CineForge Co-op

How We Filmed Two Feature Films in Two Years

By Paul Rowe

This story begins the way all great cinematic adventures should: with three guys in lawn chairs, pre-pandemic, talking big dreams and bad ideas. It somehow ends with the legendary scream queen Dee Wallace.

This is partly a story about my personal journey, but I hope that somewhere in here you’ll find the nudge to start that script or film you’ve been putting off, or the encouragement to keep pushing and finding a way. Because, let’s be honest: this business is tough. Like “explain your screenplay to grandma at Thanksgiving” tough. But support matters. We’ve leaned on plenty of it.

The Front Lawn (Act One)

I had been screenwriting solo for about a year when I decided I needed a group – because whether it’s crocheting, book club, or writing speculative screenplays, everything’s more fun with friends who understand your weird obsession. Enter Andy Carpenter and Dan Quigley. Together, we wrote our first collaborative script, earned some contest laurels, and learned that the industry term “RECOMMEND” didn’t mean immediate success. The script hasn’t found its Hollywood forever home yet, but more importantly, I gained two lifelong friends. Andy and I have since become filmmaking partners as well (more on that later).

Soon, we were absorbed into a bigger writing group started by Kenny Gray at the Rankin (Columbus State University). We proudly dubbed ourselves the “Rankin Screenwriters,” because when you meet in a historic building, you’ve got to brand yourselves. We were serious about screenwriting careers, but also impatient with the average “eight-year slog” it supposedly takes to break in. So, after enough “Recommends” from professional readers and laurels to wallpaper a small bathroom, we made a decision: forget waiting for permission. We’d make our own stuff.

Lesson: Find your people. Build a community. Learn together, laugh together, gripe about formatting rules together. It makes the hard stuff survivable and sometimes, even fun.

Director? (Act Two)

Directing was never in the plan. My plan was simple: write screenplays, hand them to someone else, sit in the back with popcorn, and soak in the glory.

Then along came Ken Merritt of Off the Rails Productions. He asked me for a very specific horror short, something in the Twilight Zone vein. I delivered Turtles for Girls, Lizards for Boys, a spooky little ghost story inspired by the Lakota Tribe’s cekpas, protective amulets for kids. He loved it. Success! Done deal!

Except then he hit me with the question: “Do you want to direct it? I like to give writers the option.”

Um, no? That wasn’t in the brochure. But Ken swore it would be “easy” (spoiler: it wasn’t), that I’d have support (true), and that I’d be glad I tried it at least once (very true).

Now, I’ve managed giant projects in my day job at TSYS. I’d juggled multimillion-dollar budgets. Surely a short film with a budget no bigger than an apartment lease payment would be cake, right? Wrong. It was not cake. It was more like juggling flaming chainsaws while people asked, “Where’s lunch?” But Ken was right: I’m glad I did it once.

Meanwhile, our Rankin Screenwriters group had mutated into a screenwriting-plus-filmmaking collective. We realized the Columbus film community had been fighting for a while to put something sustainable on the map, and we wanted in. We wanted to make filmmaking possible right here in the Chattahoochee Valley.

So we made a pact: Want filmmaking in Columbus to grow? Make films. Simple. Ragtag as we were, every short, every commercial, every half-baked idea on IMDb became a training ground. We treated each project like it was a $200 million Spielberg epic: budgeting, call sheets, scheduling, the whole unglamorous machinery of moviemaking. Bit by bit, we leveled up. Nothing new, nothing revolutionary, just the same recipe Jordan Peele, Judd Apatow, Rodriguez, and Tarantino cooked with: hard work, stubborn focus, unhealthy passion, and above all, collaboration and respect.

That last part, collaboration and respect, became our North Star. Our sets needed to be good experiences, period. I initially traced that back to my years at TSYS, where “Servant Leadership” got branded into my DNA, and certainly also to my parents: salt-of-the-earth folks from farms and small-town mechanic garages. Andy, too, with his own reasons, of course, other than his massive heart. We both want our sets to reflect the same values: mutual respect, honest work, and people first. 

Lesson: Make a plan. Stick to it (mostly). Be collaborative. And don’t forget respect. It’s the only line item that doesn’t belong in the budget because it should already be free.

Dee Wallace (Act Three)

When we finally decided it was time to leap into a feature film, it came in the form of my directorial debut. From the start, I wanted it rooted in local filmmaking: writers, cast, crew, the whole thing. And we pulled it off – nearly 90% of the people involved came from right here in the Chattahoochee Valley. That mattered to me because filmmaking communities don’t just appear out of thin air; they grow from repeated opportunities. More films means more experience, which means more momentum and more films. It’s like the circle of life, but with more coffee and less Elton John.

Of course, there was a problem: we needed a director of photography with their own gear who could also work within our budget. Enter Trey Walker of Mud Films: friend, collaborator, and all-around samurai with a camera. He’s also now on the cusp of his own directorial debut. Columbus filmmaking wouldn’t be what it is without him.

But the biggest challenge wasn’t gear, or talent, or wrangling extras who wander off toward the craft services table. It was funding. How were we going to pay for this thing? After some serious soul-searching, I looked at the company stock rewards I’d accumulated during my years at TSYS, the kind of “maybe one day I’ll buy a boat” fund. I pushed all my chips in on us. I believed in the mission, in the people, and in the community. And honestly, it’s the best investment I’ve ever made. Could we have done it with absolutely ‘no money’? Yes. If the circumstances dictated. There is ‘always a way’ (more on that later). 

We weren’t alone, either. A small but scrappy crowdfunding campaign brought in support, and later the Columbus Filmmakers Grant (part of the Columbus Film Fund, which is an absolute game-changer for local filmmaking) gave us the boost we needed in post-production. With all that, we made the film: It Wants Nightmares.

Suddenly, the doors started opening. Before, getting an agent to even respond with a polite “no thank you” felt like winning the lottery. After the film wrapped, we were having conversations with agents and actors whose names you actually know. The industry started paying attention.

That momentum carried us into our second feature, Southern Scares. And this time, the doors opened to someone legendary: Dee Wallace. Her agent warned us the odds of her saying yes to our indie were slim to none. But the next day, I got a call: she wanted to talk. It was the script, our mission, and our passion that convinced her. Suddenly, the scream queen herself was on board.

Since It Wants Nightmares, not only have we had access to talent, but private investors are taking us seriously, too. We now have proof: we can finish a quality feature film (now two!), and that proof is everything. As of September 2025, Southern Scares is wrapped and deep in post-production. Two features in two years, with another already lined up for late 2025 or early 2026. All part of the plan, all part of the strategy: to keep building, to keep lifting, and to keep making Columbus and the Chattahoochee Valley a true filmmaking hub.

Lesson: When the time comes, bet on yourself. Take the risk, but be ready. Find your people, make something together, and keep pushing. The path isn’t the same for everyone, but if you’re serious, it snowballs. This is our story. Hopefully, it helps you with yours.

Last Lesson: “We will find a way.” Anytime things go sideways, you’ll hear me either say it or know the look on my face. That doesn’t mean we don’t hit obstacles. Southern Scares failed to fund in early 2025. I took a day off. Not to sulk, but to “find a way.” The next day, I was hitting the pavement for the investors who eventually pulled us through. 

Don’t have the funds? Don’t have the people? Don’t know what to do?

If you want it bad enough, “we will find a way.” 

Last Last Lesson: Your people are everything. Do right by them. Exemplify compassion, character, and competence.

“Not taking a risk is a risk. That’s how I see it.” – Robert Redford