Luck of the Draw

Next Saturday marks a full year since my move to Los Angeles.

As you may or may not know from one of my tweets yesterday, I received last night a depressing email:
an “automatic Delivery Status Notification” telling me that “delivery to writersontheverge@nbcuni.com has failed.”
Translation: my NBC/Writers on the Verge 2012 application was not delivered.
The kicker is that I’m getting this message a full month after I sent out said application (for the two people who don’t know, the deadline was end of June).
Yes, I did e-mail WOTV back, just in case, but who am I kidding here.
It’s over a month too late for any “new” application to be accepted, regardless of when it was originally sent out.

In between the tears and hair-pulling, I began to curse the heavens.
Why me?!

Don’t worry, I’m not gonna go into a philosophical debate right now.
Well, not entirely.

Let’s go back to me yelling at an imaginary person in the sky:
Why me?!
Why is the world against me? Why did the delivery notice not arrive minutes after the e-mail pinged back, but literally a month later? Why did HD DVD lose to Blu-Ray?

And then, like [insert tired simile about a bolt of lightning, a slap or a ton of bricks], it hit me:
It happened to me because it happened to me. It is what it is.
What I mean by this very generic assembly of words is that, in my case, I could as much curse my luck as bless it.
The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, right?
And on my side, it’s plenty green.
After all, I did get my own Green Card (Green? Get it?) a little over a year ago.
Not a lot of people can say that in these neck of H-woods.
(As far as I know, only Dominic Purcell won his. No, really.)

“Why me?!” works both ways.
You can be thankful or ungrateful.
Pour yourself another half-glass of vodka and you’ll get it.

The end?
Not yet.

This isn’t a tale about how everything happens for a reason.
Hell, this isn’t a tale.
This is life.
I could whine all day about how everything’s going wrong.
Or I could suck it up.

Even if the application was never received, was it a waste of my time?
Did I really write a spec only to impress a nameless judge?
Do I have to continue asking these obvious rhetorical questions for dramatic effect?
Of course not.

I write because I want to write. Nay. I write because I have to write.
I don’t need a reason, I don’t need an excuse.
Whatever happened to my application, at least it allowed me share my writing (even to the Internet ether).

No tears will be shed at the loss of my Writers on the Verge application.
Better luck next time.

In conclusion, there is no conclusion.
You don’t have to see this industry (or life) as an everyday battle, but know this:
Fact: Setbacks happen.
Fact: You will be remembered by what you do, not by what you shoulda coulda woulda done.
Fact: Bears eat beets. Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.

Clearly, this long-winded (and hilarious) post was meant more for me than anyone else.
But maybe, hopefully, it was a little helpful for you as well.

Catharsis: unlocked.