We recently connected with Jennifer Cooney and have shared our conversation below.

Jennifer, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. We’d love to hear the backstory behind a risk you’ve taken – whether big or small, walk us through what it was like and how it ultimately turned out.

From the time I was born, I was indoctrinated in the beer business. My grandfather, a true force of nature, started a small drive-thru bottle shop in the ’70s—somewhere you could fill a case with “a bottle of this and a bottle of that.” At some point over the course of the following decade, he heard that Coors—yes, “the” Coors—was looking for a distributor to bring the brand to his area. He went to the bank, asked for a loan, and bought a warehouse exponentially larger than what he had, all to house the brand… before they told him that the brand was his. Here we are in 2024 and the family business distributes not only Coors, but countless other top brands to every retailer across nine Pennsylvania counties…and growing. I guess this sort of risk taking is in my blood, which isn’t something I realized until I was nearly 30 years old.
After college, I went immediately into the family business. I came in hot—with fresh ideas, methods, and attitudes. I wanted to modernize the way we did things. I was excited. I was ready. I was ultimately shut down. The old school Italian way doesn’t exactly welcome the hot shot 20-something lesbian in stilettos with “big ideas” to the driver’s seat. So, slowly over the course of 12 years, I shut down—emotionally, physically, & creatively. Finally, I found my day filled with avoiding interaction, impulse online shopping, and daily drinking at home. I was slowly, but surely, fading away.
One night after work, my wine glass was particularly full when my artist wife asked, “What do you think about? I’m always thinking about the painting I’m working on. What about you?” I paused. Not because I was sorting through my cornucopia of potential answers, but because of my astounding LACK of a response. My inner creative force had laid down to die. I thought of nothing. After sharing this disturbing reality, she asked me what I desired to do. Without a moment’s hesitation, I answered: “I always wanted to write a movie.” She was taken aback; I had never said this before. She was right; I hadn’t even said it to myself before. But until that moment, though amorphous and without direction, it was the truest desire ever spoken.
Over the course of the next two years—with my wife’s unwavering enthusiasm—I absorbed every ounce of screenwriting knowledge I could get my hands on. It was 2014 when I heard from a fellow screenwriter with whom I’d taken a class. He saw a job listing for a lesbian family drama, a producer looking for a writer to turn his idea into a script—he thought of me. Included in his email was a link to the application. I clicked on it and saw the required fields: name, email, and the largest field…for my resume and awards. Resume? Awards? I had none of these things. On my resume was one word: “confidence.” But, in my bones I knew I could do this. So I took a risk. In that gaping field I typed my phone number followed by one short sentence: “I think I’m the writer you’re looking for; call me.”
Long story, short: that film is called Rain Beau’s End, and I am the credited writer & producer. It was my first true stepping out…the first time, even though no worldly evidence said I should, that I did. This led to taking another risk—one with a much higher fear-factor. I knew I had to walk away from my family business. Which was much more than a position or a paycheck—it was walking away from my “tribe.” Saying “No, thank you,” to all that was created for my family and its benefit. Saying, “Thanks, but no thanks,” to the business my grandfather and his children broke their backs to build for their children, me. Thank you, and no thank you. And now I am writing and directing my own films, full-time, all because of that risk I took. And here’s what I know…even if “nothing” came from that risk…it would still be worth it, because inherent in our greatest fears are the greatest risks, and at the end of that tunnel awaits our greatest rewards—not the outcome mind you, but rather the person we became in order to get there.

Jennifer, before we move on to more of these sorts of questions, can you take some time to bring our readers up to speed on you and what you do?

My name is Jennifer Cooney and I am a feature film screenwriter & the director of my films. My entrance into filmmaking was nearly ten years ago, turning a producer’s one sheet into a script. Over the course of that production, I organically fit into the additional role of Creative Producer, which I fulfilled all throughout production & post-production until the film’s release. During my time on set, I realized that screenwriting was only the tip of the iceberg—I wanted to direct. Shortly after that film, Rain Beau’s End, was released, a script I wrote called Winter Jasmine was optioned by an LA producer. When he gave me the list of directors he wished to approach, I raised my hand to be on the list. It was a major production and he believed that an untested director would not secure the funds or talent that the script deserved. Not taking “no” for an answer, I decided to prove what I knew I was capable of and produce a short film. I hired a local crew, came up with a concept, and entered pre-production within weeks. After rounding page 20 of that script, it was evident that this story required a full feature’s length to be told properly. And so it was, Wild Fire was born. Wild Fire was a magical experience all throughout its creation, and that magic continued throughout a ten-month international festival run where it received 28 total accolades including Best Drama, Best Feature, and Best of Fest. It is now a worldwide release with Gravitas Ventures. Wild Fire was produced under my Production Company, HalfJack Generation, which is a film production company dedicated to telling stories that elevate consciousness. What do I mean by that? Largely, stories are told through the lens of blame, victimization, and fear. My mission as a filmmaker is to tell stories with the perspective of self-responsibility, empowerment, and love. Wild Fire is the first of its kind to my knowledge—a story about radical honesty, and the cost of lies and honesty in our most intimate relationships. My aim as a creative is to spark conversations, to ask questions that incite self-discovery and evolution, and to offer perspectives previously unexplored.

Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can provide some insight – you never know who might benefit from the enlightenment.

Just over a decade ago, I had a spiritual awakening—an understanding that does and will continue to unfurl for the rest of my time on this planet—that my True Self is not this body, this personality, this identity that I spend my days curating and defining. My True Self is eternally and infinitely in, with & of Spirit. Even after realizing this, my ego self maintained its grip, and it used this information and my passion to evolve for its own purposes—it had me blindly convinced that my spiritual growth would inevitably lead me to the pinnacle of my egoic dreams coming true. I was sure that if I kept at this path, I would evolve my way to “fame and fortune.” And one day it struck me like a lightning bolt: If my True Self is in Spirit, then my spiritual growth is not in service of my career…my career is in service of my spiritual growth. And my world turned upside down. I understood all at once that we come here and choose our “arena” so to speak, because it gives us the playground that will grow us in the way we wish to grow. It’s not about the egoic “goal…” it’s about the person you become to get there. It is not only “the journey,” it’s the struggle, the challenges, the people, the love, the Truth you make more and more room for along the way—that is the point. I’ve never been the same since that revelation.

We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?

I grew up in a household obsessed with “doing.” Productivity was the name of the game. It wasn’t, “How was your day?” It was “What did you get done today?” My child life was scheduled in 5-minute increments of tasks. A never-ending to-do list. A feeling of constantly treading water. It took me well over 30 years to get far enough removed from that programming to even understand that another way of living exists. It all changed when I read a book called “The Magical Approach” by Jane Roberts. It fantastically describes the difference between egoic “assembly-line time” as they call it, versus “magical time.” It can be summed up in this quote from the text: “Spontaneity knows its own order.” They describe a bee heading out for the day to pollenate and there is no plan he follows, yet the day is completed with total spontaneity and in complete perfection. Unlearning assembly-line living is something I still struggle with, but I will say this: it is turning out to be one of the most fruitful climbs of my life…and quickly turning out to be a magical, spontaneous, down-hill joyride.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.halfjackgeneration.com
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/halfjacksnap
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/halfjackgeneration
• Twitter: https://www.x.com/halfjackgen
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@halfjackgeneration
• Other: https://www.thewildfiremovie.com

Image Credits

Nick Bukofski