“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”
–Anaïs Nin

Dan Hitt grew up loving movies.  He’s watched thousands of them and can be found at a local movie theater just about every Friday. Like actually every week. Literally. So, of course, he enrolled in the film program at Scottsdale Community College which, at the time, was considered a top 10 film program.  He ran around with 16mm cameras, added special effects with abandon in the Avid lab and won the screenwriting competition while there.  He’s been in a bunch of screenwriting groups and heartily recommends writing groups in general for anyone interested in finding out they don’t put as much work in as they should.

Later, he was part of a team of ambitious souls that convinced some wealthy folks to fund a movie he wrote (shout out to Scott D. Hall). Disaster after disaster plagued the shoot.  Actual gangsters were involved, it was a thing. In short the movie died and a piece of Dan’s soul died with it.  In the end, though, he didn’t die with his film, he lived. Later, he did some writing and editing for KR films as well. He also co-produced, co-directed, and co-wrote a web series called Caffeine which his mother allegedly liked.

Along the way, Dan also picked up a lot, but less than he should have, in the theater world working with Raymond Shurtz and Kurt Brungardt in various guises over the years. He’s contributed fancy words, brilliant ideas and a little sweat as well toward some cool productions.  Raymond, an award winning playwright, was generous with his tutelage and time. 

He’s also lived a bit outside of the film and theater world.  He was, after thousands of hours of practice, a decent basketball player.  Dan, not understanding what he was in for, joined the U.S. Navy a year out of high school.  There, stories were lived, scars were earned and hearts were broken.  Dan earned promotions in the Navy nearly every time he was eligible, mostly because he earned demotions at about the same rate so there was always room to grow.  He did some other things as well.  He drove a cab. He went to programming school.  He worked as a computer programmer. He delivered pizza.  He became a Scrum Master. He was an assistant manager at a hotel, a title he gave himself which no one argued with.  He was a teacher.  A coach. And a human.  

And here he is doing a play.  He has the experience to succeed, but knows you will decide for yourself. He’s getting therapy to accept that. He isn’t. He hopes he sees you at the play, and that you say ‘Hi’, and maybe give him a hug. He’s tired of talking about himself in the third person so he’s going to stop, but he appreciated those few of you that got this far.  

I hope to see you soon.