f you've come across my work online, there's a good chance you've seen an avatar of me before you've seen the real person behind it.
You may have seen me hosting a podcast aboard a hot air balloon, exploring the Pacific Northwest, or appearing in a music video in some wildly imaginative setting that doesn't exist anywhere outside of my head.
But who is the person behind the avatar? And how does someone end up becoming an AI filmmaker in the first place?
To answer that, I have to go back quite a few years.
I've been writing fiction since I was a little girl.
I was a huge Goosebumps fan, and anything involving science fiction, the supernatural, or worlds beyond our own had my attention. I loved the idea that you could sit down with a blank piece of paper and create an entire universe out of absolutely nothing.
That fascination never really went away.
My love for science fiction and storytelling followed me well into adulthood, although my taste in television has always been a bit all over the map. Some of my favorites include Outlander, Breaking Bad, Heroes, Halt and Catch Fire, The Office, and Ted Lasso. I can get just as invested in a good comedy as I can in a complex drama or a story that stretches the boundaries of reality. I suppose I've always been drawn to stories that have interesting characters, unexpected twists, and something that keeps me thinking long after the credits roll.
Outside of writing, I've always had a love for music, photography, and experimenting with different forms of creative expression. Jazz and blues have always been my favorite genres, and I spent six years performing as a lounge singer around the greater Seattle area. Photography became another creative outlet, along with dabbling in videography, where I developed an appreciation for camera angles, lighting, composition, and movement. What I didn't realize at the time was how valuable those interests would become. Each gave me a different way of understanding storytelling, and together they helped shape the creative instincts I now rely on as an AI filmmaker.
The writer, the singer, the science fiction nerd, the technology enthusiast. They've all been there, quietly coexisting for most of my life.
I just didn't realize how they would eventually come together.
While creativity has always been part of my life, much of my professional career has been spent working in marketing and technology. I've always been curious about emerging technologies and how they might change the way we live, work, and interact with the world.
That curiosity eventually led me into virtual reality and the founding of VRenity, a startup focused on creating simulated environments for stress reduction. Our original vision was to explore how VR could help people experiencing PTSD, chronic stress, and sensory overload, particularly those on the autism spectrum.
We developed the VRenity Treehouse Retreat, which is currently available for Meta Quest as an early minimum viable product (MVP). We have a roadmap for expanding the experience, including plans to adapt it for the next generation of Meta VR glasses.
As generative AI technology advanced, I became increasingly interested in its potential as a new medium for creative expression. The ability to design environments, develop characters, and produce cinematic storytelling opened up an entirely new avenue for VRenity, one that brought together my background in technology with my lifelong passion for the arts.
For the first time, I had access to tools that could help transform stories I'd imagined and written into visual experiences. And all those years spent exploring fiction, music, photography, and videography were suddenly proving useful in ways I hadn't anticipated.
One of the things I find most exciting about AI filmmaking is the freedom to take an idea and actually do something with it. I've had stories, characters, and fictional worlds floating around in my head for years, and now I have the ability to turn those ideas into something people can watch and experience.
There's something incredibly satisfying about seeing a character you've written come to life, hearing their voice for the first time, or watching a scene unfold that previously existed only in your imagination. It brings back that same excitement I had as a kid writing fiction, except now I get to explore those stories visually.
At VRenity, we've been putting that creative freedom to work across several projects, each with its own style and approach to storytelling.
A Nerd's Point of View is a podcast where I interview subject matter experts across technology, creative industries, and life sciences. The conversations are real, but the visual setting is entirely imagined. My avatar hosts the show aboard a luxury hot air balloon, creating a unique environment for conversations about the intersection of technology and human experience.
Find Your Wild is a travel and tourism series highlighting destinations, properties, and experiences throughout the Pacific Northwest. It combines my interest in travel and storytelling with a new approach to producing promotional and entertainment content.
Then there's The Reals: Rebirth, a science fiction story I began writing four years ago. This project is particularly meaningful because it represents the kind of storytelling I've wanted to pursue since childhood. I'm now developing the characters, environments, and cinematic sequences that will bring that fictional universe to life.
What's interesting to me is how different these projects are from one another. A podcast, a travel series, and a science fiction production may not seem to have much in common, but they all represent the same opportunity: using emerging technology to create content that would have previously required a much larger production operation.
And as I've gotten deeper into the filmmaking process, I've discovered just how much creative work goes into making it all come together.
There's a common misconception that AI filmmaking involves typing a few words into a prompt box, clicking a button, and watching a finished movie magically appear.
I wish it were that simple.
The reality, at least for the kind of filmmaking I'm pursuing, is far more involved.
I'm currently documenting my production process as I work toward creating longer-form content with complex narratives, character development, and stories that may span multiple hours.
It begins with the writing.
Story architecture, character motivations, emotional arcs, dialogue, pacing, and the relationships between characters all have to be developed before the first scene is generated.
Then comes the visual design.
What do the characters look like? How do they move? What do their voices sound like? What environments do they inhabit? What props are important? What is the lighting, camera angle, composition, and emotional tone of each shot?
Every scene has to be considered individually while still contributing to the larger story.
To bring these scenes to life, I work with a variety of AI image and video generation tools, including Kling, OmniHuman, Nano Banana, Seedance, and Veo. Each offers different capabilities, and part of the creative process involves understanding which tools are best suited for the visual style, character performance, and cinematic direction I'm trying to achieve.
Maintaining character consistency across dozens or hundreds of shots is an ongoing challenge. So is capturing subtle facial expressions, natural dialogue, believable interactions, and the emotional continuity that makes a scene feel authentic.
Sometimes you'll spend an extraordinary amount of time trying to capture a shot that lasts only a few seconds.
A character might look perfect but move unnaturally. The dialogue might be excellent, but the facial expression doesn't match the emotion. The camera might do something entirely unexpected.
And then you try again.
And again.
There is a tremendous amount of trial and error involved, and developing an understanding of how to direct these models is becoming an art form in its own right.
AI doesn't eliminate the need for creative judgment. It changes where that judgment is applied.
For me, the challenge is not simply generating beautiful imagery. It's creating characters and stories that make people feel something.
That's a much higher bar.
One of the most fascinating aspects of this technology is how accessible it's becoming.
Many of these sophisticated AI models are now available through relatively affordable subscription-based software.
Someone with a compelling story, a computer, and the willingness to learn can begin experimenting with cinematic production without needing access to a traditional studio, expensive equipment, or a large production crew.
That is a significant shift.
For generations, bringing an ambitious story to the screen required substantial financial backing, industry connections, and the approval of people who controlled access to production and distribution.
Now, the barriers are beginning to come down.
We no longer have to wait for someone to give us permission to create.
We can have an idea and begin bringing it to life ourselves.
Better yet, we can collaborate with other creative individuals who bring their own unique talents to the process. Writers, musicians, designers, actors, editors, and technologists can work together in entirely new ways.
I believe this presents an opportunity to rethink what a creative studio can look like.
And I think we're only beginning to understand the implications.
Hollywood and the technology industry are experiencing enormous disruption. Business models are shifting, production workflows are changing, and there is understandable uncertainty about what all of this means for the people who have built their careers in these industries.
I don't dismiss those concerns.
But I also see an extraordinary opportunity emerging for people who are creatively talented, technologically curious, and willing to learn.
We may be witnessing the early stages of a new creative renaissance.
One where the ability to imagine something becomes increasingly important because the tools to execute it are becoming accessible to more people.
There's no denying that AI has become one of the most polarizing technologies of our time. Conversations about its impact on artists, employment, intellectual property, and authenticity have sparked strong opinions, and understandably so.
I respect that not everyone sees AI-generated art the way I do. But I also think there's an important perspective that's often missing from these conversations: the human being behind the creation.
When I see an AI-generated film, I think about the person who imagined the story, developed the characters, wrote the dialogue, and spent countless hours bringing those ideas to life. I think about the people who may have had stories sitting on their shelves for years because they lacked the resources or connections to turn them into something more.
To me, AI is another medium for artistic expression. It doesn't replace the imagination, emotions, or lived experiences that inspire a story. Those things still come from us.
That doesn't mean I'm blind to the risks.
Having spent years working in technology, I'm well aware of how quickly new tools can be exploited. Deepfakes, misinformation, fraud, and propaganda are legitimate concerns that deserve serious attention.
In fact, I once wrote to then-Vice President Kamala Harris expressing my concerns about AI's potential to spread propaganda and manipulate public perception. I received a polite, somewhat boilerplate response, but the concerns I raised then are still very much relevant today.
I believe transparency is essential. AI-generated content should be clearly identified, particularly when there's a risk of misleading people into believing something is authentic footage. Responsible use, accountability, and public awareness need to evolve alongside the technology.
But I also believe we need to distinguish between using AI to deceive and using AI to create.
I choose to see the artist behind the avatar. The writer, musician, filmmaker, or everyday person who has found a new outlet for their creativity. For some, it may even offer a therapeutic way to process experiences, express emotions, or give form to stories they've carried with them for years.
That is the side of AI I want to contribute to.
I've often thought about how people respond when technology fundamentally changes something familiar. In some ways, it reminds me of the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
Of course, technological change isn't the same as personal loss, and everyone processes disruption differently. But I think there's something relatable about the emotional journey of watching the world change around you, particularly when those changes threaten the way you've always worked or created.
I've experienced some of those emotions myself.
There was a time when I felt angry and frustrated by the pace of change and the uncertainty surrounding it. I understood why people were resistant, because I had my own reservations about where all of this was heading.
Eventually, though, my perspective shifted. Rather than focusing entirely on what was changing beyond my control, I started thinking about what I could do with the opportunities emerging in front of me.
I've spent more than two decades developing skills across technology, marketing, business, and the arts. What if I could bring those experiences together to build something that allowed me to work independently, pursue my creative interests, and continue supporting a mission I genuinely believe in?
For me, acceptance wasn't about abandoning my concerns or embracing every application of AI. It was about recognizing that I could participate in shaping how the technology is used, at least within the work I choose to create.
And perhaps that's where I see the greatest opportunity.
We don't have to agree on every aspect of AI to recognize that it's changing the world around us. We can question it, challenge it, advocate for responsible practices, and still explore the possibilities it presents.
I've chosen to approach that uncertainty with curiosity and a willingness to adapt. Not because I have all the answers, but because I'd rather play an active role in what comes next than sit on the sidelines waiting to see what happens.
I won't pretend that entrepreneurship has been easy.
There have been plenty of moments when I've questioned my decisions, my direction, and whether the sacrifices I've made will ever amount to what I hoped they would.
Building VRenity has tested me in ways I never anticipated.
But underneath the business plans, the technology, the financial pressures, and the endless hours spent figuring things out, there's still a very simple motivation.
I want to create things that matter.
I want to tell stories.
I want to explore ideas that make people think, laugh, feel, and maybe see the world a little differently.
Because somewhere along the way, I found a medium that brought together parts of myself I had spent most of my life keeping in separate compartments.
The little girl who loved writing science fiction.
The woman who spent her weekends singing jazz and blues.
The technology nerd fascinated by what's possible.
The entrepreneur trying to build something meaningful.
The storyteller who still has a head full of characters, worlds, and adventures waiting to be explored.
AI filmmaking gave those parts of me a place to converge.
I don't expect everyone to appreciate the medium. I don't need everyone to agree with my perspective, either.
But I do hope that as this technology evolves, we remember that behind many of these digital characters, synthetic environments, and AI-generated performances are real people with real stories to tell.
People who are experimenting, learning, and finding new ways to express themselves.
For me, AI filmmaking isn't about removing the human element from art.
It's about discovering another way to bring more of my humanity into what I create.