The Craft Behind the Camera

My truth? Endless searching. And patience. A lot of patience.

I have a switch I can’t control.
It flips on without warning—during a casual conversation, on a walk, reading the news—and suddenly, I’m locked in. Something clicks, and I start observing. A story is forming. From that moment, I can’t let it go.

This switch doesn’t care if it’s the weekend, a vacation, or the holidays.
It’s part instinct, part muscle memory, sharpened over years of producing TV. But it demands stamina—both physical and mental.

Unlike news, where you show things as they are, producing a feature means going deeper. It requires research, trust-building, and careful prep—long before the camera rolls. People don’t move on your schedule, so you learn to wait. Timing is everything. So is patience. I wasn’t naturally good at either. I had to learn—sometimes the hard way.

Years ago, I was working on a feature about a Major League Baseball star. I’d arranged to interview his coach during a three-day home game series. But we hadn’t set an exact time. On the first day, eager to start, I approached the coach before the game. He was chatting and laughing with the players in the dugout. I interrupted.

He froze. The smile dropped.
“I’m talking with them now,” he said sharply.
Even the players looked surprised and tried to smooth things over. But the coach turned away. I didn’t get a word from him that day.

Looking back, I was in the wrong. I didn’t respect his space, his rhythm.
I hadn’t done enough homework either—when did the team return from the last away game? How had they performed? Was a team meeting already scheduled for that day? I should’ve known.

That evening, I apologized and left.
The second day, I greeted him but didn’t ask for an interview.
And on the third day, he approached me.

It’s hard to explain, but every situation demands a different kind of patience.
People think producing TV and film is glamorous—and maybe, if everything goes well, the wrap party is. For a few hours.

The rest?
It’s long days, long walks. Endless coordination (oh, the production schedule!). Wrestling with the story until it holds.

And still—I’ve stayed.

Because I get to meet people I’d never meet otherwise.
Because the moment a piece comes together is worth everything.

And because, when it works, you feel it:
You’re not just producing a story. You’re part of something alive.