We were lucky to catch up with Riley Scott recently and have shared our conversation below.

Riley, appreciate you joining us today. I’m sure there have been days where the challenges of being an artist or creative force you to think about what it would be like to just have a regular job. When’s the last time you felt that way? Did you have any insights from the experience?

About once a quarter, I have an absolute spiral where I think I should move on from my creative pursuits. I feel overwhelmed by the suddenly quiet schedule, a lack of a routine, a sense of stagnation. I see my friends who are dentists, publicists, educators, and I think how nice it must be to feel grounded. Needed. Safe.

I open my computer, and I Google, “Grad Programs Near Me.” I try on the idea of being a lawyer, or an investigative journalist who uncovers some massive scandal, or maybe I could be a high school counselor in a small town and (who knows) end up marrying the head football coach, but I usually always end up on the CIA’s website looking at available jobs hoping I could become a spy until I realized I’m incredibly under qualified.

After a few hours of this rabbit hole, I stop. And I realize, I have no interest in actually pursuing these drastically different lives; I want to play these drastically different lives. I literally want to try them on. I don’t want to be in an office. I actually don’t find the law all that interesting. And I don’t want to live the same day over and over again. Instead, I want to dream about characters, I want to imagine storylines, I want to explore the people who are in these worlds, not actually become one.

I recently had someone explain to me that early on in your career as an artist, when you’re daydreaming about when you make “it,” you feel as if your life hasn’t started yet. That when you do [insert career defining moment] or achieve [insert big accomplishment] your artistic life will finally begin. But that is not the case. Our artistic lives started the moment we were born. The moment we decided to pursue the arts. That every fear, every uncertainty, every deep dive on the web looking at other career options, they are all part of the journey as an artist. The highs, the lows, the instability, the fears, the joys, the weekdays spent journaling at coffee shops, the hours spent nannying in the elite LA scene, it’s all part of my creative story. I am living the life of an artist, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Riley, 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?

Dance was my first love not just because my mom was a dancer, but because in my small Midwestern town, the artistic outlets were limited. From the moment I leapt across the stage at three playing a bass drum, I knew I wanted to be a performer. Cut to me sneaking in “Moulin Rouge” at ten because I wanted to see the “actress who had the same hair color as me,” and I was mystified. There was dancing. There was drama. There was love. I was hooked. That’s what I want to do. I want to be involved in movies.

I moved to LA to go to USC where I studied film and theatre. I got to study abroad in London, take a whole semester about Hitchcock, and work on dozens of student productions. After grad, I spent the next several years doing the typical working actor thing: working service jobs, reading plays in parks, and occasionally getting the chance to audition. It became excruciating waiting for the phone to ring. One day, my roommate and I were watching an Eric Roberts Lifetime movie and thought to ourselves how fun it’d be to write one. We did. And it was good. So good that it made its rounds into the hands of Lifetime producers and suddenly the writing doors opened.

Since 2019, I’ve co-written with Hilty Bowen eight TV movies seen three of my films get produced, and learned so much about writing and myself along the way. Then, in 2022, the phone unexpectedly rang. It was a dear, talented friend calling to ask me if I had any interest in producing her first feature film. Apparently she always thought I would make a good producer and, despite my minimal producing resume, believed in me to help bring her vision to life. I was honored, a little hesitant due to my lack of experience, and had the belief that producing lacked any creativity, but I said yes. Even if I didn’t like it, I’d at least say I tried it and get to learn what goes into a production from script to film festival.

Well, to put it rather bluntly and let my true Chicagoan girl out, I fu*cking loved it. And to toot my own horn, I was a natural. Because of my acting training and love for performing, I thrived onset. I knew how to talk to actors. I knew how to make people feel comfortable. My high school cheerleading days even kicked in during the lowest of the lows where I refused to let spirits dip. I liked being the communicator between director, crew, cast, and anyone who stepped onset. I liked people turning to me to problem solve when locations fell out or, still have PTSD from this, our lead actor got COVID and the last week of filming had to be completely rescheduled over the next four months. I was surprised by how much creativity I found in the job. How the director would come to me with questions about what we were filming. How I got to be involved in the editing room. How my suggestions were not only accepted but appreciated. And, most of all, I loved getting to be the one to make this vision come to life. I loved being in the driver’s seat.

I realized that my strengths and personality lent itself to producing. I never felt like my voice mattered more than others. Because it shouldn’t. No one is more important than anyone else in any room. This is something I feel so strongly in my core. It’s my moral code. I don’t value myself above the PAs. I don’t let the director or cast value themselves above the caterers. We’re all sailing on the same ship hoping to arrive safely at shore. I don’t allow egos or, if there are egos, I know how to manage them so that they don’t impact everyone else.

After producing this feature, one of my other talented friends Mack Breeden approached me to co-write a short with her. One year later, we founded an LLC called Ginger Tits Productions and are in pre-production on that same short titled PRAYING MANTIS. This is the story of a Confederate soldier who after abandoning his post, takes shelter in the isolated cabin of two women who now find themselves at his mercy. It’s a western, horror short that still has a glimmer of wackiness which is very much our collective voice. We’ve received a $5,000 grant and crowdfunded over $20,000. We’re ready to rumble and production is slated for the end of February 2024.

For the first time in my life, I feel actively in charge of my creative life. We’re not only getting our own projects made, but we’ve had peers reach out with their own materials for us to consider producing under Ginger Tits, which has been the most fulfilling part. I want to be the one to help my talented friends thrive. Our aim at Ginger Tits is to create a culture of togetherness through a community and inclusivity that handles the personal stories we want to tell and, most importantly, we’d want to see. The two of us have dark senses of humor and value those stories which shed light on difficult topics in an engaging way, a way that can make us laugh or pause to think or even cringe.

My goal now is to continue growing, to continue learning, to continue becoming a better artist. I want to make those around me better. I want to hone talent, help people believe in themselves, create a production company that people seek to work with, uplift my friends and my community, and be fearless in my work.

Is there mission driving your creative journey?

Besides having a sustainable, long-lasting career where I get to work with fellow artists whom I can learn, my main goal is simple: to help people feel less alone. To let people feel SEEN. Because when I walk into a theatre or a cinema, that is what I’m hoping for. My idol Julianne Moore said, “The audience doesn’t come to see you, they come to see themselves,” and I think this couldn’t be truer.

I want people to watch my work and connect. I want them to walk away feeling relieved that someone out there understands. Even if it truly is one person in the world, that feels worth it to me. Life can make you feel so alone, so misunderstood, so hopeless, but the moment someone says, “I see you,” it’s a gift. A gift I want to give over and over and over.

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

I was always an overachiever with an insane amount of pressure to be the best. To be perfect. Why I felt like this I have no idea, because it definitely did not come from my family. It possibly came from the dance world because in ballet there is an exact image of perfection and you’re constantly seeking to achieve it (see Natalie Portman in “Black Swan” if you’re unfamiliar with this). I put this idea on myself that success meant perfection. Success meant being #1. Success meant completion.

This idea of success made me completely paralyzed in my 20s. I was far from perfect. I wasn’t completing much of anything besides helping 7th graders complete their homework. And I definitely wasn’t winning any Oscars. I’d go to start writing and get overwhelmed when one line of dialogue wasn’t right. When I couldn’t figure out the second act. I realized that my image of success was crippling any artistic or creative endeavors. I was getting in my own way. I had to redefine success.

Through conversations with friends, fellow creatives, and some incredibly insightful self-help books (I fully bought into Brene Brown), I redefined success. Success can be making your bed in the morning, it can be setting aside an hour for a phone call with a loved one, it can be writing just one page of script, it can be going outside into nature to catch your breath. Success is making mistakes. Success is learning from mistakes. Success is picking yourself back up after a mistake because you know you will get through it if you keep trying.

Success can’t be defined by the outcome, it needs to be defined by the journey. This is definitely a battle I still have to wrap my head around every day when I get overwhelmed by all the things I want/need to do. But I tell myself that success is also baby steps. So here I am, finding success in this moment by talking to fellow creatives and trying to understand my own artistic life.

Contact Info:

• Website: gingertitsproductions.com
• Instagram: @rileylynescott @gingertitsproductions
• Linkedin: www.linkedin.com/in/riley–scott

Image Credits
Mack Breeden