How Acting and Music Shaped My Voice as a Writer

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a writer. I carried that dream through every chapter of my life, from rural northern Utah to pounding the pavement in New York City. But for nearly 20 years, I couldn’t make it happen.

During those years I worked as a professional actor and musician. I performed in theaters, clubs, and on set. I learned how to interpret other people’s words. How to shape emotion through rhythm. How to find the beats in a scene. After years of work, I joined the unions and was proud to be a working artist.

And still, I thought about writing. Always. But when it came time to put my own words on the page, I froze.

When Preparation Becomes Paralysis

Like a lot of aspiring screenwriters, I thought I had to know everything before I started.

I read every book I could find. Three-act structure. Character arcs. Inciting incidents. Subplots. Reversals.

I studied pilot scripts for shows like Barry, Chernobyl, and Fleabag. I read features like Hell or High Water and No Country for Old Men. I pored over how playwrights like Bruce Norris and Martin McDonagh layered tone, character, and conflict on the stage.

And with each book, with each piece of advice, writing felt more impossible. My head was full of rules. Don’t use voiceover unless it’s essential. Don’t overload Act One with characters. Don’t direct on the page. Don’t mention sound. Forget about costumes.

By the time I finally sat down to write, I had convinced myself of this: if the first draft wasn’t flawless, there was no point in starting.

The Shift That Changed Everything

After years of working with people like Kimberly Senior, Keegan-Michael Key, and Dee Snider, my family and I moved from Chicago to Las Vegas. We wanted to be closer to family. My wife’s parents in Vegas. My sister outside Salt Lake. My wife’s sister in LA.

And for the first time, I wasn’t rehearsing late at night or waiting for someone to call “action.” The noise was gone. The silence left me face to face with the truth.

Writing wasn’t supposed to be the reward for knowing everything. Writing was the process itself.

I thought back to rehearsal halls. Week one of a play. You don’t expect perfection. You show up. You try things. You fail. You try again.

Same with music. My band rehearsed endlessly before recording or playing live. Mistakes weren’t failure. They were progress.

So why would writing be different?

That’s when I learned the best lesson of my creative life: you cannot rehearse your way to a first draft. You have to write your way there.

How Acting and Music Shaped My Writing

Once I stopped waiting for permission, I realized those 15 years in performance weren’t a detour. They were training.

As an actor, I learned how to hear the difference between honest dialogue and something that sounds “written.” That’s one of the most valuable screenwriting lessons I carry into every script.

As a musician, I learned rhythm and pacing. I learned how to build tension and release. Those same skills drive story beats, scene transitions, and crescendos in a screenplay.

As a performer, I learned how to hold an audience. How to keep them leaning forward. How to surprise them.

Now, whether I’m writing a half-hour dark comedy like Baggage Claimed, a high-stakes drama like The Weight of Dust, or a YA fantasy pilot like The Amazing Adventures of Willow Lane, that training shapes my work. It gives my writing a distinct tempo and emotional charge.

From “Someday” to Screenplay

Once I started writing, my output exploded. The first script was messy. The second was better. By the third, I was finding my voice.

And here’s the truth. Agents, managers, and studio executives aren’t looking for perfect. They’re looking for a voice. They want to be pulled into a story in the first few pages.

That’s why I now share the opening 5 to 10 pages of each of my scripts. Those pages are the invitation. If someone wants to keep reading, I know I’ve done my job.

Why This Lesson Matters

If you’re just starting out, it’s tempting to think you need to master every principle before you write. But writing is the mastery. Books and classes are tools, but the real growth happens when you create.

If you want to write, write. Not next month. Not after one more course. Not after another book or a YouTube video. Write now.

Your first draft is your rehearsal. It’s the only way to get to opening night.

Interested in seeing how that lesson plays out on the page?

Read the first 5 to 10 pages of my TV pilots, features, and stage plays. Each one is different in genre and tone, but they share the same DNA: bold characters, emotional punch, and stories that don’t let go.