About Eileen Chambers - Writer. Filmmaker. Storyteller.

In a Nutshell

Prolific writer and award-winning filmmaker with a significant track record in non-fiction books, social media, story development, visual storytelling, film production, story-based marketing and editing.

A highly creative woman of skill and spirit.

A lover of great stories and the people who go along with them.

The Formal Version

Shortly after earning her B.S. in Business Economics at Cornell University, Eileen began her career as a corporate development officer for Cornell University, traveling around the United States soliciting Fortune 500 companies for research investment dollars and direct contributions. For the next several years, she climbed the philanthropic ladder until, in 1989, she began her graduate studies at the prestigious School of Cinema-Television at the University of Southern California earning her Masters of Arts degree in film production.

While putting herself through graduate school, Eileen worked as an assistant to the highest-level studio executives in Hollywood, an experience that afforded her a front-row look at the inner workings of the industry. Upon graduating from U.S.C., she immediately launched into producing her first feature film, No Easy Way, an award-winning independent dramatic film about AIDS. In 1998, she began to work independently as a freelance writer and filmmaker.

Since then, she has written a myriad of non-fiction books, screenplays, social media, fund-raising and marketing pieces. Her strengths lie in content creation – specifically writing (including screenwriting) visual storytelling, character development, editing, understanding one’s audience, point of view and “finding your voice.” As a screenwriter, producer and director, she owns Montana Blue, a literary and film development company.

The Real Me

I had to laugh at myself.

I was fumbling, procrastinating and fumbling again, all the while making every excuse in the book. Truth be told I was stuck worse than the Mason lid on the honey jar. The more I tried to write, the worse it got. Believe me. If I could have hired me to write something absolutely brilliant about me, oh, you bet, in a heartbeat.

But this I know. When your creativity stalls and pressure hijacks vision, it’s time to stop gripping the steering wheel so hard. Realize that you are not seeing the invisible clearly and that your imagination is stuck in reverse. The good news is that Something is trying to get your attention. When this happens I have learned to quiet myself. Go for a walk alone. Listen. And trust that if I was patient, clarity would come.

Which it did. I had a thought that was, well, perfect.

“Why not tell them about McDonald’s?”

Yes. Confessions here. I admit it. I go to McDonald’s a lot. Here in Oregon. There in Southern California. In Maine. Virginia. Most mornings, you will find me sitting for an hour or so at the local McDonald’s with a Diet Coke, a listening ear and the willingness to strike up a conversation with the complete strangers sitting near me.

Perhaps it is the storyteller in me or simple curiosity. Whatever. Beneath those golden arches and in countless other forgotten places of this country I love, I have discovered beauty in all of its disguises. In fact, I have yet to find a person without a story worth telling.

Like yesterday, take Willy, a toothless, gregarious, rather full-smelling, sixty-something Vietnam vet who, dressed in Army Navy surplus winter gear and high as a freaking kite, swore that the best place to go whale watch was some town along the Oregon coast that I have never heard of. Willy had come all the way from Oklahoma, he said. Hitching, no doubt. And come hell or snow on the Santiam Pass, he was going to see the whales.

I smiled, laughed and enjoyed talking with this soul of the road. (“Haven’t the whales already migrated south,” I dared not ask, not wanting to steal his thunder nor present quest.)

Then, seeing what I had been reading, Willy launched into one of the most lucid, insightful observations on the Book of Hebrews. The guy knew chapters cold. (Who was this man?) Along with angels. Things of the Spirit. Then, rolling another joint, Willy was out the door faster than a bat out of hell, bent on having a smoke with the biker who rode a very serious-looking iron horse.

Here. Boom. Gone. Oh Willy. What trails have you roamed? What stories are written upon your soul?

Writing. Now here’s something to laugh about. You see, I never planned to be a writer. Nope. Not even on the radar. Destiny simply tackled me from behind. A friend handed me a manuscript and asked, “Can you fix this?” (Nope. You’re looking at a complete rewrite, dude.) And so it began.

Truth is that I am creative down to the marrow. I have lived the life of a true artisan, one where you come to delight in an untamed and unmoored life. I have known tragedy, loss and great redemption. I have worked a million temp jobs and have known the relentless love of God.

Yes. My life is not wholly unlike Willy’s. I write. Make movies. Tell stories. I follow the Wind, without regret.