This journal documents the author's experiences as a television writer. To read the story from its inception, go to the beginning.

September 7, 2001

Pitch black
My capacity for trust is nonexistent: every word uttered by my agents fodder for dissection under the furtive microscope of my paranoia. A question on why a joke in one of our scripts is funny makes me wonder if they are automatons with limited creativity. A simple query as to whether my partner and I have any interest in writing for the one-hour drama format has me convinced they lack the contacts needed to obtain us work as sitcom scribes. If one of them were to belch, I'm sure I would interpret that as a sign indicating they are about to exit our relationship explosively.

Our agents want us to write a third spec. They are concerned that after reading our first two scripts, a television producer might ask "what else have they got?" Currently there is no "else." There is only uncertainty. Doubt. An uneasy feeling like the one a soon-to-be-victim in a slasher film has before venturing alone into the darkness.

In what can only be described as an ironic role reversal, it is now I who wants to wait. Although my agents would like us to start writing the new spec as soon as we finish revisions on our other scripts, I want to delay this project until I see the ratings for the first two weeks of the upcoming tv season. For I know that producers will only read sample scripts for shows currently being broadcast and networks are a capricious lot, removing programming from their fall schedule at the first sign of viewer apathy. Should my partner and I write this third spec script, I want to make sure it's for a show that will be around for seasons to come. I need to trust in something.

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� 2001 - 2002 tv writer. All rights reserved.