Leslie Lee

What inspired you to become a screenwriter, and what keeps you motivated to keep writing?

I’ve always been a storyteller at heart. I was that kid who carried around notebooks full of fantasy worlds, scripting dialogue before I even knew what a screenplay was. But it wasn’t until I saw how a powerful scene on screen could move an entire room to silence that I knew I wanted to write for film. Writing lets me give voice to the stories and emotions that live inside me, and honestly, what keeps me going is the hope that something I create will make someone feel seen—or maybe just breathe a little differently.

Can you tell us about your writing process, from the initial idea to the final draft?

It usually starts with a spark—a single image, a line of dialogue, or a “what if” scenario. From there, I let the world build itself around that seed. I outline loosely, but I leave space for characters to surprise me. The first draft is always messy and instinctual, more about feeling than form. Then I step away, let it breathe, and come back with new eyes. Rewriting is where the real story emerges. I cut ruthlessly, restructure, and fine-tune everything from pacing to subtext until it finally feels like truth.

How do you approach creating characters, and what techniques do you use to develop them?

I start by listening. I let the character talk to me—who they are when no one’s looking, what they fear, what they want so badly it hurts. I build their past, their flaws, their contradictions. I write journal entries in their voice, build playlists for them, even imagine their childhoods. If I can understand their wounds, I can understand their choices—and that’s where the humanity comes in.

Right now, I’m finishing The Ashwalker, the third installment of my Legends of the Vale series. It’s a sweeping fantasy set in a world where dragons and fairies have been enslaved—and one woman risks everything to set them free. It’s deeply personal to me, exploring themes of power, betrayal, and the cost of choosing love over legacy.

What do you think sets your writing apart from others in the industry, and how do you showcase your unique voice?

My stories tend to live in the space where myth and emotion collide. I write with a lyrical edge, grounding even the most fantastical moments in raw, human truth. I think what sets me apart is my commitment to emotional depth—whether it’s a dragon rising from chains or a woman whispering a goodbye that changes the course of war, I want every moment to hit where it matters most: the heart. I never write safe. I write to bleed.

How do you balance your personal creative vision with the needs of producers, directors, and other collaborators?

It’s a dance. My job as a screenwriter isn’t just to create a world, but to invite others into it. Collaboration is about knowing when to stand firm on the soul of a story and when to let go for the sake of something greater. I listen closely, I ask questions, and I stay open—but I also protect the emotional spine of my work. That balance only comes with trust, both in others and in your own voice.

Can you talk about a particularly challenging moment you faced while working on a project and how you overcame it?

There was a moment during Child of Dawn when I was told the central love story wasn’t “commercial” enough. I felt gutted—like the heart of the film was being questioned. But instead of compromising, I reframed. I highlighted the stakes, clarified the emotional arcs, and rewrote key scenes to deepen the tension and payoff. I didn’t change the soul—I made it undeniable. And that version went on to win awards. That experience taught me to defend my vision not with stubbornness, but with craft.

How do you see the role of screenwriting in the film industry evolving, and how do you see yourself fitting into that future?

I think audiences are craving truth—diverse, bold, emotionally honest storytelling. Screenwriting is shifting toward authenticity over formula, and that excites me. I see myself as part of the wave of writers who bring mythic storytelling back with nuance and grit—especially in fantasy, a genre ripe for reinvention. I want to create work that both transports and transforms, and I believe screenwriters have more power than ever to shape what stories get told.

Write the thing you’re scared to write. The one that keeps you up at night. Don’t chase trends. Don’t water down your voice to fit a mold. And don’t wait for permission. Find your tribe—people who believe in your vision—and never stop learning. The best screenwriters are the ones who stay students of the craft, who rewrite fearlessly, and who never lose touch with why they started.

Finally, what are your long-term goals as a screenwriter, and what legacy do you hope to leave in the industry?

I want to build worlds that endure—stories that outlast me. I hope to adapt The Legends of the Vale into a cinematic universe that captures the hearts of a generation, much like The Lord of the Rings did for me. But more than that, I want to leave behind stories that told the truth, even in fantasy. That gave people permission to feel, to hope, to rise. My legacy, I hope, will be one of courage—and of wonder.