Built by creators who got tired of asking for permission

I moved to LA to write films. I did all the things you're supposed to do—got meetings, found representation, pitched my heart out. And then I waited. And waited. And kept waiting for a yes that never came.

If you're a creator, you probably know this feeling. You pour everything into something, and then your fate is in someone else's hands. Maybe they'll say yes. Probably they won't. Not because your work isn't good enough, but because there just aren't enough slots, enough budgets, enough greenlights to go around.

I watched so many talented people give up. Scripts that deserved to exist, sitting in drawers. Friends moving on to "practical" jobs. And honestly? I almost did too.

Then AI video generation started getting good. Really good. And I saw something that maybe other people didn't see: a way out. Not out of filmmaking—out of the waiting. What if you didn't need anyone's permission anymore?

The problem was, the tools weren't built for people like us. They were built for engineers. You'd type a prompt and get... something. But that's not how you make a film. Films have scripts, shot breakdowns, character designs, storyboards, timelines. An actual process.

I called my friend Suzan. We'd known each other for seven years—worked together on animation projects, talked endlessly about what was broken in this industry. She'd actually spent 20 years making productions happen at places like Warner Bros. She knew how real films get made. I knew how frustrating it was to never get the chance.

So we built the tool we wished we'd had. Six steps: Script, Breakdown, Assets, Keyframes, Video, Timeline. The same workflow professionals use, because it works. We didn't invent it—we just finally made it possible for anyone to use it.

Here's what I've learned: the difference between amateurs and professionals isn't talent. It's iterations. Professionals just get more chances to fail and try again. They've made more bad versions than most people have made versions.

That used to be a privilege. Each attempt cost money, time, favors. Most of us got one shot, maybe two. But now? You can try ten versions before lunch. The weird one, the safe one, the one you're embarrassed to show anyone. All in the same afternoon.

I'm not saying this replaces real filmmaking. I'm saying: what if you could finally iterate like a professional? What if the only question was whether you have a story worth telling—and whether you're willing to keep making it better?