On grief, quirkiness, guitars, and finding the person who was always meant to play her.

Before Brigid Baelfyre was ever a casting call or a film role, she was something much more personal than that. She was a feeling. The feeling of losing someone so essential to you that the world rearranges itself around their absence. I lost my Papa (grandpa) when I was seventeen. He had such a profound influence on who I became — and when he was gone, I felt it in a way I didn't have words for yet. That loss lived in me quietly for years, the way deep grief does. And when I was learning what story Brigid was truly trying to tell, I found it there, in that place. She carries his echo.

Some places hold a kind of quiet magic that you don't fully notice until you're sitting inside them, coffee in hand, watching the light move across the room… and suddenly you realize: this place has always been part of my story.

That's how I feel about Arizona Mountain Coffee Co. So when it came time to find the perfect home for the Highland Cow Coffee Co. scene in The Christmas Witch, I didn't have to look very far.

One of the questions I get asked most often, especially after screenings, festivals, or creative events, is this: “How did you fund your film?” It’s a fair question. Your story deserves to be told. Even if it starts humbly. Especially if it does. Money can feel like the biggest gatekeeper in filmmaking. The thing that stands between a story living on the page and finally breathing on screen. And for a long time, I think many of us were taught (directly or indirectly) that films only get made when someone else gives you permission.

Directing The Christmas Witch has been one of the most transformative experiences of my creative life. It asked something of me that writing alone never had: a willingness to trust. Trust myself. Trust my team. Trust the story. Trust, I learned, is its own kind of surrender… a loosening of the grip I didn’t even realize I had. I’ve always associated trust with letting go of control, and while I wasn’t sure at first whether that was a strength or a vulnerability, this year taught me it’s both. It has led me down incredible paths, and it’s also stretched me in ways that required me to pause, reevaluate, and grow. Directing isn’t about holding every detail in your hands. It’s about opening your hands enough so others can hold the story with you.

There’s something about Nick L. Klaus that feels both familiar and extraordinary. The kind of presence that makes you wonder if what you just witnessed was pure coincidence… or a touch of magick. Like the valley itself, we don’t truly know how long Nick has been around… only that he’s woven into its very fabric. He’s part secret, part guardian, part friend. A quiet constant. The kind of presence you can rely on, even if you can’t explain why. Meet Nick L. Klaus: Amberlight Valley’s Very Own Santa.

The moment I stepped through the door of Woodland Wellness, I could already feel the Amberlight Apothecary stirring to life. The scent of herbs and candle wax, the way sunlight pooled across the floor, the quiet hum of transformation… it was as if the world I’d written had finally decided to step out of the page and breathe beside us. This enchanting transformation wouldn’t have been possible without my dear friend Ryanna Hendrix, the owner of Woodland Wellness. Her kindness, creativity, and willingness to open her space to our production brought so much heart to this part of the film. I’m endlessly grateful to her for sharing it with us.

When I first stepped into the world of film, I didn’t expect to find myself in the director’s chair. Writing has always been my first love, but directing? That felt like another world entirely. And yet, over time, I’ve discovered how naturally the two roles intertwine. Stories are meant to be seen and felt, not just read—and directing has given me a new way to bring them to life. Today, I want to share a few reflections from my director’s journey so far, in case you’re curious about what it looks like behind the scenes (or secretly dreaming of directing your own stories one day).

Bringing a story from the page to the screen is no small task—but when the story is full of magic, heart, and wonder, it feels less like work and more like destiny. Here's a little peek behind the scenes of our creative journey adapting The Christmas Witch into a film!