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My first great work of fiction was my name. When you share a common name with a famous NFL wide receiver, a semi-famous NBA point guard, and the kinda-famous drummer of Journey, it's best to get creative with the nom de plume if you hope to stand out on the Google machine, so...call me Bowie.

I have always needed to create. My first love was music, but my most powerful love was the movies. I fell in love with movies as a teenager, and from my first job as a movie theater usher at 16 to the years I spent as the assistant to the President of Distribution at Universal Pictures, I was in my 30s before I had a job outside of the movie industry.

When I started my filmmaking journey, there was no iphone, no desktop editing, and no Youtube, so the barriers to entry were pretty high. I did manage to make a couple of crap short films before I made one that ran the festival circuit and gave me the confidence to think that I could conquer Hollywood, so I tried. And I failed. For the most part. I gained a ton of invaluable experience in Los Angeles directing more short films and plays and working in early-aught Los Angeles film collectives like Group 101 and the SoCal FIlm Group, but the kind of success I was working toward eluded me.

 

I have a treasure trove of wonderful memories and L.A. stories, but alas, at a certain point, I burned out on my Hollywood experiment and fell into a scary dark depression. The obvious solution to my problem was to get married, leave Los Angeles for Las Vegas and become a poker dealer at the MGM Grand on the Vegas strip. So I did that.

The addition of our daughter turned our young family into a power trio, and the desire to document my new progeny turned into a full blown obsession with still photography, which filled a hole in my creative life that I desperately needed after leaving behind my dream of becoming the next David Lynch. 

As I embraced fatherhood, my creativity and my mental health rebounded. I was feeling complete for the first time in years. And then, in 2008, the bottom fell out of the economy leaving us jobless, homeless and clueless.

We packed up the proverbial van and headed to my home town of Atlanta, and after a sketchy couple of rebuilding years, we were fortunate to get back on our feet. Creatively, my photography was growing increasingly abstract which evolved into an interest in abstract painting, which continues to be my medium of choice these days. 

As our roots took hold in Atlanta and our daughter entered her formative years, I suddenly felt the need to single handedly make the world a better place for her, so I joined everything - a Unitarian Universalist church,  the local chapter of the Democratic party, even my neighborhood's homeowner's association (don't ever do that).

 

I became increasingly involved in progressive political activism, particularly in the area of racial justice, which culminated in my campaign for a seat in the Georgia state senate in 2018. Shockingly, Stacey Abrams came up to my county to hold a campaign rally during her Gubernatorial run that year, shocking because of the overwhelmingly conservative population of my county, but also because of the extremely troubling history my county has with race. After the birth of my daughter, sharing a rally stage with Stacey Abrams may be the highlight of my life. Unfortunately, neither she nor I won.

With my stab at politics behind me, something bizarre is occurring. The storytelling muse is  whispering in my ear, and I am attempting something I haven't attempted in over 15 years. I'm writing a movie. About racial injustice in my historically troubled county. Wish me luck.