Breasts, Bitches and Bumblebees (oh my!)

God. Can it get any more depressing out here? Between John Roger's post and Kay Reindl's post, I'm about ready to slit me wrists. Don't worry, I'd do it fashionably, probably slicing squiggles or something. But still...

Someone some where talked about (I think it was Kay again) how you never know who's going to help you, and usually the person you think it's going to be -- it isn't. And the last person you'd expect would help you is the one who does. I haven't experienced the latter. I have experienced the former. A little too much for my own comfort, if you ask me.

So, it's times like these that I get to thinking about Disneygate. I'm happy to see that *some* of my fellow Fellows have found jobs. Finally -- it seems, in our group, that no one really got work out of the Fellowship -- which made me sad.

But, then, you hear stories of chicks who cannot write (I know, I was in a class with her, she couldn't write) getting jobs because the showrunner took a shine to untalented chick's breasts. She didn't last long on that show (I heard rumors she really was awful in the room). Then, she got another job, because of her first job's caché. Just because it was on her resume, and the showrunner, who still loved chick's breasts, well... recommended her. Because of her breasts.

Then there's this guy who has a high-ranking executive aunt. He's been fired off of the best shows on the air. And, yet, he keeps getting work, because Auntie Dearest keeps on making phone calls.

On the other hand, you hear about deserving people not getting these jobs. Like a friend of mine who, by all accounts, should be a HUGE writer at this point, after all, his wife has a number of shows on the air. Yet... cannot get arrested. So, I guess I shouldn't complain.

But...

I am.

I've helped people with their shows, helped them flesh out their characters, etc, prior to the pilots getting picked up. One in particular really pisses me off. Very successful show. They always take my agent's calls. They never hire me. At first, it was because this person didn't have enough clout (they were just the creator, not the showrunner). Now that they've got the clout, they're hiring from within. I'd totally take an assistant gig. But that's never been offered. And, I suspect, I know why. But, if I talked about the situation here, it'd probably be pretty obvious what I was talking about and, you know, hope springs eternal.

Then there was this other guy who I'd helped out majorly a year ago. He's been all over the trades recently. I'll tell you what show I won't be getting on this year: his.

Then there's another guy, whose daughter was kind of screwing up a lot, and my dad, who's friend's with this guy, helped his daughter out. Got her straightened out. Or, at least helped her with her hobby. Both my dad and I were surprised when this act was not reciprocated.

And then...

I've got a dozen stories like this and I'm sure you all do, too. And now, apparently the writers' rooms have been put in the dryer because they're shrinking at rapid rates. And, we're all breaking our fucking toes trying to get our feet in the door. And, I guess... well. I've turned into that jaded, entitled person that I abhor.

I don't deserve a job. No one deserves them. Some people get them, more people don't. So, I'm going to spend a little time trying to get back that feeling I used to feel. That attitude that's more: "it'll happen when it happens."

To me, it's like the bumblebee -- have I talked about this before? Apologies if I have. Scientists once believed that because of their wingspan and the size of their bodies, it was physically impossible for the bumblebee to fly. It was believed that bumblebees, purely because they didn't know any different, flew. That if, one day, someone were able to communicate to the bumblebee the impossibility of it all, that the bumblebee wouldn't be able to fly. That it was simply the lack of knowledge.

In this same vein, I'm going to stop reading (or at least stop taking to heart) these bleak posts. I'm going to be the bumblebee of writers. And if it's impossible for me to get on staff, well, I won't know it -- ergo I will get on staff.

Right?