“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed.” — C.G. Jung




How can I begin to tell you how much I love my work? To say that I have enjoyed every person who wrote in my living room, for a day or for three years or for ten, would be an understatement. The truth is, that I am in love with each writer, because each one of them has shared with me and with the other writers in the room their ecstasy and their sorrow. And how can you not love people, when they really show themselves to you?


Many writers start by feeling insecure. Their critical minds stifle them. Former teachers, parents and friends advised them that “you have to have it” to be a writer. But they continue to sit here for that hour of writing absorbed in their notebooks. All you can hear in the room in this time is silence, with only the sound of pen on paper, the rustle of a page being turned, or a cup of tea lifted off the table and sipped. And when you see the focused expressions while writing, or the roar of laughter that erupts when one is surprised by what they just wrote, you know you’re seeing creativity in action.


Everyone is unique and has stories to tell; everyone “has it.” I never heard a story in which there was not, at least, the treasure of one gem. But we need a little support, a little loving, someone to see that we are better than what we think we are, and tell us so. For many writers The Writing Studio, is where such support is given for the first time. I’ve seen writers, who, before reading their stories are nervous and apologetic. When they read, their faces soften, and afterwards they say, “Yes, this is quite good, much better than what I thought it was.”


In my case I knew both stifling criticism and support. “What is so special in your life that you want to write a film about it?” one friend asked. Or, “The only reason you made your film is because you had money to make it,” suggested another friend. Or when I gave up a successful career in the film industry to start The Writing Studio, many who love me were worried. But there were other voices: that of my sixth grade art teacher who said: “I bet you’ll be a great artist one day.” Or my directing teacher in film school who said, “You will be a great director one day.” Such voices are there to lift me up when I am falling.


So this is my invitation. Come! Bring paper and pen, and listen to the stories that are dying to be told, because if you will not write them, who will?