It's been 81 years since Virginia Woolf published her famously-quoted essay, based on lectures she delivered at Cambridge a year prior. And it's been decades since I read it. It has taken me just about that long to finally follow her advice; " a woman must have a room of her own if she is to write." Only this time I'm not just writing. I'm also directing -- an ultra-low budget feature film that is personal, intimate, and absolutely from a woman's point of view. It still kinda stuns me. After decades nurturing the voice and vision of other filmmakers, first as a studio executive, then as an independent producer, I'm daring to claim to my own creativity.
So here I am, in the middle of my life, filling up my own room. What took me so long? I was raised as a feminist; my mother gave me a subscription to MS Magazinefor my 13th Birthday. I embraced an education, followed by a robust career as a studio executive. And I considered it an empowering choice, for which I was grateful, to step off the career track and onto the mommy track. How did I loose track of my own dreams in the process? Or did the dreams transform?
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