About Me

Intro: How I got my start creating a portfolio website.

Core Sentence — If you’re here, then you know that you don’t do things the way standard doers do.

Where I’m from.

I’m from a small town in north-east Bergen County, New Jersey; it’s called Demarest — if you know it, Hazah! Not many people do. For a town as small as Demarest, it sure does have a lot of schools: K-1, Elementary, Middle, and a Regional High School. Don’t get me wrong, it would make more sense to have a K-4, a middle school, and a high school; Haworth — one of the neighboring towns that sends students to NVD — has a K-8 (I’m not sure about Closter. I don’t have many friends from there).

Growing Up Dyslexic

I guess the cat’s out of the bag with this one; although, I’ve never much kept it secret. Hi, I’m Will. I’m 28, and I never learned how to read (if you’re old enough to get the reference, we can be friends). I can’t remember a time when reading came easily to me. I have the distinct memory of being kept after school to sit at a small round table in the back of the classroom to read from a workbook with my teacher. I don’t remember her name, what she looked like, or what she had me read. But I do remember her giving me one of those chunky Ticonderoga pencils. Said memory tells me it happened in second grade. My mom would say differently; though the bones of the stories are similar, the two differ in places. My memory says it happened in second grade; Mom’s memory says it’s earlier. Without the diagnostic paperwork readily in hand, the truth is relative.

For a town as small and chock-full of schools as Demarest is, the school system sure did — and probably still does — take learning disabilities seriously. Maybe that’s because it was a well-funded school district that paid their faculty enough for them to care, but the teachers (both for regular and sped classes) and the support staff made the trauma — I mean, the hard work worth it.

If you have any experience with IEPs, learning difficulties, or special education, you might have some clue about where I’m coming from. I was fortunate to have observant teachers that advocated on my behalf becuase they were adults and I was, well, a child.

That all makes it sound like it was just unicorn farts and jolly rancher rainbows. It wasn’t. Homework was hard; it didn’t matter if there was an hour or three hours’ worth of assignments; the end result was the same: sitting at the kitchen table with my mom, working well into the evening to get all my work done. Because there was absolutely no way I was going to be the only one in class who wasn’t ready to hand it in or go over it in class. It’s really no wonder why I have Generalized Anxiety.

How I got to where I am

By the time I finished high school, I was in all honors classes with zero prospects on what I wanted to study in college. I was good in physics; I could study that. I could go into computer art; I was good at that (to some extent) too. I didn’t know what prose was until well into my junior year; so language arts — I’m sorry, English — was out. Besides, dyslexia, remember? Studying English would be silly.

Intro to Writing

Core Sentence: I really did find a roundabout way into studying the arts.

Poetry, Prose, and Screenwriting

Quinnipiac University, nationally known for their political polling, their rivalry with Yale, and being across the street from Sleeping Giant State Park is most definitely not known for their film program.

I started my freshman year in the fall of (August) 2015, and to that point in time, with the largest incoming class in school history. Housing accommodations were rough: if you were lucky you were placed in a suit in Mountain View, or you were unlucky and were placed in Ledges or Commons were students were pressed four to a room. I was socially awkward, had no expierence with — how shall I say this delicately — unsupervised nightly activity with both boose and the fairer sex. And, most importantly for this story, absolutely no idea what I wanted to do.

My quad in Ledges accommodated two business majors, a criminal studies major, and me — an undeclared student in the school of Arts and Sciences. I’ll gloss over the unnecessary core classes (both for this story and for my studies) and focus on my introduction to English in higher education.

For the sake of privacy, I’ll avoid using real names; so, I’ll call my English 101 Professor Carrey — because I consider it a compliment and he had the build and physical presence in the classroom that Jim Carrey has in film. The man was loud, intense, and had a loveaffair with words. I’d never felt someone look at me the way he did, like when I was speaking his whole attention — his whole being — was focused on me; I haven’t met anyone else who does so to this day.

Suffice it to say, I was intimidated beyond all mortal ken, swearing to never take another English class — another one of his classes — ever again, once that semester came to an end. I was wrong, obviously, but we’ll get to that soon.

The rest of that first year, and the first half of the third semester, still had me unsure; so, I took a smattering of classes: philosophy, and some others I can’t remember. After a call with my dad, I was convinced to give Sound Engineering a go, because I like music and I like film, so it was a natural leap in mental gymnastics. So the fall of 2016, I delved back into math and science because I knew I’d have to brush up on them before taking classes in the School of Engineering. Unfortunately for my dyslexic ass, I found myself in physics + lab for health science majors; it wasn’t the easy forey into the realm of motion science I expected.

I also took pre-calculus because I didn’t take it in high school (thanks IEP) and becuase I knew I was going to need to know the basics if Sound Engineering was what I really wanted to do. In addition to those two classes, and maybe another I can’t remember taking, I took an elective called Understanding Film. The class was tought by a lanky professor who’s name I can’t remember but know that his wife was German and he had hair like Justin Beiber circa 2010.

By the time advising came around I knew I’d made a mistake: Sound Engineering was not in the hand I was delt, let alone the same deck that I drew from. And I had to make a formal decision soon. So, I asked my advisor if the school had a film program. He had no idea. I found that strange because he tought philosophy and philosophy was in the school of Arts and Sciences; if Quinnipiac did have a film program, it’d be in the school that tought Art, right?

Like me, you’d be mistaken. See, Quinnipiac did, in fact, have a film program. You see, like me, your logic was flawed. QU’s film program is under the umbrella of the School of Communication, but I digress. My advisor found the email of the chair of the film program, one William O’Brien — Liam for short. I reached out, expressing my interest in learning about the program — a genernal meeting, if you will.

So, with this meeting on the books, I think nothing of it until I’m standing outside his office at the appointed time. It was a nice meeting, very informative, and much to my surprise, not an info session; it was, in his words, a meeting where I “wanted to declare a major in film.” I said yes, not wanting to correct him. I ended up transferring colleges within the university to start my journey as a film student in earnest the following spring.

I found my way back into the world of English and language after my intro class to the school of communications, or COM101, where students are taught the big three disciplines offered: PR, Journalism, and Film. The professor I was lucky enough to get was Fritz — it’s not his real name, though it is a nickname. Fritz used to work at Disney and his passion was for screenwriting. At the time, I knew, in the abstract, that films were written, that there was a special format, and a special term. What I didn’t know was how close my fingertips were to grasping the knowledge.

Fritz gave us the basic overviews of Journalism and PR, but he sunk his teeth into Screenwriting. I fell in love.

What ensued was an affair that I sought refuge for every chance I could get. I fought to take more screenwriting centric classes; I fought for more classes with Fritz; all the while, venturing back into the School of Arts and Sciences to learn the laws, rules, and styles of English.

I ran back to Professor Carrey like a masechest (his words) glutten for punishment. I had him for Stylistics; I had him for Modernist American Poetry; I had him for a smaller class that I can’t remember the name of but remember loving. I also ventured into another realm of creative writing with an intro class and an advanced poetry workshop both tought by a guy from Brooklyn called Jason Koo.

Over the following two years, I wrote a chapbook called Subject to Change, had at least one of those poems published by Montage — the student media group; a number of shorts, and a feature-length screenplay that accounted as my thesis.

And then it was all over.

Well, not really. Though I did walk with my class in May 2019, I was short two credits. The school — specifically my advisor — would argue that it was my fault. I humbly, and vehimently, disagree. Y’see, the problem was that instead of having to take a language track, Film or Comm students could substitute the language for a foreign history or cultures track. Neither Liam, nor my advisor, explained what a track was to me.

I’ll save you the time. A Quinnipiac, a track is equivalent to a pair of classes — or six credits — in a specific field. I was a little dumbfounded during my last advising meeting when I was told I was down half a track. I was fortunate to receive assistance from Dean Reinhart in juggling my last-ditch attempt to earn the required number of credits to graduate. Meaning that I would have to find a class and make a case as to why and how it fulfills my remaining requierments.

This had me commuting twice a week from my home in Demarest to Quinnipiac Main Campus, Tuesdays and Thursdays, for a 200-level English class called Medieval Romance. Aside from being the oldest student, surrounded by 19 year olds who barely fit into their skin, the class was fun and easy and educational. And by the time that it ended, I was thoroughly done with Quinnipiac.

Little did I know that Quinnipiac would be done with people some months into 2020.

Locked In Quarentine

Covid was not fun. Having it was not fun. Being stuck at home for close to two years, started off boring, but ended up being time well spent in some regards.

I reconnected with a college friend, and we wrote almost every morning based on a daily prompts website. I rotted on the couch, wasting my days away watching TV, up until the point of getting bored. So, I turned to something that never held my attention: books.

I read Harry Potter for the first time; the Percy Jackson books for the first time; I read The Name of the Wind (after a false start with a misprinted copy) for the first time. Then, because of wanting a pair of prints by the featured artist in The Name of the Wind’s 10 Anniversary Edition, I read the Mercy Thompson books after a recommendation from my mom; then, the In Death books by JD Robb — another rec from mom; and the Scythe books… I can go on, and on.

In short, I spent a lot of time reading over that year and change.

Yet, with all of that time spent lost in Hogwarts, Camp Half-Blood, Temerant, The Tri-Cities, and future Manhattan, something was missing.

A Drastic Move

An Education Continuance

At some point during the lockdown, I had the nagging feeling like I left something unfinished.

That something unfinished turned out to be the feeling — the urge — that I wasn’t don’t learning; that my valued, if brief, education in screenwritng was not done. Not by half. So, I emailed Fritz. He got back to me with a pair of lists — both for graduate schools with a rep for great screenwriting programs: one required industry experience to be considered; the other, a degree and official transcript.

Knowing how hard it was to get that much needed experience, I ignored that list and set my sights on researching the school on the other.

With a lot of heavy lifting and even more help, I got the short and feature I wrote into shape for my applications. Of all the recommended programs, I narrowed it down to two: Loyola Marymount University — a three-year program — and the University of Texas at Austin — a two-year program. I applied to both and got into one. Which was lucky because the one I got into was the one I wanted to attend.

I graduated from Loyola Marymount University’s School of Film and TV with an MFA in Screenwriting (technically, it’s a master’s in Writing for the Screen, but that’s far too pretentious) in May 2024!

However, expressing myself through words didn’t fulfill all my creative needs.

Intro to Photography

Core Sentence: I never thought of myself as very photogenic, so I ended up being the one who held the camera.

Growing Up

All strewn about my house growing up — and still to this day — were photographs of family members from generations past displayed on tops of things and on shelves. Sure there was a good smattering of artwork hung on the walls, but none that had the history and memory that the pictures did.

I know it sounds strange to say, knowing everyone has a camera hard-installed into their pockets, but growing up, the first pictures I took were with a digital camera; back in my day, phones didn’t have cameras, and if they did, they were costly and took crappy pictures.

I can’t remember when I started being the one who took photos, but I can remember clearly when my skills were in desperate need.

Phone Cameras

It was a Google Pixel. I can’t remember which generation, but I know it was the second one of the Pixels I had. I was on Birthright with my younger brother, and I had used my phone to take some pictures of the landscape that first day. Somehow it got around and I became one of, if the, go to guy to get your picture taken.

The camera on the Pixel — could’ve been the Four — blew away the competition. Maybe it was the tech. Maybe it was the hand and the eye that it belonged to. I can’t say. But my skills were requested. And I’m proud of the photos I took.

Eventually, I returned to using iPhones. The Pixels I had in and immediately post-college can be chalked up to a small rebellion. It didn’t last. I got tired of the OS and I got tired of being the butt of jokes because of how my messages appeared on iPhones.

I can’t remember the model of the iPhone I switched to or how many I’ve had between now and then, but as of now, I have the iPhone 16 Max Plus. The camera rocks. And I by no means use, or know how to use, most of its features. In all this chasing the next new, shiny object, I found myself wanting something more tangible, more intimate.

Film Cameras

A friend of mine from grad school would often bring a camera to some sort of get together. Initially, I wrote it off as a talking point to peacock about; however, the more it happened, the more I paid attention. It wasn’t a statement piece, it was an excuse to live and observe in the moment.

I knew I wanted to travel down that path.

A day or so before Graduation, I got my hands on a pair of Fuji disposable cameras, which I brought to the ceremony and the following after-party — if you can call hanging out at Brennan’s with a number of exhausted recent graduates an after-party.

Those dinky little cameras captured some good memories. Said cameras acted like the first hit of drugs my DARE teacher in elementary school warned me about. I wanted more. But I knew I didn’t want a repeat hit from Fuji.

As a graduation gift, my parents bought me a Canon EOS Rebel XSN Date. It was only supposed to be a Rebel, but whoever packaged the order goofed, hard.

I wanted this model because it’s the one my mom has (or had). And, like the level of closeness and intimacy I find in setting up and taking a photo, I find having the same type of camera she had connects us.

Why I Built a Portfolio Website

Pivoting to Certifications

In the last couple of months, the job-o-sphere has been rough. The doors that I’ve been knocking on are the same doors that countless others have been knocking on as well. Then I remember, I don’t do things the way standard doers do.

After some conversations, I found myself looking at the Adobe Education site to get certified in their products; however, while searching for where to start, I stumbled upon Coursera.org.

I never thought I’d ever end up having a website, let alone build one from the ground up.

Web Development

WordPress can be a fickle mistress. There’s a complexity to its “inherent” simplicity (though duplicity can be more accurate at times).

I decided to get started on my certification journey with WordPress because many companies in my job search want prospective hires to have experience with it. In the before-times, I wouldn’t’ve had a chance; now, however, I just might.

Conclusion: How I got my start creating a portfolio website.