Dear Daniel Craig,

Dear Daniel Craig,

Holy. Fucking. Shit. Letters to Daniel the documentary is going to premiere at Imaginarium a Film Festival and writers con. Un-freaking-believable.

How does that happen? I mean I work to make something like this happen. I dream to make something like this happen. With Missy busting her ass alongside me the entire time.

I wanted something like this to happen. They’re going to highlight Letters… and I’m going to get to see my film on a movie screen. I’m going to get the word out about mental illness, getting help, and stamping out stigma to even more people than originally thought.

For the asshat I dealt with the other day, I had an angel open a door and make a dream come true for me last night.

I was so excited last night I could barely sleep. Here I was touching the fringes of something I had always dreamed of doing.

So how did I get from there to here?

How did I go from broken down and barely hanging on to my dreams and my sanity by my fingernails  to this? A thriving author, blogger, and screenwriter. A skilled marketing director. I still live with the diagnosis but I have it these days it doesn’t have me.

How I wish I could tell you just how much your work and how you handle yourself professionally has inspired me to do my best and how to carry myself in the hardest of situations.

The lesson I carry closest to me is it about the work. It is always about bringing my best, most authentic self to what I do. To be open, honest, and direct.

There may be setbacks. There may be people who rub you the wrong way. There may be obstacles that seem too big to climb.

But that is all bullshit in the end. Look inside yourself and hack your way to where it is to where you want to be.

When I was 21 I wanted to be a published author. I had no idea what a blog was. And I dreamed of making movies that would be seen by many. I also dreamed of seeing a film of mine on the silver screen. Of doing a Q&A. Of writing award winning screenplays.

When I was 23 I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and all of that seemed a million miles away. I’m 38 now. And to everyone whoever said I wasn’t legit. Or couldn’t do it. Or perhaps was reaching beyond my grasp. I have a big, resounding F*** Y**.

And to those who stood by side in the hardest of times and believed in me when it was not easy to do so. I want to thank you. Because there is nothing sweeter than premiering your film at a festival and showing the naysayers than nothing and no one can stand in your way.

And if you have a dream. An impossibly large dream. There are the three words I say hang onto because you never know what can happen.

Never. Say. Die.

Sincerely,

Amy McCorkle