How ‘Love Story’ writer Connor Hines won over Ryan Murphy

Growing up, my grandparents virtually had a shrine to President Kennedy and Jackie. For many descendants of Irish immigrants, especially from the Boston area, the Kennedys were the realization of the American dream: a family that overcame anti-Irish prejudice and built an empire that would propel one son to the White House, two others to the Senate, and generations of public servants after them. Needless to say, the lore of the family was embedded in me from a young age.

Around 2020, I descended into a Kennedy rabbit hole, starting with the tycoon and patriarch Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. and working my way through the generations. When I reached John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy’s story, a switch went off within me — that jolt of adrenaline and inspiration you pray to stumble upon as a writer. Yes, their courtship was singular, sweeping and at times volatile, but I was mostly struck by the acute disconnect between the way they were posthumously characterized by friends and family and the often misogynistic, reductive narrative that surrounded them at the time. The more I read about them, the more convinced I became that there was an entirely new story to be told — through a fresh lens that could humanize and dimensionalize two people who had been so widely mythologized.

But obsession does not a show make. I was more than aware that I wasn’t at a place in my career where a network or streaming service would likely entrust me with a story of that magnitude and lore — until a few months later, when it was announced in Deadline that Ryan Murphy was launching a new anthology series, “American Love Story.” The first season: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy.

Fortunately for me, the heads of Color Force, Brad Simpson and Nina Jacobson — the producers behind acclaimed series such as “The People v. O.J. Simpson” and “Say Nothing” — read a sample of mine and agreed to meet with me. After our extensive discussion about my interest in the show, they suggested I meet with Ryan to walk him through my take on the story. While this might seem like the logical next step in the hiring process for a Ryan Murphy show, the suggestion felt anything but. Ryan Murphy was a name that entered my psyche circa 1999, at the age of 11, when I would sneak out of my room to watch Ryan’s first series, “Popular”: a clever, biting, provocative show that, like so many of his later works, upended the status quo of the genre and showcased characters — and talented, overlooked actors — found nowhere else on TV.

I spent roughly three months in the trenches with Brad and Nina, deepening and refining my presentation — one that I’d recite in the shower, on runs, at Trader Joe’s, while I drove. It was a crash course in storytelling, producing, and understanding the alchemy that propelled so many of Ryan’s shows into the zeitgeist.

Most mega-producers likely would have balked at my less-than-robust résumé, but Ryan is someone who moves instinctively and decisively, and after our meeting, he offered me the chance to write the show. In the spirit of full transparency, I immediately experienced almost debilitating impostor syndrome, but after several frantic phone calls to my agents, manager and therapist, I accepted.

Connor Hines.

(Evan Mulling / For The Times)

I’m not sure I’ve ever obsessed over anything the way I did the world of “Love Story.” I knew it was a tremendous responsibility, and a story that had to be handled with care, but I was also exhilarated by the privilege of writing about a subject that not only I loved deeply, but one that my grandparents had loved deeply as well. Sadly, they passed away before this all came to fruition, but I can only imagine how happy — and, knowing my grandfather, how responsible — they would feel seeing my dreams materialize in such a fortuitous way.

Unlike many Hollywood experiences, working on “Love Story” turned out to be everything I had hoped for and more, and despite nearly a decade of watching projects wither on the development vine, it felt exactly like where I was supposed to be.

Growing up, my grandparents virtually had a shrine to President Kennedy and Jackie. For many descendants of Irish immigrants, especially from the Boston area, the Kennedys were the realization of the American dream: a family that overcame anti-Irish prejudice and built an empire that would propel one son to the White House, two others to the Senate, and generations of public servants after them. Needless to say, the lore of the family was embedded in me from a young age.

Around 2020, I descended into a Kennedy rabbit hole, starting with the tycoon and patriarch Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. and working my way through the generations. When I reached John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy’s story, a switch went off within me — that jolt of adrenaline and inspiration you pray to stumble upon as a writer. Yes, their courtship was singular, sweeping and at times volatile, but I was mostly struck by the acute disconnect between the way they were posthumously characterized by friends and family and the often misogynistic, reductive narrative that surrounded them at the time. The more I read about them, the more convinced I became that there was an entirely new story to be told — through a fresh lens that could humanize and dimensionalize two people who had been so widely mythologized.

But obsession does not a show make. I was more than aware that I wasn’t at a place in my career where a network or streaming service would likely entrust me with a story of that magnitude and lore — until a few months later, when it was announced in Deadline that Ryan Murphy was launching a new anthology series, “American Love Story.” The first season: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy.

Fortunately for me, the heads of Color Force, Brad Simpson and Nina Jacobson — the producers behind acclaimed series such as “The People v. O.J. Simpson” and “Say Nothing” — read a sample of mine and agreed to meet with me. After our extensive discussion about my interest in the show, they suggested I meet with Ryan to walk him through my take on the story. While this might seem like the logical next step in the hiring process for a Ryan Murphy show, the suggestion felt anything but. Ryan Murphy was a name that entered my psyche circa 1999, at the age of 11, when I would sneak out of my room to watch Ryan’s first series, “Popular”: a clever, biting, provocative show that, like so many of his later works, upended the status quo of the genre and showcased characters — and talented, overlooked actors — found nowhere else on TV.

I spent roughly three months in the trenches with Brad and Nina, deepening and refining my presentation — one that I’d recite in the shower, on runs, at Trader Joe’s, while I drove. It was a crash course in storytelling, producing, and understanding the alchemy that propelled so many of Ryan’s shows into the zeitgeist.

Most mega-producers likely would have balked at my less-than-robust résumé, but Ryan is someone who moves instinctively and decisively, and after our meeting, he offered me the chance to write the show. In the spirit of full transparency, I immediately experienced almost debilitating impostor syndrome, but after several frantic phone calls to my agents, manager and therapist, I accepted.

Connor Hines.

(Evan Mulling / For The Times)

I’m not sure I’ve ever obsessed over anything the way I did the world of “Love Story.” I knew it was a tremendous responsibility, and a story that had to be handled with care, but I was also exhilarated by the privilege of writing about a subject that not only I loved deeply, but one that my grandparents had loved deeply as well. Sadly, they passed away before this all came to fruition, but I can only imagine how happy — and, knowing my grandfather, how responsible — they would feel seeing my dreams materialize in such a fortuitous way.

Unlike many Hollywood experiences, working on “Love Story” turned out to be everything I had hoped for and more, and despite nearly a decade of watching projects wither on the development vine, it felt exactly like where I was supposed to be.

Growing up, my grandparents virtually had a shrine to President Kennedy and Jackie. For many descendants of Irish immigrants, especially from the Boston area, the Kennedys were the realization of the American dream: a family that overcame anti-Irish prejudice and built an empire that would propel one son to the White House, two others to the Senate, and generations of public servants after them. Needless to say, the lore of the family was embedded in me from a young age.

Around 2020, I descended into a Kennedy rabbit hole, starting with the tycoon and patriarch Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. and working my way through the generations. When I reached John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy’s story, a switch went off within me — that jolt of adrenaline and inspiration you pray to stumble upon as a writer. Yes, their courtship was singular, sweeping and at times volatile, but I was mostly struck by the acute disconnect between the way they were posthumously characterized by friends and family and the often misogynistic, reductive narrative that surrounded them at the time. The more I read about them, the more convinced I became that there was an entirely new story to be told — through a fresh lens that could humanize and dimensionalize two people who had been so widely mythologized.

But obsession does not a show make. I was more than aware that I wasn’t at a place in my career where a network or streaming service would likely entrust me with a story of that magnitude and lore — until a few months later, when it was announced in Deadline that Ryan Murphy was launching a new anthology series, “American Love Story.” The first season: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy.

Fortunately for me, the heads of Color Force, Brad Simpson and Nina Jacobson — the producers behind acclaimed series such as “The People v. O.J. Simpson” and “Say Nothing” — read a sample of mine and agreed to meet with me. After our extensive discussion about my interest in the show, they suggested I meet with Ryan to walk him through my take on the story. While this might seem like the logical next step in the hiring process for a Ryan Murphy show, the suggestion felt anything but. Ryan Murphy was a name that entered my psyche circa 1999, at the age of 11, when I would sneak out of my room to watch Ryan’s first series, “Popular”: a clever, biting, provocative show that, like so many of his later works, upended the status quo of the genre and showcased characters — and talented, overlooked actors — found nowhere else on TV.

I spent roughly three months in the trenches with Brad and Nina, deepening and refining my presentation — one that I’d recite in the shower, on runs, at Trader Joe’s, while I drove. It was a crash course in storytelling, producing, and understanding the alchemy that propelled so many of Ryan’s shows into the zeitgeist.

Most mega-producers likely would have balked at my less-than-robust résumé, but Ryan is someone who moves instinctively and decisively, and after our meeting, he offered me the chance to write the show. In the spirit of full transparency, I immediately experienced almost debilitating impostor syndrome, but after several frantic phone calls to my agents, manager and therapist, I accepted.

Connor Hines.

(Evan Mulling / For The Times)

I’m not sure I’ve ever obsessed over anything the way I did the world of “Love Story.” I knew it was a tremendous responsibility, and a story that had to be handled with care, but I was also exhilarated by the privilege of writing about a subject that not only I loved deeply, but one that my grandparents had loved deeply as well. Sadly, they passed away before this all came to fruition, but I can only imagine how happy — and, knowing my grandfather, how responsible — they would feel seeing my dreams materialize in such a fortuitous way.

Unlike many Hollywood experiences, working on “Love Story” turned out to be everything I had hoped for and more, and despite nearly a decade of watching projects wither on the development vine, it felt exactly like where I was supposed to be.

Growing up, my grandparents virtually had a shrine to President Kennedy and Jackie. For many descendants of Irish immigrants, especially from the Boston area, the Kennedys were the realization of the American dream: a family that overcame anti-Irish prejudice and built an empire that would propel one son to the White House, two others to the Senate, and generations of public servants after them. Needless to say, the lore of the family was embedded in me from a young age.

Around 2020, I descended into a Kennedy rabbit hole, starting with the tycoon and patriarch Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. and working my way through the generations. When I reached John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy’s story, a switch went off within me — that jolt of adrenaline and inspiration you pray to stumble upon as a writer. Yes, their courtship was singular, sweeping and at times volatile, but I was mostly struck by the acute disconnect between the way they were posthumously characterized by friends and family and the often misogynistic, reductive narrative that surrounded them at the time. The more I read about them, the more convinced I became that there was an entirely new story to be told — through a fresh lens that could humanize and dimensionalize two people who had been so widely mythologized.

But obsession does not a show make. I was more than aware that I wasn’t at a place in my career where a network or streaming service would likely entrust me with a story of that magnitude and lore — until a few months later, when it was announced in Deadline that Ryan Murphy was launching a new anthology series, “American Love Story.” The first season: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy.

Fortunately for me, the heads of Color Force, Brad Simpson and Nina Jacobson — the producers behind acclaimed series such as “The People v. O.J. Simpson” and “Say Nothing” — read a sample of mine and agreed to meet with me. After our extensive discussion about my interest in the show, they suggested I meet with Ryan to walk him through my take on the story. While this might seem like the logical next step in the hiring process for a Ryan Murphy show, the suggestion felt anything but. Ryan Murphy was a name that entered my psyche circa 1999, at the age of 11, when I would sneak out of my room to watch Ryan’s first series, “Popular”: a clever, biting, provocative show that, like so many of his later works, upended the status quo of the genre and showcased characters — and talented, overlooked actors — found nowhere else on TV.

I spent roughly three months in the trenches with Brad and Nina, deepening and refining my presentation — one that I’d recite in the shower, on runs, at Trader Joe’s, while I drove. It was a crash course in storytelling, producing, and understanding the alchemy that propelled so many of Ryan’s shows into the zeitgeist.

Most mega-producers likely would have balked at my less-than-robust résumé, but Ryan is someone who moves instinctively and decisively, and after our meeting, he offered me the chance to write the show. In the spirit of full transparency, I immediately experienced almost debilitating impostor syndrome, but after several frantic phone calls to my agents, manager and therapist, I accepted.

Connor Hines.

(Evan Mulling / For The Times)

I’m not sure I’ve ever obsessed over anything the way I did the world of “Love Story.” I knew it was a tremendous responsibility, and a story that had to be handled with care, but I was also exhilarated by the privilege of writing about a subject that not only I loved deeply, but one that my grandparents had loved deeply as well. Sadly, they passed away before this all came to fruition, but I can only imagine how happy — and, knowing my grandfather, how responsible — they would feel seeing my dreams materialize in such a fortuitous way.

Unlike many Hollywood experiences, working on “Love Story” turned out to be everything I had hoped for and more, and despite nearly a decade of watching projects wither on the development vine, it felt exactly like where I was supposed to be.