Dear Producer, I am not a film student with a clear trajectory into the film industry, but I am a storyteller. I did want to do an MA in Screenwriting. I just couldn’t afford it—not even with a grant—so I took Audiovisual Translation instead. Close enough, right? It taught me how meaning shifts between words, how tone carries across languages, and how much can exist in what is left unsaid. So far, my life has been a bit of a Series of Unfortunate Events. I’ve survived it mostly through stubbornness and persistence. Strangely, that became useful—because to get through it, I had to make sense of things somehow. That instinct stayed. It shows up in how I write: in what I choose to say, and more often, in what I don’t. My CV lists copywriting and translation work, because that’s the part that looks professional on paper. The rest—years of dancing (first ballet, then contemporary), drawing, and a collection of side jobs ranging from dishwasher to primary school English teacher—doesn’t quite fit into neat bullet points. But that’s where I learned to observe people, and to understand what isn’t said. I’m drawn to stories that stay contained. One space, a few characters, and something shifting underneath. The kind of tension that builds quietly, where meaning doesn’t announce itself, but lingers. Your project feels like that kind of space. I don’t have a conventional path into screenwriting. I’m not sure I ever will. But I do know how to sit with a story, strip it back, and follow it somewhere honest—even when it’s uncomfortable. So, I suppose the only thing left to say is “try me out”—just maybe don’t take my word for it. Thank you, and have a lovely day, Aurora Trigo…Dear Producer, I am not a film student with a clear trajectory into the film industry, but I am a storyteller. I did want to do an MA in Screenwriting. I just couldn’t afford it—not even with a grant—so I took Audiovisual Translation instead. Close enough, right? It taught me how meaning shifts between words, how tone carries across languages, and how much can exist in what is left unsaid. So far, my life has been a bit of a Series of Unfortunate Events. I’ve survived it mostly through stubbornness and persistence. Strangely, that became useful—because to get through it, I had to make sense of things somehow. That instinct stayed. It shows up in how I write: in what I choose to say, and more often, in what I don’t. My CV lists copywriting and translation work, because that’s the part that looks professional on paper. The rest—years of dancing (first ballet, then contemporary), drawing, and a collection of side jobs ranging from dishwasher to primary school English teacher—doesn’t quite fit into neat bullet points. But that’s where I learned to observe people, and to understand what isn’t said. I’m drawn to stories that stay contained. One space, a few characters, and something shifting underneath. The kind of tension that builds quietly, where meaning doesn’t announce itself, but lingers. Your project feels like that kind of space. I don’t have a conventional path into screenwriting. I’m not sure I ever will. But I do know how to sit with a story, strip it back, and follow it somewhere honest—even when it’s uncomfortable. So, I suppose the only thing left to say is “try me out”—just maybe don’t take my word for it. Thank you, and have a lovely day, Aurora TrigoWWWW…