NOAH ZAYN MORTIER
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NOAH ZAYN MORTIER

What inspired you to write a script rather than a novel or short story?
I’m a trained actor, so scripts are my native language. I’m used to reading them, dissecting scenes, and translating subtext into lived emotion through the writer’s vision. I fell in love with cinema early on—the way sound, light, color, silence, and framing can say what dialogue never could. Writing scripts allows me to approach storytelling from a filmmaker’s total perspective: show, don’t tell, and trust the image to carry the soul of the story.

Was there a specific film, TV show, or personal moment that first made you say, “I want to write like that”?
The series POSE hit me like a revelation. It felt liberating—both artistically and personally. It showed me that writing from a deeply specific, even niche, point of view can still resonate with a wide audience. That show gave me permission to lean into who I am and trust that authenticity, rather than universality, is what truly connects.

What’s your writing routine like?
I write whenever and wherever I can. Alongside my day job, writing is quite literally what gets me out of bed in the morning. I usually start with the message I want to convey—the theme, the tone—and then I anchor everything in a strong protagonist. My process is intuitive, but I respect structure as a way to give the story rhythm. My imagination gives the story wings; my lived experiences give it weight and body.

When you're starting a new script, how do you shape your ideas?
I’m instinctively drawn to character-driven stories rather than plot-driven ones—probably because of my acting background, where I’m trained to analyze characters down to their bones. I often begin by listening to a character before worrying about plot mechanics. Once I understand who they are, the story reveals itself naturally.

How do you handle writer’s block or moments of self-doubt?
I’ve learned to accept that not every day is a writing day—and that’s okay. Sometimes the best thing to do is step away: take a walk, do something random, live a little. Inspiration has a habit of returning when you stop forcing it. And occasionally, it strikes at 2 a.m., which has led to more than a few all-nighters.

What tools or rituals are essential to your workflow?
I stick to the same software purely for practical reasons, but I don’t have rigid rituals. My process is simple: write the scene, let it flow, then interrogate it. Does it pop? Does it propel the character or story forward? Or is it just noise? If it doesn’t earn its place, it goes.

Do you write with production realities in mind, or let the creative vision lead?
I try to stay true to my vision first. Keeping an audience engaged is a tightrope walk—you have to be aware of production realities without sacrificing your authentic voice. I believe you can respect both, but the heart of the story always has to come first.

When a scene isn’t working, what’s your go-to strategy?
Rewrite until I faint—half joking, half serious. I reread my drafts obsessively, and each pass reveals new points of view or layers of subtext. Sometimes a personal experience or a scene I’m playing in class suddenly unlocks the solution. To me, a script is a living, breathing organism—it needs to stay adaptable.

How many scripts have you completed?
I’ve completed three scripts, each with extensive rewrites and guidance from script doctors. It was worth every penny. I think of my scripts like raising children—challenging, rewarding, and deeply educational. I have many more stories waiting in line; outlines queued up, ready to go. I’m someone who experiences life in thousands of emotions, and I want to give each of them a home through compelling protagonists.

Have competitions or feedback shaped your work?
Absolutely. I genuinely enjoy networking and connecting with festival directors and staff. When people respond to your authentic voice—and even invite you back because of it—that’s incredibly affirming. Every piece of feedback pushes me to dig deeper and work harder.
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Have you done anything to promote yourself or your writing?
This year, my focus is on building my brand more intentionally—networking, showing up, and putting myself out there. With nominations, awards, and a growing body of work, I’m gaining confidence as a writer with range, not just a one-trick pony.

Have you pitched to producers or taken meetings yet?
Not yet—but I’m eager to. I’m very aware that first impressions can sometimes be the only shot you get, so my priority is preparation. When that moment comes, I want to walk in ready.

What are your greatest strengths and weaknesses as a writer?
I’ve lived life intensely—hell and back—and my work as a registered nurse gives me profound insight into other people’s perspectives and trauma. I don’t have to invent obstacles; I’ve witnessed them through my patients. My perceived weakness is that I’m self-taught rather than traditionally trained—but I counter that with classes, script doctors, relentless curiosity, and a strong work ethic.

How do you balance writing with your day job?
That’s the million-dollar question. It can be excruciating when inspiration hits hard and I still have to clock in. I’ve learned to adapt—jotting down notes on my commute or during breaks. You find ways when you have to.

What do you hope audiences walk away with?
Empathy. Healing. Acceptance. A sense that someone finally articulated what they couldn’t. While rewriting Blue Idaho, I felt a wave of generational trauma wash over me—almost physically—as I channeled my protagonist. That became my core engine:
giving voice to the voiceless.

What are you working on right now?
Blue Idaho is a love letter to a trans woman. It begins in deep personal shame and evolves into the search for an authentic voice—free from external validation. It’s about building bridges through shared humanity, not politics. It’s an attempt to unite progressives and conservatives through empathy. And regarding future projects of mine? There are bold, original queer voices coming—stories rooted in real lives, real heroes, and real villains, never tokenism.

Where do you see yourself in five years?
Represented, actively working in the industry, and ideally performing in roles I’ve written myself—that would be the ultimate dream. I want to keep learning, growing, and surrounding myself with creative, like-minded people in a thriving community.

What advice would you give aspiring writers?
If you feel compelled to tell a million stories, start with the one that scares you—the one tied to your core wound. That’s the story that will propel you forward and resonate most deeply with audiences. An authentic voice is stronger than the echo of the crowd. Don’t fear failure; rewrites are a gift, not a punishment. Writing is like training at the gym—show up, do the reps, and don’t forget to enjoy it.