I reflect on my reflection
And I ask myself the question
What's the right direction to go
I don't know…

Man or Muppet, written by Bret McKenzie.

"I can't do this. It's too hard. Stop wasting your time with all this nonsense."

These are the kinds of thoughts that flood my mind on a somewhat regular basis.

To catch everyone up: I’m trying to get my feature film script made. And it’s a big one! An original, character-driven love story set during Woodstock 1969. A film about the power of peace, music, and human connection.

I’m a first-time writer. No solid industry connections. No financing. Just a 49-year-old guy with a full-time job, a family, and a story I can’t seem to let go of. (Or one that won’t let go of me?)

And on top of all that, the world is hurting. Suffering surrounds us on a daily basis. The country is divided and chaotic. I know there are far heavier burdens being carried right now, and I don’t pretend my struggle (to make a movie) compares.

SO WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?

Lately, the weight of all this has been hitting me really hard. I’ve spent the past couple of weeks on a somewhat self-imposed break from writing here. Paralyzed by doubt and fear. Wondering what the point of all this even is. Who cares?

So I ask the question…half dreading the answer: Is this a fool’s errand? Should I just give up?

Now from what I can gather, most self-help books out there will tell you not to think this way. In fact, it’s typically the exact opposite: “Manifest your reality. Think positive thoughts. Visualize success. Project confidence.” Blah, blah, blah…

SO MUCH EASIER SAID THAN DONE.

But for me, in the quiet moments I step away to dream or plan, the loudest and most consistent voice in my head is the one that says, “You’re not cut out for this.”
And maybe that’s true. Maybe I’m not strong enough. Maybe it is a delusional dream.

And yet… what creator/artist/writer/dreamer hasn’t had those thoughts? Hell, someone has probably already written this exact post! Maybe even typed these exact same words. (Maybe not comparing themselves to a muppet.)

There’s something deeply human about the vulnerability it takes to create something. To care about it. To keep going. And these thoughts I have? They’re not unique to me. We all go through this.

Oddly enough, that’s where I find comfort. In that shared experience, I crack a grin and find my own little bit of peace.

So I carry on.

Because as much as doubt tries to stop me, I know deep down I have to keep moving forward. I didn’t choose this story. This story chose me. And if I were to walk away from it now, I know I’d be miserable. Full of unimaginable regret. So I won’t. I can’t.

After a short mental health break (let’s call it a pity party picnic on the side of the road to creation), I’m back at it. One foot in front of the other.

THE JOURNEY IS THE DESTINATION

As I’ve spent more time learning (and practicing) meditation and mindfulness, I’ve come to understand something: there’s no real end to the journey. There’s no finish line where you suddenly feel whole, certain or complete. The goal isn’t to arrive—it’s to stay present. To be open. To accept the flow.

And I so want to bring that mindset into making this movie.

Sure, one could say the journey ends when filming is complete. But what about editing? Sound mixing? Festivals? Marketing?

What about how many people it reaches? The conversations it sparks? It just keeps on going round and round, and all of those things will continue to keep the process alive.

So, instead of getting fixated on reaching the end, I want to find joy in every part of the experience. I want to learn how to quiet the self-doubt by being right here. In this moment. Doing the work. One small step at a time.

Don’t get me wrong—I am excited about the idea of actually making this movie. Showing up on location, day one of principal photography? Yes, please. That would be a dream.

But I also want to relish every phase of the process. Every little milestone. Every email, meeting, breakthrough, setback. The people I meet. The lessons I learn. The things I discover about myself.

I want to be present for all of it.

I want to embrace the unknown, not run from it.

That’s the real journey. And maybe—just maybe—that’s the point.

I don’t know…maybe I’ll just become a dentist.

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If this resonated with you, perhaps share it with someone else who might need to hear it today. And if you’ve ever chased a big dream while fighting off your own self-doubt, I’d love to hear about it in the comments. How do you keep yourself moving forward and motivated, throughout the obstacles and self-doubt?

But before you do that, a bit of levity. Please enjoy the full performance of “Man or Muppet.”

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“The 16th Century had their Joan of Arc, and we had our Joan Baez.”
– Patti Smith

For more than 60 years, folk singer Joan Baez has fought for human rights globally.
A trailblazer. An activist. An artist. A seeker of peace. A mother. A wife. And so much more. There are few people in history who have accomplished what she has.

The above short-form MTV documentary Rebel Icon: Joan Baez, produced back in 2015 by my friend Hillary Cutter (badass extraordinaire and founder of Cutter Entertainment) and edited by the brilliant Farah X (multi-award-winning director/editor), explores the lasting impact of Joan’s music and activism. This piece was produced over 10 years ago, and yet Joan’s message of peace and resistance still rings true. As we once again find ourselves divided, at odds with the system, the lessons we can glean from this rebellious musical icon can definitely be applied to life today.

When Joan Baez took the stage at Woodstock, it was 1 a.m. on Saturday, August 16th. She was six months pregnant and her husband, David Harris, was in jail for refusing to fight in the Vietnam War. But there she stood—alone under a single follow spot, in front of a massive crowd of likeminded souls. And then, she sang. With the voice of an angel, she filled the night with songs of protest, defiance, and hope. Her voice cut through the rain and exhaustion, lifting spirits, rallying the weary. This wasn’t the first time she crafted such a powerful performance, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Joan Baez was a movement. When she opened her mouth, it wasn’t just music—it was a call to action. Her voice was her weapon, and she wielded it with purpose. Through the Civil Rights Movement, anti-war protests, and humanitarian efforts around the world, Baez understood the power of music to inspire action.

A lifelong pacifist, she built her career on the foundation of nonviolence, calling herself a “soldier at war with war.” Raised in a Quaker household, she absorbed the belief that human life was more valuable than borders, flags, or politics, shaping the convictions that would guide her activism. She didn’t just sing about peace—she put herself on the front lines. Whether marching with Dr. King in Selma, standing in protest against the Vietnam War, or traveling to war zones to bear witness, Baez used her platform to amplify the voices of the oppressed.

Her activism always went beyond the stage. In a bold display of her fearlessness, she once convinced a military colonel to lend her a helicopter to deliver aid, offering nothing but her voice in return. Even as the world changed around her, she remained steadfast, knowing that progress required perseverance: “Little victories and big defeats. Courage is contagious.” Hers was a life spent on the front lines of justice, proving that one person’s voice—when used with conviction—can echo across generations.

The documentary above is a beautifully crafted tribute to one of my heroes. I highly encourage you to take the time to watch it. It’s a powerful reminder that we, the people, have a voice—that we can stand up, speak out, and peacefully protest. Just as Joan Baez has been doing for more than half a century.

There is still so much work to be done. So many battles to fight. So many voices still unheard. Joan Baez showed us the power of peaceful protest, the power of music as activism, the power of standing up—even when it’s hard, even when it feels impossible. And now, more than ever, the world needs that courage.

After all these years, it’s heartbreaking that we are still witnessing so much injustice, so much tragedy. But if Joan Baez taught us anything, it’s that we can’t stop. We have to keep singing, keep marching, keep fighting. The work isn’t finished. The work will never be finished. But we must carry it forward. Because the only way to change the world is to never stop trying.

If you want even more Joan Baez, be sure to check out Magnolia Picture’s doc “Joan Baez: I Am A Noise”

I’m no spring chicken. In fact, I’ll be turning the big five-zero later this year. Time is marching on, moving faster—and the window to make this movie is getting smaller by the day.

I also know enough to know that getting this made won’t be easy. It will take passion, hard work, perseverance, patience, collaboration, time, support, and (maybe most importantly) a sprig of good old-fashioned luck.

Put all of that together, and what do you get? The cold, hard truth: this may be my one and only shot at making my own feature film.

And that’s exactly why I need to make it my way.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I believe in collaboration. Filmmaking is about working together, finding middle ground, and shaping a vision as a team.

But as I’ve begun to put together a development plan, I’ve realized there are a handful of things I’m simply not willing to compromise on.

So, I’ve created a list of core values—beliefs that will serve as the foundation of this film, keeping us focused on what truly matters. These guiding principles will ensure that every step we take—from assembling our team to shaping the film’s visual and sonic landscape—stays true to its heart.

At its core, All You Need Is Love isn’t just a film—it’s a movement. Much like the organizers of Woodstock ‘69, I’m setting out to create something that transcends entertainment—something with meaning, purpose, and impact. But ambitious dreams require strong foundations, which means being intentional about how this project is developed and produced.

Through fairness, collaboration, and an unwavering commitment to authenticity, I aim to craft a story that not only honors the spirit of Woodstock but also paves the way for a more inclusive and equitable future in filmmaking.

Partners in Love, Peace, and Music

Seek out investors and collaborators who align with the mission and ideals of this project—those who celebrate love, embrace curiosity, and champion humanity. Partner with individuals from all walks of life who share a deep appreciation for stories of love, peace, and music. Bringing together like-minded creatives and supporters will ensure that this film remains a true reflection of its spirit—one that uplifts, inspires, and unites.

A Fair Wage for Every Artist

Inspired by the model used on Sing Sing, prioritizing true pay equity will ensure that all crew members earn the same rate as actors. Traditionally, there have been significant pay disparities between above-the-line and below-the-line workers. This approach is not about guild or union status; it is about valuing everyone's contributions equally and setting a vision for a future where fair and livable wages are standard for all film workers, regardless of role.

Additionally, below-the-line workers often do not share in a film’s success. To help change this, we will standardize profit participation. Anyone—from lead actors to crew—who works a set number of days will earn a share of profits. Beyond potential earnings, this creates real ownership, a rarity in the industry, ensuring that all contributors benefit from the project’s success.

Shared Profits from Day One

Typically, investors recoup 100% of their investment plus a premium before filmmakers see any earnings. With a “First Dollar Split Payout” approach, from the very first dollar earned, profits will be a split between investors and those with creative equity. The initial split may vary, but once investors reach their return threshold, profits will be shared more evenly, allowing cast and crew to benefit much earlier than in traditional deals.

Smart Scheduling, Strategic Spending

As a period piece, we acknowledge the film comes with additional costs for era-accurate costumes, crowd scenes, music licensing, archival footage and more. Despite these necessary expenses, we remain committed to a streamlined budget—one that prioritizes fair pay while minimizing waste. Principal photography will be approached with a lean, resourceful mindset.

To achieve this, we will implement a tight shooting schedule and a lean budget to ensure an efficient, focused production. Recent indie films like Sing Sing, The Last Showgirl, and A Different Man have proven that high-quality storytelling can thrive with short shooting schedules (under 20 days) and budgets around $2 million. Through careful pre-planning, including pre-visualization, we will maximize time and resources, making every shot count.

A Raw and Immersive Vision

Inspired by semi-fictional cinéma vérité films like Medium Cool (1969) and Prologue (1970), we will merge documentary-style filmmaking with narrative storytelling for a more honest and immersive experience. Using multiple handheld 16mm cameras, natural light, and zoom lenses, we will create an organic aesthetic that enhances authenticity while allowing for efficient, dynamic shooting.

This format will also allow us to seamlessly incorporate archival footage of Woodstock - which will further expand the film’s visual scope and production value. Shooting on 16mm film also nods to Woodstock (1970), the landmark documentary that captured the festival in its rawest form. By blending fiction with reality, we aim to integrate historical events with the fictional narrative, crafting an experience that feels deeply authentic.

Filming Where History Happened

Filming in and around Bethel, NY, is essential to authentically capture the spirit of the original Woodstock festival. The region's preserved landscapes—primarily farms, fields, and woods—provide an authentic backdrop that enhances the film's historical accuracy. Additionally, shooting in New York State allows us to benefit from the state's Film Production Tax Credit, which offers a 30% credit on qualified production expenses. Productions with a minimum budget of $500,000 may receive an additional 10% credit on qualified labor expenses, including qualified above-the-line wages, in certain upstate counties.

Collaboration, Community, and Creativity

A positive, creative work environment fuels better filmmaking. To foster this, we will encourage crew members to bring their families to location and provide support for them, from partnering with local summer day camps for kids to pet-friendly accommodations. Yoga and meditation sessions will be available to promote well-being, and work hours will be kept reasonable to maintain a healthy work-life balance. We’re also committed to fostering a respectful and supportive atmosphere where collaboration and creative thinking thrive. By prioritizing kindness, inclusivity, and a positive work environment, we aim to make this production an enriching and enjoyable experience for everyone involved.

Echoing Woodstock’s Spirit of Unity

This project is deeply committed to diversity, equity, and inclusion—both in front of and behind the camera. The cast includes a Latina female co-lead, a Black female supporting character, and a Latina female supporting character, along with a range of diverse tertiary characters that reflect real-life multicultural communities. Additionally, we are dedicated to showcasing a wide array of characters through extras and background roles, ensuring representation throughout the story. This commitment extends to our crew as well. We will assemble a diverse group of individuals to bring this film to life, honoring the spirit of Woodstock and the counterculture movement of the late '60s.

Crafting a Sonic & Visual Time Capsule

The music in All You Need Is Love is more than just a soundtrack—it’s the heartbeat of the love story and a guiding force in Eddie’s journey of self-discovery. However, the number of songs required could present a financial challenge. To keep licensing costs manageable, we will work with a music supervisor experienced in the Most-Favored Nations (MFN) approach, ensuring all music rights holders are compensated equally. This strategy promotes fairness and cost control, making it a proven method for independent filmmakers.

Similarly, a seasoned and budget-conscious archival producer will be essential in sourcing and licensing the right footage—particularly from Woodstock, Vietnam, and the late ’60s. This material will add scale, historical depth, and authenticity to the film. By implementing the MFN approach for licensing and collaborating with an experienced archival producer, we aim to enhance the film’s realism while remaining financially efficient.

Guided by these principles, I am to create something authentic, inclusive, and deeply resonant. With a shared vision and a commitment to fairness and creativity, this film will be made with love and honor the spirit of Woodstock.

I truly believe that All You Need Is Love is more than just a film—it’s a celebration of storytelling, unity, and the enduring power of love, peace, and music.

With love & gratitude,

Gary Edward Irwin
Writer/Director/Producer

“Trina wears her wampum beads
She fills her drawing book with lines
Sewing lace on widow’s weeds
And filigree on leaf and vine"

— Joni Mitchell

Comics legend and herstorian Trina Robbins (1939-2024) was a groundbreaking cartoonist, writer, and fashion designer. Joni Mitchell famously captured her artistic spirit in the lyrics of Ladies of the Canyon, a song about women living creatively and unapologetically.

Trina wasn’t just a comic artist—she was a trailblazer. In an era when comics were overwhelmingly male-dominated, she not only carved out space for herself, but for all women in the field. She fought hard to make sure stories of bold and brave women were told. She was a fearless creative who broke rules and reshaped the comic industry from the inside out. Trina’s story is one of passion, artistry, and defiance.

Born in raised in Brooklyn, her early love for illustration and storytelling shaped her future. After attending Queens college, she immersed herself in the creative chaos of 50s New York City, working at the underground paper EVO and designing clothes for musicians and artists.

By the 60s, she migrated out west and had a brief but significant stopover in Laurel Canyon—one that placed her at the heart of the folk and rock revolution, partially inspiring the above song by the great Joni Mitchell.

By the time the 70s rolled around, Trina moved to San Francisco, where she found her voice in the underground comix movement, working alongside fellow artists who would help redefine the industry.

Trina was one of the 10 founding mothers of the anthology Wimmen’s Comix, an underground publication that covered a wide range of topics including, feminist concerns, homosexuality, sex and politics in general. Trina also led the team to produce the ground-breaking one-shot, It Ain’t Me, Babe, the very first all-woman comic book ever published.

By the mid-80s, her groundbreaking career reached new heights when she became the first female artist to ever draw Wonder Woman—an achievement that changed the landscape of comics forever.

Her contributions earned her a place in the Will Eisner Hall of Fame and multiple Eisner Awards. Trina Robbins embodied all of these principles. She lived fearlessly, navigating the underground comix scene, fashion design, and feminist activism with an unstoppable drive. She didn’t wait for permission, she forged her own opportunities and carved out space where none existed before.

Trina Robbins did so much more than create comics, she fought for inclusion and women’s rights. She championed female representation, both in the stories being told and in the industry itself. Through her art, her writing, and her advocacy, she made comics a place where women’s voices could be heard loud and clear.

While we sadly lost Trina Robbins last year at 85, her legacy lives on. Her life and work continues to inspire new generations of artists, writers, and creators who refuse to be sidelined. Trina’s work reminds us that creativity is a tool for change—and that sometimes, breaking the rules is exactly what’s needed to build something new. She shattered barriers in comics and consistently championed feminist storytelling.

If you want to learn more about her incredible journey, make sure to grab a copy of her book Last Girl Standing. (From the publisher Fantagraphics: This is the heavily illustrated memoir of the underground, feminist cartoonist, who fought the establishment and misogyny while running a fashion boutique and mingling with rock stars. From dressing Mama Cass to being pelted with jelly babies as she helped photograph the Rolling Stones’s first US tour, from drunken New York nights spent with Jim Morrison to producing the very first all-woman comic book, the Lady of the Canyon takes no prisoners.)

Sources:

Trina Robbins' Reflection on "Ladies of the Canyon" | Jonimitchell.com

Trina Robbins obituary | The Guardian​

A Tribute to Trina Robbins, From One Nerdy Jewish Feminist to Another | Hey Alma

On August 15, 1969, as half a million festivalgoers streamed into the sprawling fields of Bethel, NY, Sri Swami Satchidananda took the stage to deliver the first words of Woodstock. The festival was just beginning. The sun sat high, the air pulsed with expectation. The mud had yet to swallow sandals, the acid had yet to fully kick in. Before the amplifiers roared to life, a voice rose above the crowd.

It wasn’t that of a rock star. He didn’t wield a guitar or promise a revolution in three chords. Instead, he stood before the sea of young seekers and offered something quieter, deeper, and, in its own way, more radical.

Sri Swami Satchidananda, an Indian spiritual teacher with a growing Western following, had been invited by artist Peter Max, who believed that his message would set the right tone for what was about to unfold. And he did just that, with a spiritual framing of the moment that was about to define a generation.

“America is helping everybody in the material field, but the time has come for America to help the whole world with its spiritual message.”

With this, he held up a mirror to the paradox of American abundance—a land overflowing with wealth, innovation, and global influence, yet spiritually starved. The young people gathered before him understood this hunger intimately. They had turned away from the mainstream and rigid expectations of their parents’ generation, seeking something—whether in psychedelics, in music, in free love, or in the simple act of existing outside the confines of a system they never signed up for. And here was a man from the other side of the world telling them that the peace they sought couldn’t be found in rebellion alone, but through inner stillness.

A Call to Something More

More than a welcome speech, Swami Satchidananda’s words were a benediction for the festival itself. He saw Woodstock as something greater than a music festival: a sacred gathering, a chance to show the world what harmony looked like in practice.

“The entire world is going to watch this. The entire world is going to know what the American youth can do to humanity.”

This wasn’t just a celebration, he suggested, it was a statement. A test. Would this be a fleeting escape, or would it stand as proof that peace and love were to be more than just slogans? If this gathering was to mean something beyond a weekend of music and freedom, its ideals had to be lived where the euphoria of shared experience gave way to the complexities of real life.

And then, with a clarity that cut through the summer haze, he delivered one of the most enduring lines of the speech:

“Often we hear groups of people shouting, ‘Fight for peace.’ I still don’t understand how they are going to fight and then find peace. Therefore, let us not fight for peace, but let us find peace within ourselves first.”

A challenge wrapped in paradox. The anti-war movement was built on defiance, fueled by righteous anger and a determination to dismantle violent systems. But Swami Satchidananda suggested a different kind of revolution—one that did not require an enemy to define itself.

It was a message that surely unsettled some. After all, how does one stand against injustice without resistance? But he was offering something far more radical than surrender: the idea that true power lies not in opposition, but in transformation at the deepest level…one that did not rely on an enemy to define itself.

A Message That Still Resonates

More than five decades later, Swami Satchidananda’s words remain uncomfortably relevant. The world has changed, and yet—has it?

War still rages. Activism is still urgent. Protests still fill the streets. The call to fight for peace still rings out, loud and impassioned. And yet, his question lingers:

What if peace cannot be fought for at all?

What if it must be cultivated in each individual, one breath at a time, until it spills over and transforms the world not through force, but through sheer presence?

His speech was not just about resisting violence, it was about reimagining power itself. If war is destruction, peace is creation. If war thrives on fear, peace grows from understanding. And if war needs an enemy, true peace recognizes none.

This is where his words continue to challenge us. It’s easy to demand peace. It is far harder to live in a way that makes it inevitable.

The Swami’s Lasting Influence

Swami Satchidananda’s impact did not fade when the music started. He went on to establish the Integral Yoga Institute, helping to introduce the principles of yoga, meditation, and selfless service to the West long before they became cultural mainstays. His teachings have since influenced countless individuals, from spiritual seekers to social activists, many of whom have carried his message forward in unexpected ways.

He taught that peace is not a performance, not something we demand of the world, but something we embody. That unity is not an abstract ideal, but a practice, a discipline, an ongoing commitment.

And today, in a world where mindfulness and meditation are mainstream, we see the seeds of his message taking root. Yet, the deeper question remains:

Are we truly embodying peace, or are we still fighting for it?

The Question That Remains

Swami Satchidananda’s opening speech at Woodstock wasn’t just a moment in history, it was a challenge. a call to live in a way that made peace tangible. A reminder that peace is not something one demands of the world, it is something one practices and embodies.

His voice, calm and unwavering, cut through the noise of an era in flux and offered a different kind of revolution:

“We are all human beings. We all belong to one family. All the vibrations we create—let them bring peace and joy to the whole world.”

That was the real invocation. The real benediction.

And now, as another generation grapples with its own wars, its own crises, its own search for meaning:

Will we listen?

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Caught up? Good! Now where was I? Ah yes, revisions!

Now that the script was fully written, it was time for the dreaded next step—revisions.

Now, I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again (louder!): finishing a first draft was a huge accomplishment! But I also knew that the journey wasn’t over—not even close.

Now came the challenge of refining the story, tightening the structure, and making it stronger. And to be honest, this step might have scared me more than writing the script itself.

Let’s just say I was not looking forward to revising, but I knew it was crucial to the process.

Revising & Refining

The summer of 2021 was all about revisiting scenes, revising, and refining. I spent a lot of time in Bethel, NY (the original Woodstock site) volunteering at the museum, soaking in the history, and immersing myself in the energy of the place. Being surrounded by that setting, the music, and the lingering spirit of Woodstock helped fuel the creative process in ways I never expected.

In August, I took it a step further and spent a week in Bethel, fully dedicating my time to refining the script. The trip coincided with the anniversary of Woodstock, giving me a clear goal…

Finish a new draft of the script by the end of my stay.

Mornings were spent volunteering at the museum, while the rest of my days were focused on finalizing a new draft. Sitting in the very landscape where the festival took place, making edits with the spirit of Woodstock all around me, was a surreal and inspiring experience. It gave me the extra push I needed to dig deeper, refine the story, and make meaningful revisions.

August 18, 2021—52 years after Jimi Hendrix took the stage on a muddy Monday—I had completed a new draft. Euphoria, for sure.

I’d love to say that my experience that Summer set me up for success. That the confidence I gained from completing a new draft carried me into the fall. Truthfully, the opposite happened.

That feeling of accomplishment and pride vanished almost as quickly as it came. I had spent over two years pouring my heart and soul into this script—writing it purely for myself, without any real sense of what would come next. And now that the journey of writing it was over, I found myself paralyzed with fear.

Suddenly, the pragmatic, pessimistic thoughts flooded in. The high of finishing the script was replaced with the weight of uncertainty.

Am I really going to share this with people? They are going to hate it!
How in the world am I going to get this made? No way this movie gets produced!

Doubt crept in. So, I did what any scared, hesitant creator would do…

I sat on it. For months.

I vividly remember trying to convince myself that the journey was over. Telling myself—over and over—that just finishing the script was enough. That I had accomplished something meaningful, and now I could move on with my life.

But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. I didn’t come all this way, pour my heart into this story, and work so hard just to shove it on a shelf and walk away. That’s nuts!

Then came December 11th—my 46th birthday. Another year around the sun. A cold, harsh reminder that time was marching on—that I wasn’t getting any younger.

So why was I holding myself back?

Turns out, this annual existential crisis was exactly the push I needed.

Sharing the Script

I started small—first with my wife, then a few close friends. Putting something so personal out there was was nerve-wracking for sure, but I knew I needed to get some fresh eyes on it.

I gave very specific instructions: read it and give me no feedback! 😂 Well… sorta. I asked everyone to be gentle. I wasn’t looking for detailed notes—I just needed some positive reinforcement. I had never shared anything I had written with anyone before, and to be honest, it made me feel incredibly vulnerable.

So I kept my request simple: Does it work? Is there a movie here? I didn’t want people getting too bogged down in granular details or minor fixes—there would be plenty of time for that later. What mattered to me in that moment was whether they enjoyed the read and if they could actually imagine it becoming a movie. That felt like the most important question to answer at that stage.

The initial feedback was incredibly positive, which was a huge relief. Everyone I shared it with had nothing but good things to say. Sure, there was room for improvement, but knowing that the story resonated with them gave me the confidence to keep moving forward. And that was everything.

I’m so grateful to my wife and friends for taking the time to read that first draft. That encouragement made all the difference.

Taking the Next Step: Honest Feedback

After some more tinkering and massaging, the next people I shared the script with were film friends and colleagues—other writers, producers, and industry folks I knew would give me honest, direct feedback.

I’ll be blunt—I’ve always struggled with feedback. It’s a flaw of mine. Even when I know criticism is constructive, my instinct is to get defensive or take it personally. But I also knew that if I wanted this script to be the best version of itself, I had to push past that and really listen.

Thankfully, their feedback was also encouraging, which was a huge relief. But one major note stood out: the script was too long. And as much as I hated to admit it—they were right.

So I went back in with a new objective: tightening the story without losing its heart. I combed through each scene, looking for redundancies, condensing scenes, trimming excess dialogue, and making sure every moment had purpose. It was a delicate balance, but an important one. The goal wasn’t just to cut pages; it was to refine and sharpen the script into something leaner, stronger, and more impactful.

In the end, I realized that good feedback—especially from people you trust—doesn’t take away from your vision. It clarifies it.

Final Reflections

Writing All You Need is Love taught me a lot—not just about screenwriting, but about trusting the process. It was a lesson in patience, persistence, and embracing imperfection along the way. If I hadn’t given myself permission to just write, I might still be stuck on page one.

But beyond that, I learned a lot about myself. I grew as a person. And in many ways, that’s exactly what this film is about—how love and curiosity have the power to transform us. How opening yourself up, really listening, and allowing yourself to connect with others can break down walls and bring unexpected understanding.

This whole experience changed me. It changed how I see the world, how I approach creativity, and how I navigate the messy, beautiful process of telling stories. I’m incredibly thankful for the journey, for what I learned along the way, and for the ways this experience has shaped me.

For anyone working on their first script (or any creative project), my biggest takeaway is this: don’t get caught up in making it perfect from the start. Get the words down, find your rhythm, and refine as you go. You’ll get there. You can do it!

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I love scary movies. Some of my all-time favorite films are horror. The last time I directed a short film, it was horror. It’s the genre I watch the most and the kind of cinema I naturally gravitate toward. So naturally, I had always assumed that my first feature-film script would be a horror movie.

So how in the world did I end up writing a love story set during Woodstock 1969?

Well, sometimes, an idea grabs hold of you and won’t let go.

When I set out to write All You Need is Love, I had little to no clue what I was doing. But I did have a crystal-clear concept: A Love story set against Woodstock— that captures a moment in history where music, culture, and revolution collided. The film would follow Eddie, a decorated soldier on the verge of returning to Vietnam, and Diana, a free-spirited hippie, as they meet by chance and experience three transformative days together. This was to be a story about self-discovery, the clash between duty and desire, and the fleeting but powerful moments that can change a life forever.

OK, great—I had the big idea. Now what?

Writing a feature-length screenplay had been a goal of mine since art school, but it always felt daunting. And I quickly learned that having a big idea is one thing—actually sitting down and writing it is a whole different beast.

Now I wasn’t completely new to screenwriting. I went to film art school, studied movies, read my fair share of screenwriting books, and even took a class or two. I’ve also spent years working in and around the film/video industry, developing my own ideas, co-writing shorts, and collaborating on feature scripts. But this was my first time tackling a feature-length narrative screenplay completely on my own. Truly Scary stuff!

Now that I’m on the other side of it—with the script gaining traction in competitions and moving into development—I want to share a few things I learned along the way. Some tidbits of wisdom I picked up through the writing process.

This is a look at what worked for me, what kept me going, and how I finally made it to the finish line. Hopefully, it’ll help someone thinking about writing a script but unsure of where to start.

Research, Research and More Research

Since the film is set against the backdrop of Woodstock and 1969, I knew that research would create a solid foundation and play a major role in my early process. So, I dove into books, documentaries, and first-hand accounts—not just to understand the festival itself, but to truly capture the vibe of the time. I wanted to understand how people talked, the contrasting attitudes of the era, the counterculture movement Diana was part of, and the impact of the Vietnam War on young men like Eddie.

Even if your script isn’t based on real life, research, world-building, and character development are still essential parts of the journey. You need to fully understand the world you’re creating and the people who inhabit it—because the more real it feels to you, the more real it will feel to your audience.

The more I learned, the deeper my appreciation grew for the time period—the counterculture, the music, and the spirit of the late 1960s. Beyond that, all the research I was doing didn’t just shape the story—it was integral in crafting Eddie and Diana’s backstories.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but falling in love with your story is the most important part of the journey. Without that passionate fire driving you, those inevitable moments of writer’s block become even harder to push through. Looking back, I’m incredibly grateful for how deeply I believed in this story—it became my North Star, guiding me through even the darkest days.

I also studied films and screenplays with a similar tone and storytelling approach. I rewatched Before Sunrise, Born on the 4th of July, Coming Home, American Beauty, Garden State, (500) Days of Summer, Almost Famous, and Dazed and Confused, reading the scripts as I watched. I paid close attention to when scenes were cut, when dialogue went off-book, and how the structure flowed.

I can’t emphasize enough how vital watching movies is when it comes to writing. With countless streaming services and a mountain of free screenplays available online, we all have access to incredibly valuable resources. Pairing film rewatches with their scripts allows you to break down plot devices, character and scene arcs, act breaks, and more. It’s one of the best ways to study storytelling in action.

Guiding and Grounding the Narrative

I knew enough about my strengths and weaknesses as a writer to know that my first feature-length screenplay wasn’t going to be some fantastical, multi-generational, sprawling epic. So, I made it easier on myself—a love story set in one location, over just a few days, with a diegetic soundtrack guiding their journey? Yes! Now that felt doable!

"Write what you know"—sure. But maybe even more importantly, "write what you know you can finish."

Call it a cheat code, a script hack—whatever you want. I knew that having a few structural anchors would greatly increase my chances of seeing this thing through. So, I leaned heavily on historical facts—the setting, the festival grounds, the musical performances—all of which ultimately shaped the script’s structure.

Setting the story over a few days at Woodstock became a sort of narrative roadmap. I used the festival’s schedule and geography as guideposts, helping to shape the characters’ journeys and the overall arc of the story.

The musical performances weren’t just part of the backdrop—they became a storytelling device. As I listened my way through the entire festival lineup, I picked out key songs and moments that naturally synced with Eddie and Diana’s journey.

What artist was on stage when they first arrived at the festival Friday night? Who was performing Saturday afternoon as they spent time getting to know each other? What song played during their first kiss?

The deeper I explored, the more I realized how perfectly the music aligned with their emotional beats—almost as if the festival itself was shaping their love story. I was blown away by how seamlessly the musical arc intertwined with their journey, like it was always meant to be.

Mapping Out the Story

Before I ever wrote a single page, I laid the groundwork for the entire script. I created an outline with blurbs for each scene, noting its purpose and jotting down bits of dialogue as they came to me. I also used the classic index card/corkboard method—physically laying out scenes—which helped me visualize the structure and character arcs. This process also allowed me to (as needed) easily remove or move scenes around.

The Journey towards a First Draft

The biggest thing I learned? You just have to write. And keep writing!

I tend to overthink and self-edit before I even get words on the page, which can be paralyzing. I had to force myself to brain-dump ideas, knowing I could refine later.

I started writing in February 2020 and spent a focused week in LA at my buddy Jason’s place—going on long walks, brainstorming, and making real progress on a solid draft. Having dedicated time and space at the beginning of the process was key. It’s easy to get overwhelmed by everyday life—work, family, responsibilities—so taking a little writer’s retreat helped me start off in the right headspace.

When I returned home, world shut down due to COVID, so writing became an off-and-on process. Like everyone else, the pandemic upended routines, shifted priorities, and made it harder to stay focused. Some days, I found my rhythm; other days, I struggled to get anything down. The uncertainty of everything made it easy to procrastinate, but I kept reminding myself that progress, no matter how small, was still progress. I did my best to stick with it.

Finishing a first draft took longer than I expected, but I kept chipping away, making progress even when it felt slow. To stay connected to the world I was building, I surrounded myself with inspiration—photos of Woodstock plastered on my walls, maps of the festival grounds, albums by Woodstock artists on repeat. Immersing myself in the era helped keep the creative flow going and made the story feel more alive.

Looking back, I also realize how important it was to allow myself some grace during that time. Deadlines are great, but creativity isn’t always linear. Some days, the words came easily; other days, it felt like pulling teeth. But I learned that just showing up and putting something—anything—on the page, even if it wasn’t perfect, was enough to keep me moving forward.

By June 2021—well over a year later—I had a full first draft. Hitting “print” and watching those fresh pages stack was a moment in time I won’t ever forget. I can’t overstate what a milestone this was for me. I had officially completed my first-ever draft of a feature film screenplay—something that once felt daunting, even impossible. More than anything, it was the confidence boost I needed. Getting a full draft down proved to me that I could do this, and that realization was everything.

Stayed tuned for Part 2, where I’ll dive into the next stage of the journey—revising, refining, and the nerve-wracking process of sharing the script for feedback. What I learned, what surprised me, and how I (slowly) got better at taking notes.

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I recently learned that David Edward Byrd, passed away a couple weeks back - at the age of 83. The award-winning graphic artist spent his life creating bold, visionary posters that helped define the look of rock & roll. Renowned for his work with legends like Jimi Hendrix, The Grateful Dead, and Jefferson Airplane, Byrd’s designs became an essential part of music history.

He passed away on Feb. 3 in Albuquerque, NM, due to pneumonia complications from Covid, with his husband and only immediate survivor, Jolino Beserra, by his side.

Born in Tennessee and raised in Miami Beach, FL, Byrd pursued his passion for art at Carnegie Mellon University, earning a BFA in Painting & Design (1964) and an MFA in Stone Lithography (1966).

Byrd’s work wasn’t just promotional—it was revolutionary. His designs truly captured the spirit of the artists he worked with, translating their sound into unique vibrant colorways.

I first came upon David Edward Byrd’s work when I was volunteering at the Museum at Bethel Woods. I had always assumed the more minimal “dove and guitar” poster was the one and only Woodstock design, but one day - after spotting the above “Aquarian Exposition” poster, I learned Byrd was originally commissioned to create the official design. Turns out, he was already heavy into the counterculture scene in NY, so a collab with Lang and the gang was a natural fit.

In the early days of planning, Woodstock was billed as An Aquarian Exposition, so Byrd chose to focus on Aquarius (the zodiac sign and constellation associated with water).

For the central figure, he drew inspiration from Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres’ La Source, surrounding her with hand-drawn, rainbow-hued panels. The intricate design is a thing of beauty, and much more ornate than the eventual, more simplistic poster.

You can also notice that this version promoted the event to be held in Wallkill, NY. But after the town (famously) revoked its permit, the festival relocated to Bethel. Eventually an entirely new design was created and ultimately used. But Byrd’s version remains one of the most stunning collectibles of the era.

In addition to the Woodstock piece, Byrd created some of the most legendary concert posters of all time. His era-defining style became synonymous with the Fillmore East Ballroom, where he was hired by legendary promoter Bill Graham to create some of the most iconic concert posters of the late ’60s and ’70s. Here are just a few of his most unforgettable works:

Byrd’s artistic contributions extended far beyond the music world—he was also a pioneer in LGBTQ+ media and advocacy. In 1976, he illustrated the cover for the first edition of Christopher Street Magazine, the first gay literary magazine. From 1984 to 1986, he served as Art Director for The Advocate, the leading national gay news publication, helping to shape its visual identity during a pivotal era. In 1985, he co-founded Byrd/Beserra Studios with his partner, Jolino Beserra, a celebrated mosaic artist, blending their creative talents into a long-standing artistic collaboration. Byrd also left a lasting mark on Broadway with legendary posters for Follies, Godspell, and more.

If you want to dive deeper, be sure to pick up a copy of his autobiography, Poster Child: The Psychedelic Art & Technicolor Life of David Edward Byrd, which offers an extensive look into his groundbreaking career and the stories behind some of his most iconic designs.

David Edward Byrd’s vision shaped the way we remember the music, culture, and spirit of the late ’60s and beyond. His iconic work became an integral part of the rock & roll experience, capturing the energy, rebellion, and artistic revolution of the era.

From Woodstock to the Fillmore East, from Broadway to LGBTQ+ advocacy, his artistry left an indelible mark across multiple worlds. He will surely be missed, but his era-defining creations will continue to inspire for generations.

I’m confident that his legacy—like the music he helped bring to life—will never fade.

Sources:

New York Times, David Edward Byrd, Artist of Psychedelic Rock Posters, Dies at 83

Loudwire, Era-Defining Concert Poster Artist David Edward Byrd Dies at 83

Carnegie Mellon University Alumni Spotlight on Byrd

David Edward Byrd’s Poster site

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"Only love can conquer hate." – Marvin Gaye, What’s Going On?

I love this song. The lyrics, the message, Marvin Gaye’s silky smooth voice—everything about it. What’s Going On is one of those rare songs that feels just as powerful today as it did over 50 years ago. It’s not just a song; it’s a plea, a cry for understanding, a soulful call for love to rise above division.

When Gaye released it in 1971, the world was in turmoil—war, racial injustice, political unrest (sound familiar?) But instead of responding with anger, he responded with love. That’s what makes it timeless. It’s easy to get caught up in the noise, to let frustration and fear take over. Gaye’s words remind us that love is the only real answer.

Father, father
We don't need to escalate
You see, war is not the answer
For only love can conquer hate
You know we've got to find a way
To bring some lovin' here today

As the Beatles said simply: “All you need is love.” That message has always resonated with me, so much so that it became the title of my upcoming film (And the name of this SubStack 😉). But beyond just being a love story between two people from different worlds, the film is a celebration of love itself—love as a guide to put aside differences, to embrace the magic of the world around us, and to connect with each other in ways that transcend barriers. It’s a spirit deeply inspired by Woodstock, a moment in history that embodied the power of music, unity, and peace.

"When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace." — Jimi Hendrix

Hate is easy. It feeds on fear, misunderstanding, and division. It seeks to tear down. But love? Love takes courage. It requires us to listen, to empathize, to build instead of destroy. Love has powered the greatest movements for change. Think of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s message of nonviolence, of Nelson Mandela’s belief in reconciliation, of the way music itself has often been a force for unity—whether it was Bob Marley singing “One Love” or John Lennon imagining a world at peace.

"Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into a friend." — Martin Luther King Jr.

We all have the choice, every day. In conversations, in how we treat others, in how we show up for one another. We can meet anger with anger—or we can choose love. We can contribute to the noise—or we can be the quiet, calm and steady presence that makes a difference.

I know it feels hard right now to choose love. The news, the world around us—it can feel like hate is everywhere, louder and more relentless than ever. But I still believe, deep down, that love is stronger. Love builds, love heals, love endures. And even when it feels impossible, we have to keep choosing it.

Love isn’t just a feeling—it’s an action, a daily commitment to see the humanity in others, to lift each other up instead of tearing each other down. It’s not about ignoring the darkness; it’s about refusing to let it consume us.

I truly hope we can all work toward finding a place of love for each other—for every person on the planet. That’s what I’ll be wishing for this Valentine’s Day. Not just for more love in my own life, but for a world where love is the driving force behind how we treat one another.

Support Love in Action

And if you feel the same—if you believe in the power of love and the impact it can have—one of the best ways to honor that is by giving back. Here are six incredible nonprofits that strive to put love into action every day:

❤️ Choose Love – A global movement that provides emergency aid and long-term support to refugees and displaced people, built on the belief that love and humanity can drive real change.

❤️ The Loveland Foundation – Dedicated to providing therapy and mental health support for Black women and girls, ensuring access to healing and empowerment.

❤️ Random Acts – A nonprofit that spreads love and kindness through small and large acts of generosity, funding everything from humanitarian aid to individual acts of kindness that change lives.

❤️ Big Brothers Big Sisters of America – Creates one-on-one mentoring relationships that ignite the potential in young people, proving that love, guidance, and connection can transform lives.

❤️ The Trevor Project – The leading organization providing crisis intervention and suicide prevention services for LGBTQ+ youth, ensuring that every young person knows they are loved and supported.

❤️ Love Button Global Movement – A movement dedicated to inspiring people to express love and compassion through simple, everyday actions, charitable initiatives, and humanitarian aid.

The world needs love now more than ever.
And love—real, unwavering love—will win.

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If you’ve gone anywhere near social media this week, you know that Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl halftime performance has ignited both celebration and conversation. And isn’t that exactly what great art and music are meant to do?

Now, I personally loved his performance, but regardless of where you stand on the discussion, I hope we can all appreciate that moments like this spark debate, challenge perspectives, and make people think. The weight and value of these conversations cannot be overstated. Throughout history, artists have used their platforms for cultural and political expression, pushing boundaries and shaping the world around them.

More than that, Lamar’s performance arrived at exactly the right moment. Not only was it witnessed by a massive global audience, but it also landed smack in the middle of Black History Month—at a time when the country is experiencing unprecedented rollbacks in diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives. It serves as a stark reminder that progress is never guaranteed, and that the fight for recognition, representation, and justice remains as urgent as ever.

And music has always been central to that fight.

Throughout history, musicians have used their songs as acts of protest—amplifying voices of resistance that have only grown louder over time. Black musicians, in particular, have continuously shaped the sound and soul of cultural movements, using their music to speak truth, inspire change, and uplift communities.

This has been especially true during pivotal moments in history, when an ever-changing America finds its tensions and transformations reflected in its music. Song as protest has always existed, but it became even more public and powerful throughout the 1950s and 60s, as soul, blues, and folk artists gave voice to the Civil Rights Movement, racial injustice, and the fight for equality.

By the mid-1960s, the Civil Rights Movement had fought tirelessly for desegregation and equal rights, with landmark moments like the March on Washington (1963), the Civil Rights Act (1964), and the Voting Rights Act (1965).

Music was inseparable from these movements. Gospel hymns like We Shall Overcome became anthems of resilience, while soul, jazz, and blues musicians channeled the struggle into their art.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once said that "songs were the soul" of the movement, a testament to the power of music to inspire change and bring people together.

This musical movement of resistance and protest stretched across generations, with Black artists using their voices to confront injustice and inspire change. Billie Holiday’s Strange Fruit exposed the horror of racial violence, while Sam Cooke’s A Change Is Gonna Come became a defining anthem of the Civil Rights Movement. Nina Simone, James Brown, and Aretha Franklin turned their music into rallying cries—whether through Simone’s Mississippi Goddam, Brown’s Say It Loud – I’m Black and I’m Proud, or Franklin’s demand for Respect.

Jazz and rock musicians also joined the call—John Coltrane’s Alabama mourned racial terror through music, while Jimi Hendrix reimagined The Star-Spangled Banner at Woodstock as a searing protest against war and inequality. As the movement pushed forward, so did the music, with songs like Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On capturing the unrest of a changing world.

These songs weren’t just entertainment; they were rallying cries, fueling the fight for civil rights. Protesters sang to calm their nerves and lift their spirits as they faced arrest, beatings, attack dogs, and fire hoses. They sang on marches, and they sang in jail—for courage, for solace, and for a sense of unity.

As we continue to press forward, navigating a world where diversity and representation are under attack, the lessons of the 1960s remain urgent. The music played during that time wasn’t just entertainment—it was resistance, it was identity, and it was history in the making. The voices that sang then still echo today, reminding us that progress is never guaranteed, and that every generation must fight to be seen, to be heard, and to be remembered.

So, as we reflect on Black History Month, let’s do more than celebrate the past—let’s keep these stories alive and ensure they remain part of our collective memory. Let’s also amplify the voices of today who are carrying this legacy forward, and most importantly, let’s keep listening.

Because music, after all, has always been—and will continue to be—the heart and soul of progress.

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Some places just echo. You step into them, and the past hums beneath you. Music, in particular, leaves this kind of imprint—and certain spots seem to be forever tied to the artists who defined them. Reverb from years past. When you stand in those places, history doesn’t feel distant—it feels present, woven into the landscape. The first time I stood on the Woodstock festival field in Bethel NY, I could almost hear the music, feel the vibrations under my feet, as if the stage had just been dismantled and the last notes were still dancing into the wind.

Of course, some pins on the musical map speak louder than others, depending on who you are. Nashville and Memphis for Johnny Cash fans. Pigeon Forge for Dolly devotees. Graceland for Elvis lovers. Laurel Canyon, a mecca for the ‘60s folk scene. Liverpool for The Beatles. Greenwich Village, the Fillmore, CBGB, Whisky a Go Go…the list goes on.

For me, the place that has always echoed the loudest is Athens, GA.

I’ve always been fascinated by this city—birthplace of my favorite band of all time, R.E.M. They’ve been my musical north star since I was a tween, when my older brother first introduced me to them—he was deep into all things ‘80s alt-rock at the time (Depeche Mode, INXS, U2, Genesis, etc.). But it was the summer of ‘88 that sealed it, when a lifeguard at my local swim club lent me her copy (a cassette tape!) of Document. I listened as the first chord struck like a jolt of electricity—that relentless riff from 'Finest Worksong' hung in the air and I was hooked. Something about Michael Stipe’s voice, his lyrics, the band’s sound—it hit me hard and I’ve been a fan for life.

Michael Stipe quickly became a hero of mine. A gentle and kind soul, with a distinct voice—both singing and speaking—an originator in every sense of the word. His activism, artistry, writing, his whole approach to life. He was the real deal.

Since moving to Savannah last year, I knew it was only a matter of time before I made the pilgrimage to Athens. It’s just a four-hour drive, and for the first time in my life, this place—this city I had mythologized—was within reach.

Finally, this past weekend, we made it happen. A quick overnight stop on our way back from Atlanta, to catch a screening of Sherlock Jr. at the historic Morton Theatre, paired with R.E.M.’s music. The same Morton Theatre that served as the primary location for the The One I Love music video. The second I saw this event in my feed—a one-night-only screening that just so happened to line up with our Atlanta trip—I knew the universe was at work.

With only a short window in Athens, I made sure to see the landmarks.

On Saturday night, I made sure to walk past Wuxtry Records—where Michael Stipe and Peter Buck first met, drawn together by their love of music long before they knew what they were building. I stood outside the legendary 40 Watt Club—where R.E.M. first performed almost 45 years ago, taking the stage for a show that would mark the beginning of their journey from a local Athens band to one of the most influential groups in rock history

Sunday morning, I made sure to pop by Weaver D’s Delicious Fine Foods—whose slogan, Automatic for the People, became the title of one of their most iconic albums. (What a phrase! What an album!) And finally, there was the Murmur Railroad Trestle—immortalized on the back cover of their debut album. While the original trestle is gone, it’s been rebuilt and expanded into the Firefly Trail, a walking path that still carries the spirit of its past.

My whirlwind, self-guided tour through music history left me dizzy—in the best way. It was surreal to walk in the footsteps of one of my musical idols, to stand in the very places where this band—this music that shaped me—first came to life.

There’s something about these places, these echoes. They aren’t just locations—they’re living artifacts, holding history, memory, and energy. When you step into them, you don’t just see the past—you feel it. Maybe it’s nostalgia, or maybe it’s something deeper. A lingering presence, a hum in the air, a permanent resonance. A reminder that music isn’t just something we listen to—it’s something we inhabit.

So, what musical place echoes loudest for you? If you could stand in the heart of a song’s origin, where would you go?

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The spark for All You Need Is Love was ignited when I watched the PBS documentary Woodstock: Three Days That Defined a Generation. The film was released to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the iconic 1969 music and arts festival—a monumental event that championed peace, love, and music. The late 60s were a time of massive political and social divide, and Woodstock became a counterculture beacon, set against the backdrop of a nation in conflict over sexual politics, civil rights, and the Vietnam War. Now, keep in mind, this doc came out in 2019, when we were a few years into Trump’s first term as president. The division across the country was growing by the day, and I couldn’t help but be struck by the powerful parallels between these two moments in history.

As I watched archival footage of nearly half a million people descending on the small town of Bethel, NY, something unexpected stood out. Instead of being met with unanimous hostility, many travelers were greeted with kindness and generosity from the locals. Sure, some protested and boycotted Yasgur’s farm, but that was merely a footnote in history. To me, the real headline was how many embraced the situation with open arms. The unanticipated crowd put a heavy strain on the town, yet so many chose to help—handing out sandwiches, directing traffic, and even pitching in when the festival crowd grew so large that vendors ran out of food.

This willingness to welcome “outsiders” added an unexpected layer of humanity to the story of Woodstock, highlighting the transformative power of connection and community, even in the face of differences. Rather than focusing on what separated them, many locals looked past those differences and embraced the humanity of the moment. That idea—of contrasting worlds colliding— became the spark and heart of the story. This nugget was enough to motivate me to dig in a little deeper, and so began my initial research.

What made things even more fascinating was discovering that Bethel Woods Center for the Arts was only about an hour from where I was living at the time. I was blown away, I had no idea I was so close! It’s like the universe had subconsciously but purposefully placed me here. It’s hard to put into words just how life-altering that first trip to Bethel Woods (and festival field) was. It was cold and snowy, but as I stood at the site of the original festival, listening to music while feeling the sun shine down on me—I was immediately transported back to an August day in 1969. Over the next couple months, I drove up a few times, and with each trip, my connection to this location and the story deepened. It quickly became my happy place, and I spent as much time there as I could. During one of my trips, I found out that Bethel was hosting an open house, outreach event for new volunteers. The chance to learn more about the history of Woodstock felt too perfect to pass up, so I eagerly signed up and completed the volunteer training program in early 2020. I was ready to dive in—but then COVID hit, bringing everything to a screeching halt. The pause was disappointing, but it only strengthened my resolve to continue my own research and return to Bethel as soon as I could. Over the next year, I watched movies, studied screenplays, read books about the 1960s and Vietnam, and dug deeper into the history of Woodstock.

When things finally reopened in 2021, I spent the Spring and Summer volunteering (mask and all) at the museum, immersing myself and learning everything I could about the 1960s, Woodstock, and the counterculture movement. I learned so much about the messaging behind the movement and what made Woodstock such an extraordinary and transformative event. During that time, I connected with hundreds of like-minded individuals who shared in the enduring spirit and philosophy of peace, love, and music. I even had the privilege of meeting a handful of volunteers who had attended the festival back in ’69, each with their own incredible stories to share. (But more on that later).

As I reflected on this powerful sense of connection, I began thinking about the broader themes of the project. The idea of contrasting worlds coming together became the heart of my story, personified through my two main characters: Eddie, a “son of Bethel” and decorated soldier on the eve of his second tour in Vietnam, meets Diana, a free-spirited hippie and protestor of the war, deeply committed to activism. On the first night of the festival, Eddie finds himself swept up in a surreal journey of self-discovery, experiencing the transformative power of peace, love, and music as his feelings for Diana grow.

Setting the story over the course of three days felt like a natural choice for me, as I’ve always been drawn to films that unfold within a short, compressed timeframe. Movies like American Graffiti, Do the Right Thing, Before Sunrise, and Dazed and Confused brilliantly use time to accelerate relationships and heighten drama - all while exploring the alchemy of chance encounters and fleeting moments.

In shaping Eddie’s story, I also reflected on my own life—growing up in a conservative family with a rigid set of beliefs—and how those beliefs began to shift when I went off to art school. Opening myself up to the world, embracing curiosity, differences, and diversity, led to a profound transformation in how I saw myself and others. It’s in those moments of exploration that we can transcend the boundaries we’re raised with and truly tap into the full potential of our identity.

All of this shaped my approach to the script, as I gravitated towards the idea of blending the chaos and beauty of Woodstock with an intimate love story. Armed with a clear vision, a wealth of newfound knowledge, and a head full of ideas, I finally sat down to write All You Need Is Love. My goal was to capture this "lightning bolt" moment in time, showcasing both the contrast and the harmony between two very different worlds.

I couldn’t wait to bring Eddie and Diana to life—a story about star-crossed lovers from two very different worlds. And so, it began…

FADE IN…

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Dear Friends and Family,

Earlier this week, we honored the life and legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., while also witnessing the inauguration of the 60th President of the United States. Across split screens, reminders of Dr. King’s vision and philosophy stood in stark contrast to the rhetoric of the MAGA movement. The profound difference between these visions has left me reflecting on the deep divisions in our world and the many events that have brought us to this moment. In the months and years ahead, we will undoubtedly face challenges and adversity. Yet, I believe many of us will seek comfort, purpose, deeper connections with loved ones, and creative expression as we search for meaning and, above all, love. I know I will.

Every so often, I revisit Ethan Hawke’s TED Talk, "Give Yourself Permission to Be Creative." In it, he reminds us that creativity and art are essential, especially during times of hurt, struggle, and sadness. During those times, he says, “Art is not a luxury, it’s actually sustenance.”

That belief in the healing and connective power of art has inspired me to share with you all, the launch of my next project: All You Need Is Love. Set in the summer of 1969, during a time of contrasts—war and peace, division and unity, heartbreak and hope—All You Need Is Love follows Eddie, a decorated soldier, on the eve of returning to Vietnam for his second tour. When his small town of Bethel, NY, transforms into the heart of the Woodstock festival, Eddie embarks on a surreal journey of self-discovery. There, he meets Diana, a free-spirited hippie, and together they share three unforgettable days exploring the transformative power of peace, love, and music. At its core, this film is a love story, but it’s also about setting aside differences and embracing the larger world around us. It celebrates curiosity, adventure, and creativity—encouraging us to open our hearts and minds to new possibilities.

All You Need Is Love is my first feature-length screenplay, and it’s been a wonderful journey, beginning back in 2019. This script has been a true labor of love —an exercise in creative expression, perseverance and vulnerability. Over the past five years, (while navigating work, family, a pandemic, and a move to Savannah), I’ve poured myself into refining draft after draft. I immersed myself in research, even spending a Summer volunteering at the Museum at Bethel Woods – to better understand Woodstock and the counterculture movement of the late 1960s. Since completing the script in late 2024, it has become something I’m incredibly proud of, earning early praise, positive feedback, and even recognition in a few screenplay contests. This has given me the confidence to take the next step and attempt to bring this story to life.

But as I look to move forward, I also remind myself that this is more than just a movie—it’s a story I feel deeply compelled to tell, a journey to foster connection, and an opportunity to build a meaningful community. The guiding principle for this project is to create something that embodies the transformative power of love, inspired by the unity witnessed at Woodstock in 1969. During my research on the festival and the late 60s, I was struck by the parallels between that era and our present times. It’s clear that we are not alone in our struggle for unity amidst division. This realization fuels my conviction that the right idea, film, or piece of art—seen by the right collective—has the potential to inspire profound change.

I know the process of getting this movie made is going to be a long and challenging road, which is a ones of the reasons why I feel so strong about building a community. My hope is to create a space where we can connect, exchange ideas, and build a movement around this project.

So today, I’m thrilled to launch the film’s official development website. This site will serve as the central hub for everything related to the project—updates, behind-the-scenes insights, and opportunities to get involved. I’m also kicking off a Substack to document this journey in greater detail, share personal reflections, as well as exclusive insights into the filmmaking process. For more regular updates, you can also follow us on Instagram at @allyouneedislove69.

This post is the first of many semi-regular updates as I look to build a community of supporters around All You Need Is Love. There will also be additional contributors sharing insights around the history of the counterculture movement, activism, music of the late 60s, teachings of mindfulness, meditation and more!

I need your support to bring All You Need is Love to life. This grassroots indie film is driven by passion and a commitment to telling a meaningful story. As an independent production, it will rely heavily on the encouragement, enthusiasm, and advocacy of this community to transform this vision into a reality.

Whether it’s spreading the word, sharing in the journey, or simply cheering us on, your support plays a vital role in moving this project forward and helping share its powerful message with the world. I am so grateful to have you alongside me for this journey. This film project is fueled by passion and a desire to tell a meaningful story and with your encouragement and involvement, I’m confident we can bring All You Need Is Love to life.

Thank you for your support.

With peace, love & gratitude,
Gary Edward Irwin

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