In the heart of Jacksonville’s burgeoning film scene, my journey as a filmmaker has been a rollercoaster of highs and lows. I have been a creator of comedy content since 2008 and began making short films in 2013. My latest short film recently and unexpectedly won several awards at the 8th annual LOL Jax Film Festival, including Best Film, Best Director, and a tie for Best Sound and Best Ensemble Cast. Despite winning these accolades and giving myself ample time to process it, I haven’t truly been able to enjoy it and am reminded why I sometimes struggle with winning awards.

My History with Winning Awards in Jacksonville, Florida

Back in 2016, one of my short films, Jessie Higgins & His Inner Demon unexpectedly clinched the Audience Choice Award at the Jacksonville Short Film Showcase. As with everything I had ever created in my career, it was a deeply personal project where I was required to wear all the hats – writer, producer, cinematographer, director, and editor. The equipment I was working on was subpar: a Canon Rebel T3i and various cheap audio equipment. The film centered around a solitary actor, Rob Moccio, in a mockumentary about a man that was possessed by a demon. I meticulously crafted every aspect from beginning to end and pulled off a short film by capturing my unique chemistry with my partner Rob.

The day after the win, rumors of vote stacking start circulating online, but the truth was I had no such network, and I was the only one associated with the film that attended the screening. I actually had to rush home to attend to my toddler and I missed the voting entirely. In fact, I didn’t even know there was an award to be won until it was announced on Facebook the next day. It was a shock, and I never really had a chance to enjoy it because a quick glance at the comment section revealed that many believed the voting system was unfair. These comments have since been removed, but I remember engaging with these accusers online, revealing that their claims were impossible. I couldn’t have cheated, because as stated: I was the only one at the event associated with my film and I left before voting commenced.

The following year, Real Reality: Life Inside The Discomfort Zone also unexpectedly triumphed at the inaugural LOL Jax Film Festival and it took Best Sound at the Spotlight International Film Festival. This, like my Jessie Higgins short film, began with a singular vision. With myself at the helm doing all the behind-the-scenes work and a spontaneous creative process starting with one solo actor and randomly adapting the script on the fly for new characters, feverishly jotting notes as we filmed to capture moments of raw authenticity. In post, I had to ADR the entire script because I lacked the sound equipment on set. I was actually using a studio condenser mic, mounted on a mic stand on my film set!

Despite winning, many of my peers dismissed it and credited the win as “too easy” due to the lack of competition — a sentiment that is still echoed by some of my closest peers to this day. At this point in my career in 2017, I had been creating digital comedy videos online for 9 years and it was frustrating to hear my win was due to a lack of talent in the “competition pool” and not simply because I, myself, am talented.

The Hypocrisy of Lacking Local Approval, While Reaching Industry Giants

Despite this, I pushed forward, attempting to network with other talented people, hoping that this win would allow me to one day build a team of talented folks to work with. I connected with boom operators and cinematographers, but nobody seemed interested in working with me. At one point, a local cinematographer that I admired said, “What you do, and I do don’t really mix well.” I explained that I wanted his look in my films, but he said he tends to only shoot dramatic films. It seemed that instead of people flocking to me to help me with my vision, they all built their own teams in the name of competition. That win effectively made me a pariah in my own community. I felt invisible.

Despite these local challenges, my art resonated beyond Jacksonville. Through being discovered by my online portfolio of sketch comedy and various contest submissions, I was able to collaborate with producers in Los Angeles like Thomas Kellogg, which led to me working with industry figures like Kyle Newacheck (director of Workaholics, What We Do In The Shadows, Murder Mystery, and Happy Gilmore 2) and those connections led to being a camera operator with Steve-O on a massive helicopter stunt. This is just a small bit of what I’ve been able to achieve outside of Jacksonville and these experiences highlighted the disparity between my perceived local skepticism about me and the broader recognition I received. It sometimes feels like the city that I call home doesn’t like me.

My Passion To Create Art Overrides My Disdain for the Spotlight

I don’t mention my connections to boast and I don’t create for traditional success—such as winning awards, gaining attention, or financial profit. I create simply because I love it and I can’t live without it. Since my first YouTube video in 2008, I’ve made thousands of digital comedy pieces, even though my reach has not surpassed 1.8k subscribers. My YouTube channel is monetized, earning me a few hundred dollars a year, so this isn’t my main source of income. I’ve achieved all of this while maintaining a successful career in digital marketing and the TV industry, as well as being a father to two wonderful children.

The truth is, I despise being in the spotlight so much that I even left a lucrative six-figure job that required frequent presentations in front of academic clientele. I walked away from that to pursue a career in TV, making half the salary… all because I want to create for a living… in the background, where I belong. Maybe that sounds a little self-deprecating? I don’t know. It’s just the way I am. In my view, there are two types of artists: those who want to be known for creating art and those who want their art to be known. For me, filmmaking is about channeling my passion into narratives that provoke thought, emotion, and even confusion—allowing viewers to interpret and feel however they choose about my work. I love hearing varied interpretations, even if it’s a negative reaction to my work.

I found Tweet that perfectly encompasses my feelings on the spotlight:

My Return to LOL JAX Film Festival: Shocked To Win

Eight years after my initial triumph at the inaugural LOL JAX Film Festival, I unexpectedly found myself in a remarkable situation. Due to scheduling conflicts that disrupted my plans for new projects, I submitted my film at the last minute. To my surprise, it not only secured ties for Best Sound and Best Ensemble but also garnered the prestigious awards for Best Director and Best Film.

At the age of 41, feeling weary after over a decade of relative obscurity, I had nearly abandoned my filmmaking career. During the Q&A session, I even humorously remarked that my career was over. Each nomination left me bewildered—how could my work even be considered? Yet, to my astonishment, I shared the win for Best Sound, attributing it to the wireless mics I employed, and tied for Best Ensemble with my exceptionally talented cast.

The first shock came when I was honored with Best Director. I couldn’t help but question whether the judges were trying to distribute recognition out of sympathy. How could someone who had undertaken the roles of shooting, writing, and editing the entire project also be deemed Best Director? It was perplexing, but I accepted the honor as graciously as I could, which was awkward.

Then came the ultimate surprise: winning Best Film. I was completely floored. When I heard my name and my film announced, it felt surreal, almost like I was dreaming. The sheer shock of it all left me momentarily frozen as I slowly collected myself to walk up to the stage. Much like in 2017, I hadn’t anticipated a single accolade that night, and I certainly didn’t feel deserving of such recognition either time. Imposter syndrome hit me hard and fast, making me question if I truly belonged among the other talented filmmakers. The emotions hit me like a tidal wave—excitement, disbelief, pride, and a nagging sense of inadequacy. It all culminated in a night of throwing up from excessive nerves, just like I had in 2017! The moment was both exhilarating and overwhelming, a powerful reminder of the intensity that comes with putting your heart into your work while battling the doubt that often follows success.

The Sobering Reminder Why I Hate Winning Awards

The morning after the awards ceremony, I found myself scrolling through the feedback on my public Facebook post, where peers and random audience members were congratulating me on my win. As I sifted through the comments, a recurring theme started to emerge: many attributed my success this year to having a “small team” rather than to my creative vision. It wasn’t lost on me that these remarks weren’t meant to be overtly rude—some people just have a way of implying something without directly stating it. You might call it a backhanded compliment. Some suggested that my Best Director win was due to the simplicity of managing fewer people and fewer distractions on set, leading to a more streamlined narrative. One person even told me, “I’m glad it was you, instead of someone else.” I had just won Best Director, yet I saw others publicly praising one another with comments like, “There are no other directors in this town as good as you or maybe this other person.”

These reactions left me baffled, and at no point did I truly feel like I had won.

Analyzing “The Weight” of Success

My latest film, The Weight, is a prime example of my journey — an unexpected collaboration that exceeded my own expectations. The film was initially scripted for a single actor, but just days before shooting, the lead and solo actor suggested adding two more characters, despite my clear vision. Trusting his judgment, I agreed, even though I was unfamiliar with the two new players. I adapted on the fly, working off the original script, creating shot lists in between takes, writing notes, and monitoring sound while directing (riffing with) the actors and operating the camera. Within a couple of hours of working together, I quickly knew their improvisational experience could make it work. We were having fun and I was simply capturing it. We completed the shoot in one day, with a few additional pickups later. I was in the zone during the whole process, and I knew during filming that we had created something special.

But now, it’s frustrating to see my small team being credited as the reason for my success, as if the number of people involved somehow diminishes the creative effort. Or maybe it’s something as trivial as the camera I used? Perhaps I have made myself a target because I’m shy and humble? Or maybe all of this is in my head? Regardless of the truth, any of these narratives undermine the quiet confidence I have in my own talent and discredits nearly two decades of experience in filmmaking and sketch comedy. I’ve developed a distinct style of directing and storytelling that works for me, and it’s disheartening to be treated as if I’m less capable simply because I don’t have the resources that other directors do. Working with a small team has always been a necessity, not a choice. I’ve long dreamed of directing with a full team to fully realize my vision — I have written countless scripts that have never come to life because they’re too big to execute on the scale I’ve operated in within my career.

In the end, though it’s challenging and probably mostly in my own head, I’m reminded that what others think of me is insignificant compared to how I see myself. Additionally, the value of my work isn’t defined by external validation but by my own belief in its merit and my dedication to my craft. Though I’ve considered giving up over the years, the desire to create remains strong. As we head into this democratized age of art and face the rise of generative AI churning out unoriginal scripts, it’s more important than ever for true visionaries to stick together and find new and original ways to tell stories. That’s where I’m at, so take it for what it is.