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​The Book. The Man.

 

 

Mr. Lucky is my memoir—the origin point for the screenplays that followed. I wrote it over a period of three years. At first, it was an act of expiation: for my father, my self-image, my queerness, my diagnosis, my mother's death, the long-term, stealthily abusive relationship I endured, and the emotional barrenness left in its wake. At the time, it felt like screaming ME! ME! ME! into the void. But with distance, I see it now as something closer to a self-help book—a testament to resilience. A record of one man’s journey from despair to survival, and sometimes, even joy.

 

Because no matter how shit things get, they can turn out okay.

 

Mr. Lucky—my personal avatar, my alter ego in the Big Red Shoes—is a long, intense read: 502 pages, 177,256 words. I don’t pretend it’s a great work of literature. But I do know it’s a worthy one. Readers have told me they were moved, shocked, amused, and horrified in equal measure. All of it—the pain, the absurdity, the beauty—was real. It happened. To me. And it is happening, still, to many other gay men across the world. I wrote this for them too. So if you know someone struggling with themes like those I faced—identity, loss, abuse, mental health, queer shame and triumph—please, urge them to read it. It might help. It might even save a life. If it does that—just once—then I’ve done my job.

 

And Then Came the Films... My artistic life has never stayed in one lane. I've been a singer, dancer (once upon a liftetime ago!), actor, director, and now, screenwriter. From Mr. Lucky, three feature-length films emerged—each told in two parts.

 

The first, Do Not Go Gentle..., has already won three awards for its screenplay and is ripe for production

 

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