There is a simple, stubborn truth about storytelling: honesty lands. When you tap into what you truly feel and write from a vulnerable place, people relate. That connection is not niche. That connection is mainstream. The trick is knowing what to hold onto as you build a career, as you write that script, and as you shepherd a film from idea to screen.
What voice actually means
When people ask me what a writer or director’s voice is, I tell them it is less a style manual and more the filter through which you see the world. Voice is your perspective, your internal monologue, the way you digest and observe life. It is a combination of your lived experience, your humor, your anger, your tenderness, and the little ways you notice things others don’t.
If you can find that angle and commit to it, the final product will carry your fingerprint. It doesn’t need to be flashy. It needs to be truthful. The more truthful you are, the more universal the response can become. People may come from different places, but they recognize real emotion. That recognition is what makes something feel mainstream.
How to know you are creating the right material
I don’t think there’s a magic checklist that tells you a project is “right.” What I often tell people is what Jordan Peele once said in a Q&A I attended years back: follow the fun. If you are wound up to the point where making the art stops being fun, you’re in trouble. This work requires joy as much as it requires discipline.
That said, there are practical signals to watch for.
- Does this make you feel alive? When something excites you in that visceral way—those little tingles in your belly—that’s important. If you are bored writing it, chances are an audience will be bored watching it.
- Would you fight for it? Ask yourself: would I be willing to bend over backwards for five years to get this made? If the answer is yes, you likely have something worth chasing. If the answer is no, that is okay too. Do not force attachment for the sake of attachment.
- Is it fun for others? If you and a closed group love it but no one else connects, that is fine if your goal is personal expression. But if you want to reach people, you need to know whether others feel it too.
One of the clearest indicators of success isn’t budget or industry buzz; it’s the reaction in a room. Tom Cruise jumping off a cliff on a motorcycle is a pure example of audience delight. We all collectively feel alive watching that. That’s the sort of immediate emotional pay-off that signals something is working.
Practical checks before you commit
- Write a short scene that captures the emotional truth of your idea and share it with three trusted readers. Note their visceral responses.
- Track your enthusiasm over a month. If it fades quickly, the project might not sustain a long haul.
- Answer the “why” questions: Why now? Why this character? Why this scene? If you cannot find honest, specific answers, the story needs more digging.
Where the line sits between selfish art and audience respect
There is a difference between making personal, daring art and being so inward that you never consider if anyone else wants in. I use the word selfish to describe the latter: projects created almost solely for the artist, with no care if anyone else connects.
But some of the greatest directors—Quentin Tarantino, Paul Thomas Anderson—remain unapologetically themselves. That works because audiences embrace their work. The key distinction is whether your creative choices are giving something to the audience, not merely taking from them.
Audiences deserve quality and texture. People want to feel something meaningful. They want to be given films that are lovingly crafted, that smell of care—like receiving a knitted sweater at a birthday rather than a last-minute airport souvenir. Studios that pump out quickly produced content to chase clicks are doing something different: they are optimizing for short-term metrics rather than an emotional legacy. That approach can be called selfish, and it can also make life harder for independent filmmakers who rely on the industry’s appetite for diverse stories.
Teaching voice: a practical approach
When I work with students, whether at NEIFA or elsewhere, I lean on a few core lessons that shape everything else:
- Start with your life. Most of the work I make comes from real experiences—my own, or those of people close to me. If you are not writing Star Wars, the thing you can offer is an authenticity that only you can bring.
- Tell a story you truly know. Capture an emotion you have lived. If a character needs to feel loss, what does loss feel like for you personally? Use that emotional well as a compass.
- Ask “why” relentlessly. Why is this happening? Why now? Why did the character make that choice? These questions create nuance and prevent choices that feel arbitrary.
- Practice focused scenes. Instead of trying to write a sprawling epic as your first project, concentrate on a slice of life that proves you can render truth with texture.
These exercises are not academic hair-splitting. They are the scaffolding that makes directing possible. When you can answer the why’s, you can direct actors with clarity and generosity. When you cannot, the film will feel flat because choices on set will be tentative instead of decisive.
If your voice doesn’t fit the mainstream, what then?
First: mainstream is not a narrowly defined trend. Mainstream at its best equals honesty. If you write something truthful in a vulnerable way, many people will relate. Humans share more in common than not. Emotional truth transcends borders and demographics.
Second: there are eight and a half billion people on this planet. Someone is going to respond to what you make. That does not mean every work will reach everyone, but it does mean your voice likely has an audience. The mistake is believing mainstream requires conformity. It often requires courage and clarity.
Commercial success versus artistic integrity
Define success for yourself. It is the crucial first step. If your goal is a certain lifestyle or financial security, the path requires different choices than if your goal is to tell a specific kind of story.
There are practical tools to bridge artistic integrity and commercial viability:
- Own your material. Producing or co-writing to maintain ownership gives you leverage to profit when your work succeeds and to control how it finds an audience.
- Make work people want to tell their friends about. Budget does not equal audience love. You can spend $250 million and still have nobody recommending your movie. The real metric is whether someone leaves feeling compelled to share the experience.
- Avoid chasing trends. Trend-chasing often produces forgettable work. Focus on making something well-crafted and emotionally honest. That is what sticks.
If you can create films that make audiences laugh, cry, scream, or feel alive, you’ll win. That is true regardless of budget. The process matters: time, heart, and honesty built into the workflow are more important than a massive line item that doesn’t serve the story.
Quality and texture: how to treat the audience like a gift
Films are gifts. You can give something perfunctory—a last-minute airport present. Or you can give something knitted with time and love. Audiences notice. They remember texture, sound, rhythm, and care.
Quality does not mean an enormous budget. It means making good choices that elevate the material: strong casting, careful sound design, disciplined editing, and production decisions that serve the emotion. A movie with heart and craft will outlive a cheaply produced trend piece.
- Invest in the essentials. Sound and performances matter far more than a fancy lens. A bad mix ruins immersion faster than ugly lighting.
- Build texture. Small production details—props that speak to character, carefully chosen locations, unobtrusive design—create a world that feels lived-in.
- Respect pacing. Treat scenes as gifts; pick moments to breathe and moments to tighten. Rhythm is a secret weapon of memorable films.
A practical roadmap for writers and filmmakers
Below is a step-by-step guide you can follow to turn voice and honesty into a working practice.
- Identify a true emotion. Pick one emotion you know intimately. Write a scene that centers on that feeling without trying to do anything else.
- Answer the why questions. For that scene and character, answer why this is happening, why now, and why this character makes this choice.
- Write a short that proves the idea. A focused short film or a single-act play will show if the concept carries emotionally.
- Get honest feedback. Share the short with a trusted group and note the visceral reactions. Watch for what makes them laugh, flinch, or cry.
- Refine to texture. Add sensory detail, refine dialogue, and tighten beats until the short sings.
- Plan audience access. Festivals, targeted marketing, and community screenings matter. Think beyond distribution as a checkbox—plan how people will hear about your work.
- Decide on ownership. Keep control when possible. Producing gives options later for monetization and long-term creative control.
- Scale intentionally. If the short resonates, only expand into a larger project after validating that the core emotional truth still works at scale.
Common mistakes to avoid
- Mistake: Chasing trends over truth. Trend-driven scripts tend to feel thin because they lack emotional specificity.
- Mistake: Confusing art for audience disregard. Making something solely for yourself is fine. But when large budgets and wide distribution are involved, ignoring the audience can have broader negative effects.
- Mistake: Skipping the “why.” If you cannot explain why a character behaves a certain way, directing and performance will suffer.
- Mistake: Neglecting craft. Low budgets do not excuse sloppiness in sound, editing, or performance selection.
- Mistake: Over-investing in gimmicks. Gimmicks rarely sustain narrative weight. They can create buzz but not lasting emotional connection.
Habits and exercises that actually work
Here are daily and weekly habits that develop voice and rigor.
- Daily observation notes. Keep a small notebook or a notes app item where you jot truthful observations about people and places. Small details later become big scene anchors.
- The 10-minute scene. Once a week, write a scene in ten minutes focusing only on a single emotional beat. Do not edit. The pressure creates clarity.
- Why inventory. For any scene you edit, list five reasons a character does what they do. If you can only find one, the motivation is weak.
- Screen a favorite film slowly. Watch a movie you love and pause every three minutes. Note what creates texture: camera moves, soundscapes, micro-beats.
- Practice directing actors. If possible, rehearse with friends and vary the direction to see how many truthful options an actor can find.
Quotes to remember
“If you can tap into the truth of what you’re writing in a really vulnerable way, you’re going to have a lot of people who are going to relate and uh that is mainstream. The truth of humanity is mainstream.”
“Follow the fun.”
“Mainstream is honesty.”
These lines sound simple because they are. The difficulty is in living them day after day while practicing the craft.
How do I find my voice as a writer or director?
How do I know if I’m working on the right project?
What if my voice isn’t mainstream?
Can I be uncompromising in my art and still reach an audience?
Does budget determine whether a movie will succeed?
How can I balance making art for myself with making films that audiences will love?
Final thoughts
The film industry is noisy and full of tempting shortcuts. Buzz, algorithms, and trend cycles can make it feel necessary to bend your work into shapes you do not recognize. Resist that pressure by returning to two fundamentals: honesty and care. When you write from truth, when you ask why relentlessly, and when you treat your audience like human beings deserving of texture and craft, you build films that matter.
Make art that you believe in, have fun doing it, and then ask the hard questions to sharpen the work. If you do, the audience will find the honesty in what you made and bring others with them. That is the real path to both meaning and reach.
