Effective Low-Budget Filmmaking Starts Here (How to Do It Right)
There’s a moment on every low-budget filmmaking shoot when you know you’re in trouble.
For me, it happened on day two of a short film I was directing in a borrowed house in Victoria. We had six locations, four actors, a lighting setup that required forty-five minutes to move between rooms, and a shot list I’d written at 2:00 AM like I was Kubrick with a union crew. We’d pulled gear out of cold vehicles into a warm interior and spent the first twenty minutes waiting for the lenses to defog. By noon, we’d completed three of the planned eighteen setups. The light was changing. One actor had a 5:00 PM hard out. The sound guy—a friend doing us a favor—was visibly regretting his life choices from a folding chair in the corner, headphones around his neck, staring at nothing.
We got about sixty percent of what we needed. The edit was a puzzle I spent three weeks trying to solve. The lesson cost me nothing except time I’ll never get back and a friendship I had to repair with a very sincere apology and a case of beer.
That failed weekend taught me more about low-budget filmmaking than three years of film school combined. These are the rules I extracted from it—and from every humbling production since.
If you want the step-by-step production blueprint for making a short film from scratch, read the complete low-budget short film production guide. This article is the operating system underneath that. The philosophy. The discipline. The things you learn too late if nobody tells you first.
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The core truth about low-budget filmmaking: most indie films don’t fail because the camera was too cheap. They fail because the production was too complicated for the time, crew, and energy available. The rules below aren’t inspiration—they’re a survival framework built from real sets, real collapses, and a lot of very cold catering coffee.
Why Most Low-Budget Films Fail
Before the rules, it’s worth naming the actual killers. Not the camera. Not the budget.
Unfinished post-production. More indie films die on hard drives than on set. The edit drags on for months. Audio cleanup becomes overwhelming. The film just… stops. Nobody officially quits—it just never gets finished. Every filmmaker you know has at least one of these. Some of them have three.
Bad audio. Audiences will watch blurry footage. They will not sit through audio that sounds like it was recorded inside a moving vehicle. This is not a debatable point. The moment viewers struggle to understand dialogue, they leave.
Overscoped scripts. Too many locations. Too many actors. Too many night shoots. Every element you add to a production creates what I’d call complexity debt—a cost you’ll pay in time, energy, and compromise on the shoot day, whether you’ve budgeted for it or not.
Impossible schedules. Not “ambitious.” Impossible. Pages-per-day targets that assume nothing goes wrong, nobody needs a second take, and the sun politely waits for you.
Production burnout. By hour ten of a shoot, your actors are losing emotional continuity, your crew is making careless mistakes, and you’re making bad creative decisions because you’re running on cold coffee and pride. The film you’re shooting in hour ten is noticeably worse than the one you were shooting in hour two.
These are the real threats. Keep them in mind as you read the rules below.
What Audiences Actually Notice in Low-Budget Films
Let’s get this out of the way early, because it changes every decision that follows.
Three things. Just three.
Audio quality. If they have to strain to understand dialogue, they’re already gone emotionally. This is the technical failure that kills more films than any other. Not the sensor size. Not the dynamic range. The audio.
Performance. Weak or inconsistent performances are impossible to hide in the edit. Audiences track emotional continuity instinctively. They notice when actors aren’t really listening to each other. They notice when a performance changes register between cuts because the actor was tired by take twelve and couldn’t find it again.
Pacing. A film that moves well covers a lot of technical sins. A film that drags makes audiences hyperaware of every imperfection. The edit is where pacing lives, which is why post-production matters as much as production.
They are not noticing the camera body. They are not noticing whether you shot on a Sony or a Blackmagic or a three-year-old mirrorless with a kit lens. They are not calculating your lighting ratio.
They are noticing the story, the people in it, and whether or not they can hear what’s being said.
Everything else follows from this.
Rule #1: Time Is More Valuable Than Gear
Indie directors will spend five thousand dollars on an anamorphic lens and zero dollars on a sound recordist, then wonder why their film looks like a perfume commercial and sounds like a Zoom call from 2020.
This is the central misunderstanding of low-budget filmmaking. Everyone obsesses over cameras. Professionals obsess over time.
A cheap camera with controlled lighting and clean sound will outperform a cinema camera on a collapsing schedule. Every time. Because a collapsing schedule means rushed performances, incomplete coverage, and desperate creative compromises. No camera fixes those in post.
Bad scheduling destroys more indie films than cheap cameras. I’d put real money on that.
The One More Shot Problem is where this usually surfaces. You’ve got the coverage you need—the scene works—but there’s a slider move you want to try, or a drone shot that would look great in the trailer, or a low angle you saw in a reference film. So you go for it. That extra thirty minutes is the thirty minutes you needed for the final scene of the day, which you now have to rush, and the performance suffers, and the edit suffers, and the film suffers. And you didn’t even use the drone shot.
Coverage beats perfection. Usable footage beats beautiful footage you can’t cut around.
Tactical Takeaway: Build your shot list around what the scene needs to be cuttable, not what it could look like if everything goes perfectly. Identify your must-haves and your nice-to-haves before the shoot day starts. Shoot the must-haves first, every time.
Rule #2: Fewer Locations Save Films
Every decision you make in pre-production either adds logistical drag or reduces it. That drag is paid on set, usually with interest—and it almost always comes out of the coverage budget, not the schedule buffer you forgot to build in.
Each new location is a company move. A company move means loading gear into a vehicle while someone’s trying to find the lens cap that fell under a seat, transporting crew, finding parking, scouting the light situation you didn’t fully check, discovering the noise problem nobody mentioned, and spending forty-five minutes resetting before you can shoot a single frame. On a low-budget shoot, you can burn two hours of a shooting day on company moves alone.
The hidden cost of “free” locations is one of the least-discussed problems in indie filmmaking. That free café your friend offered? It has a ventilation system that drones on the audio track. It has windows that blow out your exposure. It has customers who walk through frame. It has a manager who was fine with it at first but starts getting noticeably quieter around hour three. You have almost no control, and control is the resource you can least afford to waste.
Shoot fewer locations. Make them work harder. Paranormal Activity was shot almost entirely in one house. That wasn’t a limitation—it was a structural decision that gave the director complete control over every variable.
Tactical Takeaway: Before locking your script, count your locations. Every location beyond three on a short film requires a genuine creative justification. If the justification is “the scene is set there,” rewrite the scene.
Rule #3: Small Casts Move Faster
Every actor you add to a scene increases rehearsal time, continuity complexity, and the probability that something will go wrong. Background actors slow setups. Difficult personalities slow everything. Actors who haven’t rehearsed together need more takes to find their rhythm.
Cast carefully. Keep your principal cast small. Run rehearsals before the shoot day so you’re not problem-solving performances on the clock—the time you invest in rehearsals before production pays back threefold on set, because you’re not burning expensive shooting hours on conversations you could have had in someone’s living room the week before.
There’s a specific failure mode here that nobody talks about: excessive takes flatten actors. By take nine of the same setup, most performers have stopped making genuine choices and started managing their own anxiety. The line readings become technically correct and emotionally inert. You can feel it watching playback—something left the performance around take six and it’s not coming back today. Fewer actors in a scene means fewer variables, faster setups, and more takes where the emotional truth is still intact.
A note on continuity: every additional actor in a scene doubles the number of things that can break between takes. Coffee cup positions. Jacket buttons. Hair. Eyeline. If you’re shooting with a skeleton crew where the director is also watching continuity, small scenes with two people are manageable. Scenes with eight people and no script supervisor are how you end up with a puzzle in the edit that has no solution.
Tactical Takeaway: If a scene has more than four speaking roles, ask whether it genuinely needs that many or whether it’s a reflex to make the production feel bigger than it is.
Rule #4: Simple Lighting Wins
More lights means more setup time, more cable management, more power logistics, more things that can overheat or blow a fuse at the worst possible moment, and more time standing around while someone adjusts a flag for twelve minutes.
Learn to work with fewer sources, better placed. One strong key light and a bounce card can look genuinely cinematic if you understand where to put them. Three lights poorly placed looks like a YouTube tutorial from 2011.
Natural light is free, but it’s also on a schedule that doesn’t care about yours. Golden hour lasts twenty minutes, not the ninety minutes you’ve allocated in your shot list. If you’re shooting with natural light, your shot list needs to be organized around the light’s schedule, not yours. Plan around it by design, not in opposition to it.
A 5-in-1 reflector is one of the most underrated tools in low-budget filmmaking. Cheap lighting tools that make footage look expensive don’t require a generator, a grip, or a gaffer—just someone who understands angle and distance.
Tactical Takeaway: For every scene, identify the single strongest available light source and build your setup around it. Add complexity only when you’ve exhausted what simplicity can do.
Rule #5: Dress What the Camera Sees
Indie productions consistently overbuild production design relative to what’s actually visible in the frame. Hours go into dressing the back half of a room that never appears in a single shot. Props get sourced, transported, arranged, and then cut from the shot list.
Frame your shots before you dress the set. Dress what the camera sees. Don’t dress the rest.
This applies to wardrobe too. A character’s shoes matter almost never. Their hands matter constantly. The part of the costume that appears in close-ups deserves your attention. The rest is set dressing for an audience of nobody.
Tactical Takeaway: Walk through your shot list with a camera before you dress a single surface. Mark the frame edges with tape if you need to. Only dress inside those lines.
Rule #6: Sound Is Half the Film
I once lost a client—a real, paying client—because my documentary audio sounded like it was recorded inside a tin can that was inside another tin can. The footage was fine. The story was solid. The audio killed it. They thanked me for my time, and I never heard from them again.
I spent three years in film school learning how to achieve the perfect cinematic shadow. Nobody taught me that bad audio would end more of my projects than bad exposure ever would.
The specific failure modes:
Camera audio. Never use it for dialogue if you have any alternative. Camera-mounted microphones pick up everything in the room with democratic impartiality—your actor’s line and the fridge compressor cycling on behind the wall.
Untreated locations. Hard floors, bare walls, and low ceilings create reverb that makes dialogue sound like it was recorded in a parking garage. Moving blankets draped over C-stands, rugs thrown on the floor, soft furniture pulled into frame—these kill reverb for free. Record thirty seconds of room tone at every location, even the ones that seem quiet. Your editor will need it.
Wind noise outdoors. A dead-cat windscreen on a lavalier microphone eliminates the most common outdoor audio problem. This costs eight dollars. Not having one costs you a reshoot.
Monitoring. If you’re not listening to what you’re recording while you’re recording it, you will discover the problem in the edit. Closed-back headphones on the sound recordist, every take, no exceptions. The Rode Wireless GO II has become the default wireless lav system for low-budget productions for practical reasons—it’s compact, reliable, and its quality floor is genuinely usable. For anything with a dedicated sound person, the Deity V-Mic D3 Pro on a boom is a solid step up.
Shoot before 7:00 AM to avoid aircraft, landscaping equipment, and neighbors with unpredictable schedules and leaf blowers.
Tactical Takeaway: Designate someone on set whose only job during takes is monitoring audio levels and quality. Even if that person is you. Put the headphones on before the camera rolls, not after.
Rule #7: Coverage Beats Perfection
This one took me embarrassingly long to learn, and I learned it the hard way.
Picture the last two hours of a shoot day. You’ve been on location for nine hours. The batteries in the wireless lavs started dropping signal around hour seven, which you only discovered in playback. The AD—your friend who agreed to do this for a credit—has been quietly asking you for decisions every four minutes because the talent has a hard wrap in ninety minutes and you still have the final scene, two coverage setups, and a close-up you promised the lead you’d get. The key light has shifted forty degrees because the sun doesn’t care about your shot list. Someone mentions the card is getting full. You say you’ll deal with it after this take.
You spend forty minutes lighting a wide shot until it looks exactly like a frame from a film you admire. You get three takes. Beautiful. Then you move to the coverage and the hard wrap is now forty minutes away and the actor is tired and the performance has gone a little flat—take six energy, not take two energy. You get one angle. Two takes each. The performances are inconsistent because you’re rushing.
In the edit, that scene was unusable. The wide shot looked great. There was nothing to cut to. A blink-heavy take with no alternative angle. A line reading that was only right once and you got it at the wrong focal length. The beautiful wide shot sat on a hard drive for two years before I deleted it.
That’s the scene we couldn’t cut.
The editor—whether that’s you or someone else—needs options. A wide, a medium, and a close-up on each side of a dialogue scene gives you something to work with. One beautiful wide shot does not.
The coverage priority order:
- Establish the geography of the scene (wide)
- Primary coverage for each speaking role (mediums and close-ups)
- Reaction shots
- Cutaways
- The fancy stuff, if time genuinely remains
Most low-budget shoots never reach step five. That’s fine. Steps one through four are what make scenes cuttable. Step five is what makes demo reels.
Tactical Takeaway: Before calling cut on a location, confirm you have everything your editor needs—not everything you wanted. Check the shot list against your coverage. If you’re missing a reaction shot, stay. If you’re only missing a slider move, go.
Rule #8: Crew Morale Is a Production Resource
This is almost entirely absent from filmmaking advice online, and it’s one of the most consequential things you can manage on a low-budget shoot.
Crew energy is not infinite. It decays over the course of a shoot day, and it decays faster on low-budget productions where people are working for deferred pay, reel footage, or pure goodwill. By hour ten, the PA is slower to respond. The camera operator is making small judgment calls that are slightly worse than they were at hour three. The actors are losing the emotional specificity that made their early performances work.
There are specific signals worth learning to read. Walkie radio chatter goes quiet on bad schedule days—not because things are running smoothly, but because people have stopped communicating and are just executing in silence, conserving what energy they have left. Cold-weather shoots drain batteries faster than anyone accounts for: lavs, walkie-talkies, monitors, camera bodies—everything starts dying around the same time, usually during the most complicated setup of the day. Hard drives get mislabeled or left unlabeled when the crew is too tired to be careful, and that costs hours in post sorting footage nobody organized properly.
The film degrades in real time. This is not a metaphor.
Meal breaks are not optional. I’ve seen productions skip or delay meals to “stay on schedule” and watched the crew become visibly slower and less effective in the following two hours. The time you “saved” evaporated immediately and then some—plus you burned the goodwill that might have gotten people to stay fifteen minutes late without resentment.
Keep shoots under ten hours wherever possible. Eight is better. A focused, energetic eight-hour shoot with good food and a clear plan will outperform a grinding fourteen-hour one where everyone stopped caring around hour nine.
Show the crew what you’re making. Screen dailies at lunch if you can—even rough footage. People work harder when they can see that the work is good. It’s motivating in a way that speeches are not.
Tactical Takeaway: Feed your crew well, on time, without making it conditional on hitting a setup count. Say thank you specifically and in front of others. Never ask for one more hour unless you genuinely have no alternative—and if you do ask, acknowledge exactly what you’re asking for.
Rule #9: Ambition Without Infrastructure Is Just Overexposure
This is the one nobody wants to hear.
Most indie filmmakers don’t fail because they lack talent. They fail because they build productions that are too ambitious for their actual infrastructure—crew size, shooting days, post-production capacity, and their own energy as a director-producer-editor-caterer.
The instinct is understandable. You’ve spent months with this script. The references are beautiful. The story deserves to look as good as the films that inspired it. So you add the additional location that gives the story scope. You cast one more actor because the scene needs it. You plan the crane shot because the moment calls for it.
And each of those decisions is, individually, defensible.
But collectively, they create a production that requires a unit production manager, a first AD, a proper catering truck, and a contingency budget that doesn’t exist. You’re trying to run a studio workflow on a skeleton crew with a borrowed van and three extension cords.
Trying to “look expensive” on a low-budget production is one of the fastest ways to collapse one. The productions that succeed at the micro-budget level are almost always the ones that design around their actual resources instead of designing around their aspirations and then hoping reality cooperates.
Every additional actor, location, lighting setup, prop, VFX shot, and company move creates production overhead. It compounds. The schedule friction alone—setting up, tearing down, moving, resetting—can consume two hours of a shooting day before you’ve rolled on a single frame of what you came for.
The question isn’t “what does this film deserve?” The question is “what can this production actually execute?”
Tactical Takeaway: Before production starts, assign every creative ambition in your script to one of two columns: “within our actual capacity” or “requires resources we don’t have.” Then eliminate the second column, or build the first one up to meet it. Don’t proceed with both columns unresolved.
Rule #10: Protect Post-Production Before Production Starts
Low-budget films die in post at a rate that nobody discusses honestly. The edit drags on. The audio cleanup is more overwhelming than anticipated. The color grade gets to scene twelve and stops. The film never officially gets abandoned—it just never gets finished.
This happens because post-production is treated as something that happens after the real work is done. It isn’t. Post is where the film becomes a film. Ignoring it in pre-production is how you end up with a hard drive full of footage that nobody ever sees.
Storage and backup are not optional. Shoot to a card. Copy to a drive on set, while the crew is wrapping. Back up to a second drive that night. The Samsung T7 Shield is durable, fast, and inexpensive enough that there’s no excuse for a single-copy workflow. Losing footage is not a story you get to tell dramatically. It’s a production failure with no recovery.
Budget time for audio cleanup before you lock the schedule. Dialogue editing and mixing take longer than most indie filmmakers expect. If you’re doing it yourself, double your estimate. Then add a week.
Missing pickups are a post-production emergency. If you wrap and realize you don’t have a clean line reading, a cutaway, or a reaction shot the edit needs—and you’ve already struck the location and released the actor—you are in serious trouble. Coverage discipline during production is also post-production insurance.
Tactical Takeaway: Before production starts, write a post-production schedule with the same specificity as the shoot schedule. Assign who is editing, who is mixing audio, who is doing color, and what the deadline is. A festival submission deadline is the single most effective tool for actually finishing a film.
The Rules I Broke That Cost Me the Most
Advice is easy to give. Here’s what it cost me personally to learn the things above.
I ignored the audio on a documentary shoot because the location was visually perfect and we didn’t have time to treat it. The reverb was bad. I told myself we’d address it in post. Post could not address it. The client walked. I spent three days in an edit suite trying to fix something that was broken before I ever pressed record.
I built a six-location shoot into a two-day schedule because the script needed it, and I didn’t have the production experience yet to understand what “six locations in two days” actually meant in practice. By day two, we were shooting with one light because setup time had consumed everything. The coverage was thin. The performances were rushed. The edit required structural rewrites that changed the story I set out to tell.
I skipped rehearsals on a dialogue-heavy scene because everyone seemed confident and we had limited time with the location. On set, the actors found their chemistry but kept adjusting the blocking organically. By take six, nothing matched take two. I had to build the scene from pieces that didn’t quite connect because I hadn’t locked the performance down before I started rolling camera.
I told a crew member we’d “wrap soon” for two hours on a night shoot that kept extending. By the time we actually called wrap, the trust was gone. They showed up to the next shoot—barely—and left the minute the call time ended. I’d spent the goodwill I’d built over three projects in a single bad night.
These aren’t warnings. They’re tuition receipts. The rules above exist because someone paid for them, and the someone was me.
The Hidden Production Mistakes That Kill Indie Films
Beyond the ten rules, specific failure patterns appear reliably enough to name.
Too many night shoots. Night shoots are hard on crew energy, hard on continuity, and hard on schedules. Every night shoot should be justified by a genuine creative or logistical reason, not by the default assumption that the scene happens at night. Relight it as a day interior. You’ll rarely lose anything meaningful and you’ll gain everything logistically.
No contingency. Your contingency budget exists for the moment the location falls through, the rental gear malfunctions, or the weather refuses to cooperate. Protect it like it’s oxygen. Every dollar you spend from contingency before the shoot starts is a dollar you won’t have when something actually breaks. More on realistic short film budgeting.
“We’ll fix it in post.” This is the most expensive lie in filmmaking. Fix it on set. Fix it in pre-production. Fix it in the script. Post cannot fix a performance, a coverage problem, or a structural story issue. It can clean up edges.
Ignoring actor preparation. Actors who haven’t rehearsed need more takes to find the scene. More takes cost time. More time costs everything else. The math is simple. More on saving production time through rehearsals.
Shot lists ordered by convenience rather than priority. The most critical coverage should be shot first, while the crew is fresh and the day is long. Shooting the establishing exterior first because it’s easiest means your most important close-ups happen at hour seven.
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The Verdict
Low-budget filmmaking succeeds when productions reduce complexity, protect sound quality, manage time realistically, and prioritize coverage over expensive visuals. Most indie films fail because of overscheduling, poor audio, unfinished post-production, and production burnout—not because the camera was too cheap.
The camera is almost never the problem.
The production plan almost always is.
If you’re ready to apply all of this to an actual production, the complete low-budget short film production guide is the implementation document—budgets, shoot plans, and production phases from script to festival submission.
Frequently Asked Questions
What is considered low-budget filmmaking?
Low-budget filmmaking refers to productions made with limited financial resources, typically requiring smaller crews, simplified locations, practical lighting, and reduced shooting schedules. The definition scales with context: ten thousand dollars is micro-budget for a narrative feature and substantial for a short film.
How do low-budget films look cinematic?
Through lighting control, clean sound, intentional framing, color consistency, and disciplined production planning. Expensive cameras are a distant secondary factor. A well-lit medium shot with clean audio on a consumer camera outperforms a poorly-lit wide on a cinema camera in almost every viewing context.
What ruins most indie films?
Poor audio, unrealistic schedules, weak post-production planning, incomplete coverage, and production burnout account for the majority of indie film failures. Cheap cameras are rarely the cause.
Should indie filmmakers buy expensive cameras?
Most indie filmmakers should prioritize lighting, sound, lenses, storage, and post-production time before upgrading camera bodies. The ceiling on image quality for current mirrorless cameras is far above what most low-budget productions require. Budget filmmaking gear that actually matters starts with audio, not optics.
How do you keep a low-budget crew motivated?
Feed them well and on time. Keep shoots under ten hours. Show them the dailies. Credit them generously. Actually finish the film. A completed short that played two festivals is a better crew relationship investment than an ambitious project that never finished post.
How do you prevent a low-budget film from dying in post?
Plan post-production before production starts. Assign roles, build a schedule, and back up footage on the day. Set a festival submission deadline before you start shooting. The deadline is the one external accountability mechanism that actually forces completion.
What is complexity debt in filmmaking?
Complexity debt is the hidden production cost created by each additional location, actor, setup, prop, VFX shot, or logistical variable. It compounds. It’s paid in time and energy on the shoot day, typically at the worst possible moment—during the coverage you most needed to get right.
2026 Semantic Glossary
Coverage: The collection of shots needed to make a scene cuttable in the edit—wides, mediums, close-ups, and reaction shots. Incomplete coverage is one of the most common causes of structural edit problems.
Complexity debt: The hidden production cost created by each additional location, actor, setup, or logistical variable. Paid in time and energy on the shoot day, usually with interest.
Company move: The process of transporting crew and equipment from one location to another during a shoot day. Each move typically costs forty-five minutes to two hours depending on crew size and distance.
Room tone: A thirty-second recording of ambient silence at each shooting location, used in the audio edit to fill gaps and smooth cuts between takes. Almost always forgotten. Almost always needed.
Practical lights: Lights visible in the frame as part of the scene—lamps, overhead fixtures, candles—used both as narrative elements and as functional light sources. Often the fastest path to motivated, cinematic lighting on a low budget.
Production gravity: The tendency of every production task to take longer than planned. Lighting takes longer. Resets take longer. Actors arrive later. Weather changes earlier. Build this assumption into your schedule by design rather than discovering it by accident.
Post-production bottleneck: The accumulation of unfinished tasks after the shoot wraps—audio cleanup, color grade, VFX, music licensing—that collectively cause films to stall before completion. The leading cause of indie film abandonment.
One More Shot Problem: The pattern of chasing visually ambitious but non-essential shots after essential coverage is complete, at the cost of time needed for the next scene’s must-have coverage.
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About the Author:
Trent Peek is a filmmaker specializing in directing, producing, and acting. He works with high-end cinema cameras from RED and ARRI and also values the versatility of cameras like the Blackmagic Pocket Cinema.
His recent short film “Going Home” was selected for the 2024 Soho International Film Festival, highlighting his skill in crafting compelling narratives. Learn more about his work on [IMDB], [YouTube], [Vimeo], and [Stage 32].
In his downtime, he likes to travel (sometimes he even manages to pack the right shoes), curl up with a book (and usually fall asleep after two pages), and brainstorm film ideas (most of which will never see the light of day). It’s a good way to keep himself occupied, even if he’s a bit of a mess at it all.
P.S. It’s really weird to talk in the third person
Tune In: He recently appeared on the Pushin Podcast, sharing insights into the director’s role in independent productions.
For more behind-the-scenes content and project updates, visit his YouTube channel at https://www.youtube.com/@trentalor.
For business inquiries, please get in touch with him at trentalor@peekatthis.com. You can also find Trent on Instagram @trentalor and Facebook @peekatthis.