Rediscovering My Voice

My ADHD brain sees writing like Cooper in Interstellar's tesseract - infinite threads of narrative possibility surrounding me, every moment and choice visible at once. But after decades of adapting my style for different showrunners and mediums, I lost sight of my own timeline, my own voice.

Writing for film and TV means shape-shifting. Each project demands its own creative DNA. Early in my career, scribbling feature specs, my style ran wild and free. The pages crackled with energy. I trusted directors and actors to breathe life into sparse, confident action lines. No hand-holding, no over-explaining - just pure story momentum.

Television changed that equation. Showrunners hold the vision, and episodic scripts need to provide clear marching orders for directors rotating through their two-week blocks. Every scene description becomes a technical manual ensuring the show maintains its visual identity. The craft was different, but the challenge sparked my creative engine.

Then COVID hit, productions shut down, and I found myself back in solo spec territory. That's when I realized something had gone wrong. Years of writing in service of other people's visions had rewired my brain. My scripts were bloated with unnecessary direction, drowning in exposition. The joy of raw storytelling had been replaced by habits that didn't serve the story or the current state of the medium.

For scribblers today, voice is everything. We're not just writers - we're creative brands building worlds across platforms. My early career taught me this. When I was writing game scripts for Bruce Willis or selling movie pitches about modern-day Greek myths, each project expanded my creative toolkit while keeping my core storytelling style intact.

Rediscovering that voice meant going back to my roots. I dug through old scripts, looking for sparks of the energy that made me fall in love with writing in the first place. Just like my D&D days, I needed to rebuild my character sheet from scratch.

Want to protect your voice while staying adaptable? Here's what I learned:

Write for yourself, not just assignments. Create a space where your instincts can run free, like a kid making Super 8 movies after school.

Study your early work. What made those scripts sing? Where was the confidence? Use them as a map back to your creative source code.

Set constraints. Challenge yourself to write scenes with strict word limits. Like coding a game for the Atari 2600, restrictions force creative solutions.

Trust your collaborators. Give them room to bring their magic to the party. A script shouldn't read like a technical manual unless that's what the project needs.

Teach others. Helping young writers find their voice will remind you of your own. It's like running a D&D campaign - you're creating a framework for others to tell amazing stories.

Stay intentional about adaptation. Supporting a showrunner's vision is crucial, but don't let those habits infect every word you write.

Remember, you're not alone at the keyboard. You've got tools, experience, and a unique perspective that no one else can bring to the page. Keep pushing the boundaries of what's possible.

After all, that's what got us here in the first place - dumping quarters into arcade machines, rolling dice with friends, and dreaming up new worlds. Our voices grow from what we love. Don't lose sight of that, even when the industry pulls you in different directions.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some scribbling to do.