In December of 2009 I was making my annual drive from Washington, DC to my hometown in North Carolina to see my family for the holidays.

Working as a secondary school teacher gave me a sizable winter break each year, and I had refined my route to near perfection:

Take I-95 across Virginia, but ignore the split toward Raleigh, North Carolina.

Instead, continue south on I-95 and exit onto a small state road running west to Southern Pines.

This year I was sticking to the plan with one difference: I had a passenger.

One day earlier my brother had taken the bus down from Brooklyn, NY to DC and joined me for the drive to North Carolina. Traveling together was easy. Only a year and a half separate us, and we are both creative people. I write and draw, he is a painter and musician.

We departed DC in the morning, crossed Virginia steadily, and entered North Carolina by the afternoon.

My brother was puzzled, though, when I did not take the exit toward Raleigh.

By the time we turned off I-95 onto the small state road, the sun had set. I was relieved, since I knew that only about 90 minutes remained in our six-and-a-half hour journey.

But to my surprise, my brother became alarmed:

“Are you SURE you know where you’re going?” he asked repeatedly as we followed the winding state road from one tiny town to another.

“It’s so DARK out here!” he exclaimed while we crossed wide farm fields and thick woodlands.

“I’ve driven this route dozens of times; I know exactly where we are going,” I reassured him.

“I hope so,” he replied. “I’d hate to get lost or break down out here. You never know what might happen…”

“You feel safer in New York City?” I teased.

“Yes! In the city there are people around to see if something happens. Out here you could run into the wrong person and just disappear. And no one would ever know.”

I laughed at my brother’s newly urbanized concerns as we covered the last few miles of the lonesome little state road.

We arrived without incident and spent the following holidays in the good company of family and old friends.

And we made the return trip, entirely sunlit, without any worry.

My brother returned to Brooklyn, and I resumed teaching in DC.

By 2015, though, I was no longer content developing my art and writing after school and on weekends.

After 19 years, I left my teaching position to pursue grander creative projects.

I began writing a movie blog, but soon found that I was not satisfied commenting on other people’s work. I wanted to make my own motion pictures.

So I purchased a cheap camcorder and began shooting footage around my neighborhood in DC.

When I screened a short reel at a local arts showcase, viewers gave me positive feedback. At that moment I resolved to make a morefully realized movie.

As I considered how I might do so, NC seemed a more suitable location than DC:

My home state had wide open spaces, family and friends who might help me, and a lower cost of living and working.

But what sort of story could I tell there?

The answer came almost immediately:

“Out here you could run into the wrong person and just disappear. And no one would ever know.”

I could write a crime story, set on a lonesome little state road winding through the countryside.

After all, I had watched scripted dramas like Law & Order and true crime programs like Forensic Files for years.

And I had written articles online about crime thrillers made in Hollywood and abroad.

But I did not want to make a conventional cop show or whodunit mystery.

Instead, I wanted to tell a crime story from a different perspective than the usual, backward-looking investigation.

And I wanted to create a different look than a Hollywood movie or network television show.

The landscape and its inhabitants should appear as simply and naturally as possible to convince viewers that a crime like this one might actually happen.

Determined to make this vision a reality, I left DC in 2016 and returned to the Sandhills of North Carolina where I grew up.

My financing came almost entirely from my personal savings and a modest crowdfunding campaign. In the first few months I learned the business basics and set up a company called Off 95 Productions.

Then I purchased some entry-level equipment — camera, microphone, lights — and began practicing how to use it competently.

I spent the next months scouting locations, gathering costumes and props, and assembling an all-volunteer cast. We shot around their work schedules and family obligations for a few days each month over the course of nearly a year.

After another month of editing, I completed the movie in the summer of 2018. Its title?

The name of the lonesome little state road that had inspired the story years earlier:

27 WEST. For the next three years, I submitted our movie to dozens of film festivals.

And we enjoyed a high rate of success: 6 screenings around the country and 4 awards!

Until the COVID-19 pandemic shut down live festivals almost entirely. Now — only here and only for a limited time — you can watch our carefully crafted, country-style crime thriller 27 WEST in the comfort of your own home! By doing so, you support me as a filmmaker and the larger cause of independent cinema.

THANK YOU on behalf of everyone who helped make 27 WEST!

We hope you enjoy its docudrama style, nail-biting narrative, and thought-provoking themes.