimately whether I was personally worth anything at all to the world or anyone in it.

A year down the line I can see where I went wrong, and where I did myself a disservice. Those who are further into their creative careers that myself would probably have seen it coming from far off, having most likely experienced their own versions of it at some point in the past. The thing that I lost sight of, the signpost that I missed along the way was that I spent half of my life enjoying the process of telling a story – a story that I conceived, featuring characters that I made up in my head. The outcome of that process – a book that people in multiple countries are buying, reading, and according the reviews, enjoying – is something entirely separate to the creative process itself.

The creative process and the creative output are not one and the same. The initial idea changed many times through the six drafts of the novel and the content that was published was roughly half of what was written in the early drafts. So much was cut out that didn’t serve the story, but was a necessary part of the creative process despite not making it all the way to the final published version. There exists so much more of the story, and I know so much more about the characters, that nobody else will know, or needs to know. The book that was published is not the same as the story that was conceived, and yet both versions, at either end of the creative process, were important in the telling of the tale.

Just as the creative process and output are not one and the same, I’ve come to realise that my creative work is not the same as my entire life. I’ve often thought of writing as a vocation or calling – I’ve gone as far as to say that it is part of my identity, because it has seemed so fundamental to me from an early age. I was writing stories from at least the age of seven, if not earlier. I taught myself to touch-type on an Atari keyboard plugged into an old Grundig television set long before I had a full grasp of the English language or knew the purpose of all the punctuation marks on the keyboard.

I have been a writer all of my life, and I have been writing novels for more than half of my current lifespan. On reflection, it’s only natural that I would consider it to be synonymous with my life itself. I now know that it is only one facet of my life – one branch of the tree – it is a job, it is work. Yes, it’s work that I enjoy, but it is one singular part of my life, and not my whole life in its entirety. My creativity feeds off my life experience, but it remains separate from the experience of life itself. Exposure and stimulus are so important to the creative process – they are a part of it – but a writer has to live in order to be able to write, rather than the other way around.

In dedicating so much of my lifetime to that story, I ended up neglecting the other parts of my life to a chronic degree, and when that story was told, when the book was published and out there in the world, I realised just how little else there was. Devoting so much time, effort and energy to my creative endeavours had skewed my perception to such a degree that the book just had to provide a value to my life equal to everything that I had sacrificed or neglected in order to bring The Devil On God’s Doorstep to completion. And when that failed to materialise, I fell into despair.

I automatically focused on the financial value of the book sales, as if the numbers would compensate me for the lack of perceived worth in the other areas of my life. Of course, the desired level of book sales didn’t materialise, leading me to consider that because the creative output didn’t manifest in financial value equal to what I had hoped for, then the creative process hadn’t been worth it. The story hadn’t been worth spending all that time on, and by extension, I hadn’t been worth it either.

How wrong I was. I know now that the creative process itself is worth far much more to me than the outcome ever will be. Creative expression, and freedom of creative thought, is something that I now know carries no price tag. No book sales, no publishing deal, no screen adaptation fee, will ever come close to how I felt and the journey that I undertook in the writing of The Devil On God’s Doorstep. The creative process holds a value to me that is beyond financial, and as a result it provides me with a sense of self-worth that is personal to only me, and beyond external empirical measure.

As a story-teller I am part of a tradition that stretches back through time from the modern streaming era to the very first cave paintings. Throughout history, individuals have communicated stories to one another via creative means. It is a very human process, an interaction between those who create a story, and those who consume it. There are two sides to the creative equation – the creation of an artistic work, and the consumption of it. I know from first-hand experience that it is easy for a creative to lose themselves in consuming the creative output of others, to the detriment of their own creativity. The Devil On God’s Doorstep originated in a time before social media, before mobile internet and streaming platforms. It also originated at a time in my life when I spent less time engaging with others’ output than creating my own.

Having published the book and marketed it online during these past twelve months, I became lost in the figures, the analytics and insights that are made available to us these days. I placed far too much importance and value on what social media platforms were telling me about my ‘reach’ and ‘interactions’ rather than focusing on serving the story. If the editing and publishing process had been about refining the manuscript of the novel so that it served the story, then surely the marketing efforts that promote the book should similarly serve the story?

What matters more to me is that I find enjoyment in the marketing of the novel, in whichever ad campaigns I run or promote. It’s important that I rediscover the joy of creative thinking and the value that adds to my life, beyond considering the financial worth of my efforts. A good story will sell itself, but in order for it to do that, people must be aware that the story exists. In the case of The Devil On God’s Doorstep, the published book is a product that needs marketing, and in order for the marketing to be effective, I have to find enjoyable ways of promoting the book that re-engage my creative process.

The lessons that I have learned in the last year are as follows:

Freedom of creative thought and expression are of utmost importance to me.
If I choose to tell a story from start to finish, then everything, both within and without that story, has to serve the needs of the story.
The creative process and the creative output are separate, and must be treated as such. They co-exist, but they are also independent.
My enjoyment of creativity has to outweigh any perceived material or financial benefit in order for me to continue engaging with it.
The journey of writing a book means more to me than the destination, but as with any journey, once I reached that destination I focused on where I was, rather than how far I had come.
The story doesn’t end with publication, if anything, it grows even larger once it has been released into the world.

If you’d like to read The Devil On God’s Doorstep, click the above Affiliate Link to read a free preview and purchase a copy from Amazon.

Yes, You Cannes

An introduction to the Cannes Film Festival for first timers

With the 72nd Festival de Cannes coming to a close on the French Riviera at the moment, I thought I’d write a guide to the event for those who are thinking of taking part for the first time at some point in the future. Complete with photos from my own trips to the Festival and some helpful tips, this should serve as a handy guide to what can be an overwhelming week or two in the sunshine (with the occasional rain cloud thrown in for good measure!)

First of all, the event itself is something of a hybrid of the Festival de Cannes and Le Marche du Film, arguably the film world’s largest trade fair. Within both sides of the event, there are sub-strands, and in recent years a number of fringe events have appeared outside of the event proper. There are a number of showcases and festivals taking place on the Riviera at the same time as the Festival de Cannes, which is worth bearing in mind when submitting a film to events at Cannes-there are festivals at Cannes and then there is the Festival de Cannes.

Looking at the Festival itself, there are those films appearing In Competition (Official Selection) and Out of Competition, the same as you would get at many major film festivals-films competing for awards (the big one, in this case, being the Palme d’Or) and those showing just for the prestige of being a part of the Festival. Films selected by the Festival will more than likely have their world premieres at the Palais des Festivals et des Congres on the Croisette-a large convention centre on the city’s seafront.

Outside of the main Festival Competition, some titles will compete in the strand Un Certain Regard and Quinzaine des Realisateurs (Director’s Fortnight) for awards. There is also an Official Short Film Competition (not to be confused with the Cannes Court Metrage-The Short Film Corner at the Marche du Film) and the Cannes Cinefondation dedicated to up-and-coming filmmakers, both of which take place as part of the Festival. Screenings take place at the Palais and various cinema locations in the city.

Pro-tips for navigating the Festival and Marche

Book your meetings in advance. This year, the Marche du Film launched a “match and meet” networking app for all those with a Marche pass. Together with membership of Cinando.com, the international film market database, you have the tools available to you to set up meetings with the people you need to see before you hit the ground at Cannes. Try approaching people a month or two before the Marche. This will save you time running around like a headless chicken during your trip to the Festival looking for people to meet.
Arrive early, and leave late. I’ve said this before when I’ve posted to other networks: you’re there to work. The parties and premieres are great, but if you don’t leave the Festival with new contacts and potential new deals, then it’s just been an expensive holiday. The first week of the Marche is usually given over to people with existing deals-buyers and sales agents meeting their current clients. For new meetings and new deals, look for time during the second week. Spend as much time there as you can possibly afford without breaking the bank!
Read the trades every day. Free trade magazines are given out at the Marche du Film and are often delivered to the main hotels in Cannes. You don’t have to read every one, and you certainly don’t have to keep them, but keeping abreast of the news is priceless. They will tell you what sort of films are being sold, who has the money, and what events are taking place during the Festival. On my very first trip to Cannes, I kept EVERY magazine I could get my hands on, resulting in my case being overweight on the flight back-an expensive mistake! Nowadays a lot of the info is online-The Hollywood Reporter, for example, publishes their Cannes supplement as a daily pdf.
Try not to overspend. Cannes can be expensive to get to and expensive to stay in. I’ve always stayed in the city itself, as close to the Croisette as possible, but I’ve known people to travel in from the outskirts of the city, from Antibes and even Nice every day. Whilst this is undoubtedly cheaper, it can be exhausting, and you have to consider your travel arrangements at the beginning and end of each day… For peace of mind and less stress, it’s easier to stay in town if you can afford it! Make use of the networking breakfasts and happy hours to get as much free/cheap food and drink as you can so that you don’t overspend in the cafes and restaurants.
Dress smart. Again, you’re there for business (or I hope you are!) not just a good time. If you are lucky enough to get a ticket for a premiere in the Lumiere Theatre, make sure you observe the dress code. For men, this means you have to wear black tie. You could get away with a suit, but tuxedos are a better option. Don’t bank on getting in anywhere if you’re in shorts and a vest! It is the French Riviera after all.
Vist Le Petit Majestique at least one evening. On Rue Tony Allard in the centre of town, this small bar has become an unofficial networking spot during the Festival, and the crowds often spill out into the streets of an evening. In recent years Le Petit Majestique has been home to some of the fringe festival events, so you may catch a screening of short films or a matchmaking event there.

On a final note, I often tell people that Cannes is very much about the “haves” and the “have-nots.” It is a highly exclusive event, and being a part of it is something special. You will find people trying to gatecrash events, and begging for premiere tickets outside the Palais. It’s not one of those festivals where anyone can rock up and buy a pass-the passes are expensive and exclusively for those working in the film industry. If you think you’ll be able to just turn up and rub shoulders with some film stars, think again!

If you’ve found any of this useful or enlightening, please don’t be afraid to tip me at the bottom of the article-it keeps me going, and I have a trip to next year’s Festival to plan for!! 🙂

Smaller Isn’t Always Easier

Seven lessons learned from producing short films

I’ve been producing short films on and off since 2005, and coming off the back of my first feature film and going back to a short, I can say that just because a project is small in size, doesn’t necessarily make it easy going. There’s a misconception that features are more difficult, and more worthy of your time, but short films come with their own challenges, that if met head-on, can be really rewarding.

Short films present many of the same challenges as feature film productions, albeit on a smaller scale. Whilst the workload of a feature film can be spread over many people, the smaller crew size and often doubling up/ blurring of roles on a short can intensify the pressure on each individual. As a result, a short film can seem more difficult to produce than a feature, especially when it comes to raising the funds necessary for production. Here are seven lessons I’ve learned in the production of short films…

1) Keep it simple.

Whether you’ve written your own script, or have commissioned or purchased one from a screenwriter, keeping the premise simple will in theory make your film more simple to produce. If you have multiple locations, a large cast and a load of VFX then your production logistics and budget are likely to be a lot more complex and potentially difficult.

2) Don’t do it all yourself.

Collaboration is key in film. On my first short I served as the writer, director, producer, DoP, camera operator, sound recordist and editor. It was a small, underfunded film, and the results showed. It wasn’t great. I made a lot of mistakes, but on the flip side I learned a lot of lessons. I’ve always preferred learning through action, as opposed to being taught. But looking back on it, having worked with full production crews on short film, I can wholeheartedly say that the benefits of working with others outweigh the control you exert doing it all yourself. Don’t be a “jack of all trades, master of none,” no matter how great your self-belief.

3) Get professional caterers or craft services.

Most short film productions are low paid, if not no-paid jobs. The least you can do is feed and water your crew. On one short I also stepped in to do catering when my mind and time should have been dedicated to other things. It wasn’t a disaster, but it could’ve been better. Make sure whoever is in charge of catering has prepped beforehand. Even if you’re just taking the crew to a nearby restaurant for a meal, make sure the restaurant has room to cater to all of you!

4) Be careful when you film.

I’ve had one shoot that took place on Mother’s Day, and another that part-filmed on a national holiday. Not only can it be difficult for cast and crew to get time away from families and friends on these days, you also need to consider that more members of the public will be off work on those days, with the potential to interfere with your production. Likewise, locations can book up early during the holidays, and in some cases can be all the more expensive because it’s peak season.

5) Help your cast and crew celebrate.

When the hard work is over and done with, bring people together with a screening for cast and crew, and don’t be afraid to invite all your supporting artists-the more people who can see the labours of your work the better. Think of it as an early test screening. If you can’t afford a screening, be sure to provide a free download link or free viewing link to your cast and crew, and ask for feedback. If you can, throw a wrap party, even if it’s just a round of drinks at the end of the shoot. It helps people unwind and get closure.

6) An honest producer is a productive producer.

This one’s important – be honest and upfront with your cast and crew as the production comes together. I had a short where private equity funding fell through and had to deliver the bad news that pay have to would be deferred. It was embarrassing as an entrepreneur, but it had to be done, and there was only so much that we managed to claw back through crowdfunding. We had to beg, borrow, and ask favours in order to get the film made, and under those circumstances, having a reputation for honesty and clarity is paramount.

7) Don’t keep your eggs in one basket.

I can’t stress this one enough. Spread your budget over as many sources as possible. If one method fails (see above!) then your whole production needn’t fall through. There is no one, perfect way to fund a film; there’s no magic bullet that solves all your funding needs. Raising the budget is like making a patchwork blanket-the more varied the methods you use, the better it’s going to look in the end.

If you follow these rules, and keep your wits about you, you’ll have an easier time producing your shorts. Short films can be as complex and fulfilling as making features, especially as the quicker turnaround allows you to try different stories in a shorter span of time.

Fifteen Years As A Startup Entrepreneur

How I learned to stop worrying about subsistence, and focus on growth

To back-track a little — I first became self-employed in May 2005 after I was let go by my employer following long periods of sickness due to mental health issues. Mental health wasn’t the corporate buzz-term back then that it is today, and so I was cast adrift from a job in customer service, which, ironically set me free to pursue my ambitions of working in the film industry. Being a self-taught camera operator, I had a growing client-base from years of filming school and amateur theatre shows, with some local arts coverage thrown in for good measure. I figured I had a small skill-set worth using and sharing, and hopefully making money from.

In Wales at the time, the government was running a scheme called “Yes You Can” that encouraged people, especially young people, to start their own businesses in order to foster the nation’s entrepreneurial spirit. Naïve and green as I was, I followed where the scheme led, signing up to a government-backed business startup service that promised advice, mentoring, and eventually funding. Within a year, however, the Welsh Development Agency, which was responsible for funding the scheme, was dissolved, and I was once again cast adrift.

I may have been self-employed for over fifteen years now, but during that period I’ve had three day-jobs (known to some in the industry as “resting jobs”) and also turned my hand to filming weddings, alongside small-time corporate work for the SME sector in South Wales for a short period of time. Some people can make that work and grow a business from it, I couldn’t, and so that part of the Company didn’t last long. Similarly, a short film sales agency, Seraphim Entertainment, that we set up to work alongside our production company, was shuttered after less than a year.

In the intervening years, as we bumped along the bottom of the huge ocean that is the film industry, trying to stay out of other people’s way, and not get squashed or eaten up, there were times where we had to hunker down and pause trading, and times where I existed on state handouts to get by. As mentioned above, I had health issues to deal with, and a lot of healing to do, whilst co-running the business. I used to worry a lot about merely existing, and making sure that the Company survived, rather than looking at whether what we were doing was actually aiding company growth, or whether it was just a waste of time. It’s one thing to keep a company ticking over in the background, it’s another thing entirely to grow it and make it a success.

For a long time, I measured success by the fact that the Company still existed, that I still had the freedoms self-employment had granted me. I was able to write, produce, film and edit, honing my craft on small projects, often struggling to make ends meet, but still feel a sense of freedom. I remember in the early days mentioning that I would like to enfranchise the corporate arm of the Company, so that it would bring in regular work, that I could micro-manage, with the aim of us having a regular crew and regular clients for corporate work.

What I found, having dipped a toe into corporate waters, was an entirely different industry in itself — with different rules and different expectations. We tried to position ourselves within the SME market, providing filming services for companies of a similar size to ourselves. Sometimes we had to produce a film clip for free or at a reduced cost, offset against the promise of future work that never came. Once, a business owner even offered me their son’s car as payment for work rather than paying for filming. I knew then that I was out — the corporate sector wasn’t for me.

As an entrepreneur, it took me a long time to work out what was for me, and what wasn’t. For starters, when I first became self-employed, I was a sole trader using my own name for a company. That had to change, if I was to build something that I hope would grow beyond me, and hopefully out-live me. Seraphim Pictures was conceived after a trip to Hollywood, with the aim of one day opening a branch office in LA, something that we still have yet to do (although I tell myself that this could be our year…)

Then I had to figure out what markets I wanted to work in, what parts of the industry I want to spend my time in, and where I wanted my career to go personally, and how to ensure that the Company could help get me there. Over time we’ve produced documentary and music video work, short films, and co-produced our first feature film, which will be released this year on VOD. I still favour more creative work over corporate, and I’ve given up entirely on wedding videography. Truth be told, I haven’t stepped behind the camera in years — as a producer, I operate the machinery that drives the production now, as opposed to being on-set handling the filming equipment.

Knowing my place has helped me to move forward, even during the times of Covid-19 and the on/off lockdowns of 2020. I have used the time, I hope, wisely, to develop and pre-produce projects ready for production when conditions improve. I spent countless hours last year focusing on finding finance, and projects worth financing, that would drive the business forward, and ultimately grow the Company. I stopped panicking about whether the business was going to survive, and planned our way through the pandemic, looking ahead to days when we might work again.

With an eye on the future, this year, I will be focusing on growing the company — sourcing finance, looking at projects that will benefit growth and raise awareness of Seraphim Pictures, rather than just producing content for the sake of it. Although the Covid crisis looks set to dominate this year as much as it did last year, I am filled with hope for the Company. We have two choices: to sink or swim. For us, sinking is not an option. We remain small, and flexible, able to scale up or down to meet the challenges we face. We will grow, albeit slowly, and we will survive. We have established the Company, and now will consolidate our position so that we are in a place of strength from which to grow when the pandemic has ended.

Some companies will grow, some will wither and die, but the pandemic will end. Obviously, it brings its own set of challenges and worries, but these are finite. I’ve learned not to worry about whether we will still be here this time next year, and instead focus on making sure that we are. After fifteen years I feel I have finally hit my stride, and have the drive to move things forward. Ironically, I think it was the Covid crisis that caused this change. It galvanised me into action. I had a ‘do-or-die’ moment late last year when we were applying for business funding (which we thankfully secured) and I decided to do, not die.

In looking back, and looking forward, I can say wholeheartedly at the fifteen-year mark that it’s been a great journey, and I look forward to it being greater still. Our little startup is on the cusp of a new stage, and I’m glad that we’re still around, and have been able to reach this point. To anyone who is just starting out on the journey I would say — don’t spend too long worrying about whether you’ll survive — spend your time wisely, accept that you will make it through, and focus on ensuring that you grow. It’s easier said than done of course, but after fifteen years, with so much time spent worrying, I’ve learned the lesson and have a new focus: growth is survival at the end of the day.

Somebody Has To Be The Money Person

Recollections of the best, and worst, advice given to me at the startup stage.

I first went freelance after losing my day job in May 2005. I started my first business in January 2006. Within a year I’d run up a line of debt, and almost lost both myself and my company. I had also received many pearls of wisdom, both good and bad, from people so much more experienced than myself. Looking back, two such nuggets of advice were “Don’t bankrupt yourself over 30k, do it over 30 million” and “Somebody has to be the Money Person”. Here’s a little context on both, and why they are so resonant almost 15 years on.

The first piece of advice came from a well-meaning friend from outside of my industry who had themselves been declared bankrupt at some point in the distant past. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s not the best bit of business advice to give to someone, let alone someone with a startup company. Some 60% of startups fail — the figure is likely higher for the film industry, and I daresay higher all-round this year due to the pandemic — and in retrospect, putting a figure on when to shut up shop within a year of starting up isn’t perhaps the best of conversations to be having (pandemics aside).

Thankfully we didn’t have to declare bankruptcy all those years ago, and although it’s been a long and bumpy road, my Company is still going, although large-scale growth eludes us — and is likely to for as long as the world keeps having to lock down. As much as we are a creative company run by creative people, the one thing that has ensured we stick around is looking after the money, and scaling back when things aren’t going so well.

Back in 2006 I met a producer from Canada at a networking event, and it was she who told me that “Somebody has to be the Money Person”. The key to longevity in business, I was told, was that at least one of the company directors, and in our case one of the producers, has to take responsibility for the financial aspects of running the business. It sounds pretty obvious — financial common sense — but in an industry where everybody is seeking for creative achievement, for recognition, or for fame, having to look after the money can be seen as a dull and boring job.

I don’t know how it is in other industries — although I had previously worked in accounts in the healthcare sector — but in film, especially independent film, money is a but of a murky topic. I’ve heard it said that asking an independent filmmaker about their budget is like asking a lady her age — you shouldn’t do it. No-one wants to get bogged down with the numbers, unless they’re a numbers person themselves. However, looking after the numbers is what will help a Company survive during the rough times, and thrive during the better ones.

I remember that both encounters, and the advice given on both occasions, left me feeling deflated. I wanted to be creative, and control the business, but I wasn’t a numbers person — as my high school maths teachers will attest! — and saw numbers as something I didn’t want anything to do with. In the years since, I reluctantly became the numbers person, the money person. The suit. I’m grateful for the advice I’ve received, and continue to receive in respect of business finance and management. I look back and see that there’s nothing wrong with being the money person — that it’s a vital part of any business or industry. Look after the pennies, as the saying goes!

The View From The Plateau

Another old post featuring career introspection from 2019 – it’s interesting to look back and consider how the pandemic years have affected by thinking…

My career has been stuck at a plateau for a while. Looking back on the past few years I guess it was self-inflicted. For too long I’ve rested on what few laurels I had managed to gather to my name. I had developed the project after project only to see them wither and die on the vine — and consider that this was acceptable. I made several trips to Los Angeles and the Cannes Film Festival hoping to drum up business that never came. I spent more money than I had to come in, applied for grants that never came in, and generally got stuck in a patch of the mud of my own making.

My career has gone further than some who have tried their luck in the film industry, but it still hasn’t taken me far enough. I’ve got a few short projects and a feature under my belt, but for too long I’ve been content to accept handouts, to take my time with projects, to not see many things through to completion, to accept failure and defeat as par-for-the-course. I’ve slept too long, dawdled along the path that I’d set myself, and spent so long admiring the view from the plateau I’ve been on, that I forgot to look beyond my surroundings to the horizon I originally set out to conquer.

That stops now.

From this plateau, I have a good view of where I’ve been and how I got to this point. It would be all too easy to go backward. I can also see the road ahead, and the places I want to be. However, it’s been so long since I set myself on this path, that the path is now overgrown and will take a lot of work to clear. I can see where I want to go, but not how to get there. It’s going to take a bit of organising to be able to move forward, and I’ll probably be travelling at a snail’s pace to start.

My first baby steps in this right direction are to apply for freelance jobs on small productions to build myself up again. I’ve just started working as an Assistant Producer on a half-hour independent LGBT drama to be filmed in Annecy, France in June. Pre-production has already commenced in London and casting is underway, with a crowdfunding campaign soon to launch to raise part of the budget.

I’ve also sent off my own half-hour drama script, Burro, to a Mexican director living in LA. The script was long-listed for the Screencraft Film Fund a number of years ago, and I’ve had some good feedback on it via Coverfly, but it’s sat on the shelf for a long time doing nothing. With my newfound motivation, I’m hoping to push the project into production in the Greater Los Angeles area towards the end of the year. I don’t just need all the luck in the world to pull it off — I need to rediscover the passion and drive I had when I first got my start in this industry in my early twenties.

Key to this rediscovery has been the book Hollywood Drive: What it Takes to Break in, Hang in & Make it in the Entertainment Industry by Eve Light Honthaner. I’ve already got her book The Complete Film Production Handbook which is a basic how-to guide to creating a film. Hollywood Drive does a similar job but from a career development point-of-view. I’m still devouring the book, and it’s inspiring me to get off my backside and start attacking the path forward.

It’s going to take a lot of effort to get off this plateau, but it’s time. I’m sure there will be other plateaux to rest at in between the mountains I have yet to climb, but now it’s high time I left my comfort zone and tried doing things a little differently…

That Ol’ Fork In The Road

An old post from 2019, imported from a previous blog, about facing rejection in my career…I view things slightly differently now, but the words may be of help to someone else…

Last Friday, life threw me a curveball. A grant application that I had been waiting to hear the outcome of didn’t come in as expected. This isn’t the first time I’ve been turned down for a grant, and it won’t be the last. Dealing with rejection is a necessary part of life in the film industry. Having a thick skin helps, but no matter how much you brace yourself for the impact, nothing, I repeat, NOTHING prepares you for a big fat “no”.

This grant application was slightly different, in that it wasn’t for the Company, or for a project — it was for me. So the rejection was mine and mine alone to bear.

It got me thinking about my choices. Rejection usually heralds introspection, questioning “what did I do wrong?” and so on. Unfortunately, due to the high volume of applicants there was no chance of feedback. That last one is a line I’ve used myself on occasion, not that that makes the pill any easier to swallow. In the back of my mind I’m still questioning what went wrong — did I ask for too much? Did I apply too late? Or too early? Did I mess up on the application? Plenty of questions, and not a single answer among them. Like I say, they’re in the back of my mind. At the forefront of my thinking at the moment is what’s stood in front of me yet again:

That ol’ fork in the road.

Now that this grant application hasn’t come in as I’d hoped, I have a big decision looming over my head. The money in question would’ve helped me with tuition fees for a course I wanted to undertake in Los Angeles in September. I was planning my whole year to September on being able to attend the course — raising funds in the first half of the year to support me in the second half. Now that I’ve stumbled at the first hurdle I’m reconsidering my options.

There are other grants, other funding options. This was just the first of the applications I was looking at. I can still apply for the others, might get them, and might still be able to do the course (pending the dreaded visa application). However, I’m now questioning whether I want to do the course after all. Maybe it would be better to settle into a work routine, raise enough money to support myself on a work visa, and apply for funding for some projects that have been ticking over in the background for years.

The options in front of me — those many branches in the road ahead — include:

Applying for further funding and attending the course.
Undertaking a series of online courses and delaying attendance in person until next year.
Raising project finance for work in the UK and Europe and putting off America for another year (or years…)
Raising finance for a Company training budget and allocating some of that to my own continued personal development.

In all likelihood I’ll settle for a combination of those options, wandering the paths in the road, and eventually make my own way. It’s what I’ve done before, and I’ll likely do it again. It’s just this time it’s personal — it wasn’t a project or company that was turned down, it was me. It reminds me of all the times I was rejected by literary agents when looking for representation for my novel (still unpublished, still stinging…) and takes me back to my younger self being buffeted by rejections life, right and centre.

It’s not easy carving a niche for yourself in this industry. It’s hard graft, but as I said to someone only yesterday, I enjoy it. I wouldn’t be doing it otherwise. For the moment, however, I’m staring at the fork in the road wondering which path to take.

Raising Finance For Short Films

I first wrote this post eight years ago, and then having participated in the Cannes Marche du Film three times since, I revisited and updated it…

Arguably the hardest part of any film production is getting the ball rolling in the first place, and getting the ball rolling means securing funding for your project. It is hard enough for filmmakers to raise funding for feature films, but for short films the task seems impossible, even with the advent of crowdfunding platforms (rewards-based and otherwise). For the entrepreneurial filmmaker, however, nothing is impossible, and if we treat short film funding as a microcosm of film funding as a whole, there are plenty of methods of raising a budget for your short film. In this post we share a few of the methods of short film funding that we have discovered over the past eight years…

1. PRODUCT PLACEMENT

Like all forms of short film funding, product placement is hard to find. But there are opportunities out there if you can employ a bit of lateral thinking to your fundraising. In the past we have found costume to provide the best opportunities for product placement. Obviously, if you are shooting a period piece then this is option is unlikely to be available to you, but for contemporary films there are clothing labels out there that will supply your wardrobe department with clothing in return for exposure, and there are even smaller, up-and-coming labels that will pay for the privilege. The key to successful product placement is in allowing each brand valuable screen time, but not so much that it outweighs the artistic integrity of your film.

2. GRANT AID

The availability of grant aid is determined by a number of factors: the filming location, the people employed by the production, the type of film and its cultural impact among many. There is no such thing as free money, and there are a great many provisos that must be met for a successful grant application. In many cases the grant is retro-active, and is only awarded after you have spent the money in the first place. The best way of making use of this is to use grant aid as part of your marketing and distribution money. There are specific development grants out there that are awarded on the condition that the funding is repaid once filming commences — this is something that you will have to factor into your production budget. Remember that the competition for grants is very high so your application has to tick as many boxes as possible in order to be in with a chance of succeeding.

3. TAX CREDITS

Depending on where you live in the world your short film may be eligible for tax credits. Like many grants, tax credits are retro-active, and are therefore awarded once the money has been spent. This kind of money is best kept for marketing and distribution costs including festival attendance and the cost of your deliverables. In some cases you may even be able to pay this money back to investors, thereby attracting private equity investment.

4. PRIVATE EQUITY

This is by no means easy to secure but, as with product placement, there are individuals who are prepared to invest in short films. It’s unlikely that you’ll be able to raise large amounts for your production, and you don’t want to give up too much equity in the production but this is an attractive option for many filmmakers. In the UK and Europe (with America soon to follow…) it is possible to sell equity in a film’s Special Purpose Vehicle via crowdfunding. Like any crowdfunding campaign this is risky as you may not be able to raise the amount you intend.

5. CROWDFUNDING

Many people see crowdfunding as the “magic bullet” for film funding, and people tend to place all their hopes for funding in this method and this alone (we’ve done it ourselves) and if a campaign is unsuccessful then your film may not be made at all. Crowdfunding works well for completion funding when you have already made your film. If you have a work-in-progress to show your potential backers, you are more likely to get people to support you.

6. DEBT FINANCING

Banking, for us, is a last-minute resort to raising finance for a short film. In the world of feature films there are tales of people re-mortgaging their homes in order to fund projects. Obviously this is risky at the best of times, and inadvisable for short films, but there are other financial products that you could make use of. A combination of overdrafts, interest-free credit cards and loans could be used to raise a small pot of cash for your film. Although this may seem like a good idea at the front end, you must give serious consideration to how you are going to pay off the debts.

7. PRE-SALES

Seasoned filmmakers will say that this is insane, but hear us out. There are indeed distributors out there that will pay up front for the broadcast rights to your short film. These companies are few and far between (less than half a dozen by our count) and there are the same sort of provisos attached that you can expect to see with an application for grant aid. Competition is high, and it is unlikely that you might secure funding in this way, but if you don’t try you’ll never know. This type of funding is best suited to development and production, and is best secured at international film markets, of which there are a few dedicated to short film.

8. SPONSORSHIP

Depending on the content of your short film, there maybe be charities and NGO’s willing to offer small amounts of sponsorship if your values and message align with their own. These sponsorship deals tend to be small, but can work across territories so that charities or organisations in multiple countries sponsor a short film on the same theme. Once again, it entirely depends on if your story is a good fit with the organisation’s mission but these kind of deals can be lucrative not only financially, but also in terms of outreach to your eventual audience.

This is by no means an exhaustive list, but is the sum total of methods that we have encountered. By combining some, if not most of these, you should be able to raise the budget you need for your short film. Keep your budget low, use in-kind contributions if possible, and you should be able to cover your costs with the above methods. Let me know of any methods you are aware of that I haven’t covered here! 🙂

The Hollywood Itch

I first arrived in Los Angeles in December 2005 with my business partner for a research and development trip ahead of forming our company. I had been a freelance camera operator since May of that year, had directed a short film that would be released the following year, and wanted to find out how the Americans did it, whatever “it” was.

I had shadowed a production team in South Wales the previous summer, helping to create a behind-the-scenes documentary following the creation of a series of short films as part of the annual “It’s My Shout” scheme. I had noticed that, contrary to my belief, it was the producer who gave the orders, rather than the director and I suppose it was a cocktail of ego and ambition that made me want to be a producer and own my own production company (I would later learn that even the producer is answerable to someone, and ultimately the person in control is the one with the money!)

Back to Los Angeles, where I jumped onto the 405 freeway during evening rush hour for my first ever experience of driving abroad (on the opposite side of the road, no less!) following the traffic to join the 101 in Sherman Oaks, and then take that all the way down to Hollywood. We were staying at Oakwood Toluca Hills nestled on the back of Mt. Lee between Universal Studios and Warner Bros. in Burbank. Naturally, we missed the turning in the dark and ended up on Mulholland Drive with all the lights of Hollywood and Los Angeles sparkling in the night before us.

My first view of the Hollywood Sign came the next day, again from Mulholland. For the next six weeks, I would pass it pretty much daily, driving through the Cahuenga Pass from Toluca Hills down into Hollywood itself until it almost faded into the background. Visits to both Universal and Warner Bros. indeed showed me how the Americans did “it” and gave me a taste of how the machine worked.

I didn’t like it. I was initially shocked by how the industry worked, how I wasn’t even a tooth on a cog in a wheel of the Great Machine. I was all about the “art” and creation aspect, not the industry. When I returned to the UK in January 2006 and we formed Seraphim Pictures, I felt displaced — changed even. I had the Hollywood Itch — and have had it ever since. That initial six weeks in Hollywood changed me, for better or worse I still haven’t quite figured out.

I found that people who focused on the “art” aspect of film rather than the business end failed to secure any kind of longevity. I had to learn how to become an entrepreneur, run a business, and treat the film as a business, not an art. Yes, it’s about content creation, but there’s an industry that I am a part of, and twelve years on I’m a cog in the wheel, albeit a (very) small one.

I still have the Hollywood itch, and I scratch it almost daily. In the coming months, years, and hopefully decades, I’ll blog more about it. I’ve written, produced, and directed. I’ve been a roving reporter for the BBC, I’ve had work screened at the Cannes Short Film Corner, and had projects screen across Europe to the Middle East and North Africa. I’ve been to Hollywood itself twice, and am now planning my third trip.

Travel changes a person, and Los Angeles changed me in a way I wasn’t expecting. It left me with the itch that motivates me and moves me forward. It helped me form part of my identity, and I look forward to seeing how it has changed in the years that I have been away.