I grew up in a small market town first attested in the Domesday Book of 1086, where I shared toys, pets, TV, and movies with my sister; Monster trucks and Barbie dolls, Cats and dogs, Mad Max and My Little Pony.
My parents would take us around Europe in a caravan. We got to roam landscapes, gaze around museums, and smirk in novelty shops. They raised us equals. I enjoyed board games, Bombay mix, and Drambuie.
School was tough. Teachers were quick to remind me my surname is slang here in England for idiot. I had to work my way up to the smart kid’s classes. I developed serious acne. Between the bullying, I overheard girls saying I made them feel sick.
On weekends I would be drinking, smoking, and rebelling. On weeknights I would be teaching myself graphic design and freelancing. When everyone went to university, I decided to work for myself.
I would spend my free time modifying cars and racing them on the street. The police chased us, sometimes we chased them. My girlfriend ditched me for my best friend. For a couple of years I paired up with a biker girl struggling with her drug-addicted disabled mother. She ended it with a text message. I moved to the coast in Wales, living and working in small student room with my girlfriend at the time. I wasn’t allowed to live there, I had to hide under the bed when the landlady visited.
I took a creative director role at a marketing agency. We settled down and bought a house. It didn’t fulfil me.
I went back to freelancing. I did well. London. Vegas. Dubai. Hong Kong. Big industry. Oil & gas. But one day I fell to my office floor and lay throwing up years of pent-up emotion. I realised none of it was making me happy.
I turned to something internal. Something that had always been there for me. Something that rocked me to sleep and greeted me when I awoke. Something that fascinated me when life was dull and kept me going when life was hard. My imagination.
I wrote myself through the darkest void of my depression. I regrew over and over until I become strong. I wrote features, shorts, episodes, and novels. Year one; a feature script on a studio consideration slate. Year two; a short produced in London. Year three; writing assignments with Skype calls to LA. Year four; short scripts in production in five countries. Year five; a free script hosting website launched. Year six; my first feature script option. Year seven; my first feature script production in Los Angeles. Year eight; my first producer credit. Year nine; two feature films in the can and my first feature released in North America. Year ten; three feature films to my name and a published book on the craft of screenwriting. Year eleven; a film in the top five on Amazon Prime. Year twelve; a #1 movie on Hulu. Year thirteen; a #1 movie in 16 Latin American countries and #8 on Netflix globally.
I’m obsessed with my craft, a slave to my audience, a friend to my peers, and loyal to my leaders. I’m very open minded and I’m all about the love. It doesn’t matter to me if it’s Tarantino or Twilight, I always try to look for the good in everything.
In 2016, frustrated by prohibitive costs and exclusive cliques that screenwriters and filmmakers face when trying to source or market scripts, I started the script hosting website www.scriptrevolution.com which offers many of the features of the paid listing services for free.
Based in Staffordshire, within the UK, I live in what was once an old liquor store and deliver motor parts to garages part-time. When I’m not writing, I can either be found enjoying a spice-rum and coke at gigs in the various rock bars around the area or out terrorising the roads on my customised Harley Davidson.