The Merry-Go-Round of Praise, Rejection, and Why We Write

I have been quiet here since February, but not because I have not been writing.

Quite the opposite.

In recent months, a number of scripts have been named semifinalists, quarterfinalists, and official selections. FilmFreeway has sent up its little stars and bursts of digital confetti, which are not quite an Oscar but can still improve an afternoon.

And then there are the days when a festival says no.

The days when you submit work you believe in, perhaps work that has been recognised elsewhere, and discover it has not found a place in this particular lineup, with these particular readers, at this particular moment.

The same body of work can be “award-winning” on Monday and apparently invisible on Friday. Neither result is the whole truth.

This is the merry-go-round of being a writer. A laurel. A congratulatory email. Another entry fee. Another deadline. Hope, doubt, and the inevitable question: Why am I doing this?

Recognition matters, of course. It is one of the currencies of the film industry. An accolade can make someone pause long enough to read a logline, open a conversation, or give a story a little life beyond your desk.

But it is not why we write.

Most stories begin with a question. Sometimes they begin with something more elusive: an image, a scrap of conversation, a moment you witnessed, a memory you had forgotten. Often, you do not know why it caught your attention until you are deep into a rewrite and finally see what you have been trying to work out.

Then the characters come alive. They don't behave as planned. They say something you didn't know they needed to say. The story that has fought you for weeks suddenly opens a door, and there is clarity.

That's the passion part. Screenwriting is not a race. It's a marathon, and it's only for those who love running.

And as if writing were not enough, these days we also have to think like producers: can this be made, how, and for whom? Is the genre clear? The budget realistic? Is there an audience? What are the comps? Why this story now? Is the hook obvious? Does the first act deliver what the pitch promises? What is the emotional reason someone should care?

Meanwhile, I am wrapping up Episode Six, the season finale of a half-hour adult dramedy.

This is not, strictly speaking, how one is meant to develop a television series. The sensible route is to write a pilot and a series bible, then persuade someone to want the rest.

But I like these characters. I want to know what they do next. So I keep writing.

"Unwritten," a half-hour TV dramedy