At 16 years old, I committed to becoming a professional writer.

Back then, in high school, I was the kid wearing headphones, tuning everything out, handwriting strange micro-essays and stream-of-consciousness thoughts every day, in every place possible. 

In my own way, I was delinquent—

I had intense focus, but it was strictly reserved for what I felt mattered. 

“Hyper-focused, selective attention.”

That’s what I’d call it.

Having been a voracious reader since grade school, regularly burning through multi-hundred page books in a day without problem, that’s probably where that focus took life.

As a kid, I’d always been raised to be academic, but—

For better or worse—

At the same time, I habitually hedged my high marks against a notorious capacity for free-wheeling fuckery. 

I remember winter Grade 7, when chaos broke out and a substitute teacher had to leave class to fetch the Vice-Principal, I was the kid wearing a Leafs jersey climbing out the basement classroom window-well window, racing to touch the other end of the building, then racing back freezing cold, and on the rare one event I got caught, I’d simply said:

“You mean it wasn’t allowed…?”

Sure, the behaviour was hardly criminal, but those kinds of acts were perpetually rooted in what I imagined I might get away with.

And for me—

My imagination was driven by words, and never by numbers.

Math was my nemesis—

Where reading and writing came easy, math was its own foreign language. 

Having grown up a reader, having seen how words could shape pictures any which way that they want, young pre-teen / teen Matthew being handed pages on pages of numbers and problems—

Then being told—

“Ok, there’s only ONE ANSWER—“

That’s the concept I could not comprehend.

And time after time, with math—

Matthew’s answers were wrong.

I resented it.

I rejected it.

And come Grade 11, at 16 years old, when streams of courses did start to narrow—

I was barely scraping a 50 in functions—

I took a look in the mirror, took the risk of disappointing my academic parents, and dropped math entirely.

In terms of careers—

Since math was out, science went with it.

And because reading and writing had set me apart…

I said, “Matthew…”

By the end of that year in school, I’d found my written voice through 100 double-sided handwritten pages of unfiltered thought. 

By the end of the next year, I’d added 150 more, then I’d jumped at the unique opportunity to commit to English Literature as my Bachelor of Arts.

And throughout that degree, I did do quite well—

But never as well as I could’ve.

Within that program, I never quite felt at home.

To give you a sense of my fit, on an English 3556E Twentieth Century Drama trip to the opera, on an amphitheatre concourse of wine-drinking theatre enthusiasts, I was the lone attendant drinking a beer (the bartender was so thrown off by the order itself, he awkwardly poured it out from a bottle, into a cup), and when I took my seat (coincidentally, right next to my ‘prof), she asked why none of the ushers had stopped me from bringing my drink inside.

Case and point…

I’m no fuckin’ scholar.

Put me in the nosebleeds of any close game, and I’ll be the guy cheering, shouting, and cursing at players just like I’m beside them. 

But throughout that 4 year degree, I kept writing.

Then, in 4th year, I fell into screenwriting.

Then, shortly after, I graduated. 

For most people who knew me back then…

That’s when I fell off the map.

And from then until now-

What I’ve discovered is what I expected, and what I expected was a true challenge.

Knowing that much going in, from graduation in 2016 onwards, I allowed myself ten working years to make something “happen” with writing. 

You see, when I committed towards a career in professional writing at age 16, ever since, I’ve been discovering the standard of what professional writing’s truly about. 

Initially, I saw the concept as making a financial “living” from writing—

But in the time since, what I’ve learned—

And without regurgitating some awful mess, like:

“It’s not about making a living, it’s only how you make your life”—

What professional writing truly amounts to, it’s professionalism, plus written results.

Simple stuff, sure—

But mostly, what that means in practice, especially for screenwriting (writing for TV / film), it’s refining work habits, an obsessive commitment to continually re-inventing your best, mastery of fundamentals, the curious will to experiment, and a steadfast refusal to quit.

Why I chose screenwriting, it’s because you can’t fake it. 

As a kid, I under-achieved.

As a young man, I committed to figuring it out.

And as a young writer, while working odd desk jobs that allowed me ample opportunity to write—

It was only in 2019, back when I started working CONSTRUCTION—

That all I already knew of professional writing was confirmed to the max—

And I saw how everything I still had to learn, which was and still is quite expansive, much of which I still have to discover (and same for construction!), could be aided by this seemingly unrelated, but still invaluably adjacent, path. 

In construction, with the help of my mentor and boss, we manage projects from the top down.

From meticulous organization of preliminary plans, to ensuring the proper execution of each finished detail, with the scope and standard of the houses we build, there aren’t any compromises.

Across a ten foot span, even a quarter inch deviation can have catastrophic consequences, whether it’s ten minutes, ten days, months or even ten years down the line.

Because construction workdays can often clock a dozen hours—

Now more than ever, I’ve learned to maximize the efficiency of each opportunity to write.

Both construction and screenwriting are worlds devoid of excuses—

Just do all the work ’til the whole work is done—

And do it so well, you won’t do things twice.

Some lessons I’ve learned from screenwriting, they’ve saved me from mistakes in construction, and in hindsight, some lessons learned from construction, they could’ve prevented the bulk of the bone-headed mistakes made while pursuing my writing.

Don’t get me wrong—

Over the past seven years, there’s been successes—

But also some things I’ve fucked up.

That’s part of life. 

And thankfully, so is making things right. 

My reason for writing this—

And starting this site—

It’s not so straightforward.

But I’m fortunate.

Honestly.

Some writers write their whole lives, never once finding the “THING” that fits right.

Me personally, I write many things—

But seven years back…

Here’s the thing.

I chose a specific film concept, believing it’d push me to become the most focused version of myself possible. 

I do see this concept more as personal responsibility than it is “written” work.

And from 2016 until now, mentally for sure, and mostly in-person, when I’m not engaged in construction, and when I’m not focused on family, that’s where I’m at. 

And how would I gauge the experience, plus the results?

Multiple years of me versus the page—

Day after day—

Night after night—

Putting in work—

Just to MAYBE work it all out…?

Well, so far—

I’ve made it out fine.

And so far…

So far the work’s in good hands.

Be patient, guys.

Just like I am.

I do love you, all.

Truly.

Even if you don’t send that back. 

At the start of this journey, maybe math was the problem—

But when it came to words on the page—

I owe the most thanks to those who said just enough, those who quietly kept urging me to count on myself.

Always be mindful of those who bring out your best—

Because they’re the best people you most owe results.

From This Day to Night…

Good morning, good day, and good night.