A door that trades twenty-five years of your life for one hour with the dead. A man losing a woman to Glen Powell. A marathon that turns into a divorce at mile nineteen. A six-pound dog that refuses to let its owner die.
Different genres, different rules about what is allowed to be funny. Same person standing over something broken, refusing to walk away from it.
Some are ready to make. Some are here to prove what I can do. None of them are filler.
Every finished script opens with an email address — the pages and the pitch packet, right now.
VIEW THE WORK →A lonely repairman discovers a door where the dead can be reclaimed at the cost of twenty-five living years per hour; after bringing four family members back, he spends a lifetime trying to defeat the one loss the bargain cannot undo.
When Glen Powell comes to his Missouri hometown to shoot a movie and starts dating the woman he has loved since high school, a stalled factory worker and failed screenwriter launches one last pathetic campaign to win her — only to discover the movie he needs to rewrite is his own life.
Still carrying guilt over ignoring his suicidal brother’s final calls, a young man hits and abandons another desperate stranger on a rain-soaked road; ten months later, her ghost begins calling, forcing him to choose between the life he rebuilt and the truth buried in the woods.
In the near future, a grieving husband uses an AI service to reconstruct his dead wife, but when the model reveals she may have been planning to leave him, he must choose between preserving the version he needs and accepting the woman he never fully knew.
A struggling husband runs the Honolulu Marathon beside the wife who plans to leave him, hoping 26.2 miles can save their marriage before the finish line becomes the end.
A suicidal man’s carefully planned final night is ruined when his ex-wife drops off a tiny dog — and the little bastard refuses to let him die.
Horror when the truth is not enough. Comedy when it is too much. Drama when it lands where it lands.
What holds underneath all of it: somebody is carrying a problem that will not be solved, and they go at it anyway — badly, stubbornly, sometimes hilariously, right at the point where the story they have been telling about their life stops holding weight.
Blunt, observant, and darkly funny. Sensitive without sentimentality.
READ THE REST →11 VERIFIED RESULTS IN THE CURRENT LEDGER.
The work has been read, rejected, rewritten, placed, and sent back out.
These are the times it made the cut — alongside the interviews, the archived coverage, and the pieces I published under my own name.
Writing is private. Production is where the excuses run out.
The actor has to say it. The camera has to see it. The cut has to survive without the paragraph explaining what everybody meant.
That’s the proof.
VIEW THE FILMS →
On the anniversary of his daughter’s death, a grieving rideshare driver accepts a lucrative fare to the middle of nowhere, only to discover that his strange passenger may not be human—and needs him to reach a rendezvous before midnight.
No lessons from the mountaintop.
Just notes from the climb, the fall, the rewrite, and the part where you discover the scene you loved was the one killing the script.
READ THE FIELD NOTES →My dad had a pillow. It’s mine now.
READ →Growing up, I thought acceptance was one of the highest things you could earn.
READ →I don’t mean when I actually fuck up. I’m talking about the other apologies.
READ →Script requests. Assignments. Development. Directing. Press.
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