Why I Built a Writer’s Website

For a long time, I resisted building a writer’s website. Not because I didn’t understand the value of one, but because I assumed it was something you earned only after the fact—after an agent, after a manager, after a sale or a production. I treated it as a marker of arrival rather than part of the work itself. Like many writers, I believed the path was linear: write quietly, submit to the right places, get discovered, then step into the light. That belief kept me waiting longer than it should have

The Old Model Is Shifting

Over the past few years, that model has begun to crack. Not dramatically at first, but steadily. Platforms that once promised visibility have changed or disappeared. Coverfly, which many writers relied on to organize submissions and exposure, recently shut down. The Black List remains influential and useful, but it is also expensive, subjective, and finite. Studios are buying less, reading fewer unsolicited scripts, and taking fewer risks. Agents and managers are inundated. At the same time, writers are producing more work than ever. The gap between writing something meaningful and getting it read has widened.

I didn’t want my scripts living exclusively behind paywalls, algorithms, or submission windows, waiting for the right timing or the right reader. I wanted a space where the work itself could exist openly and intentionally, without friction or preamble. That decision is what ultimately led me to build this site.

What a Writer’s Website Is (for Me)

A writer’s website, at least as I see it, is not a résumé or a placeholder for future credits. It’s not a pitch deck pretending to be a personality. It’s a reading room. Film, television, and theatre are page-one mediums. Voice shows up fast—or it doesn’t show up at all. Tone, rhythm, and character reveal themselves within the first few pages. You don’t need a full script to know whether something is alive. You feel it almost immediately.

That’s why this site features the opening five to ten pages of my scripts—television pilots, feature screenplays, and stage plays. Some of these projects are finished. Others are still in development. All of them reflect the same underlying impulse: to write stories driven by character, emotional pressure, and momentum. Those opening pages aren’t giveaways. They’re invitations. If someone wants to keep reading, there’s a clear and simple way to ask.

On Sharing Work in Development

Sharing work that’s still in development makes some writers uneasy. I understand that instinct. We’re taught to protect unfinished material, to wait until something is “ready,” to hide the mess until it looks like certainty. But theatre has always understood that scripts evolve through contact—readings, workshops, rehearsal rooms. Film and television work the same way, even if we’re less honest about it. A script doesn’t become stronger by staying invisible. It becomes stronger by being read.

Showing work in progress isn’t about claiming it’s finished. It’s about acknowledging that writing is an active, ongoing process. It signals momentum, curiosity, and a voice that’s being exercised rather than preserved. That matters more to me than pretending every project has reached some imaginary state of perfection.

The Role of Platforms and Gatekeepers

I respect platforms like The Black List. I’ve used them, and I likely will again. Contests, fellowships, and coverage services can be useful tools, and for some writers they are meaningful entry points. But they are tools, not destinations. A score is not a career. A logline is not a story. A PDF sitting unread on a platform doesn’t do much of anything. What matters is whether someone reads the work and feels compelled to turn the next page.

This site exists to make that easier. It’s a place where producers can read without context, collaborators can understand tone quickly, and representatives can assess voice without a long email or formal submission. There’s no gatekeeping here and no posturing. Just pages.

Letting the Work Be Seen

I won’t pretend that launching a writer’s website doesn’t come with a bit of vulnerability. There’s something exposed about saying, “Here’s the work—read it.” But the alternative is worse. Pretending that writing only counts once it’s validated by someone else is a habit that keeps writers stalled. Writing isn’t a private exercise waiting to be discovered. It’s a public act that requires readers to exist at all.

If you’re here, start anywhere. Read a few pages. See if something lingers. That’s all this site is asking for—and, ultimately, all a script ever really wants.