Like that 1978 Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn movie, my affair with the Nicholl Fellowship may very well be nothing more than a permanent annual fling that isn't really meant to amount to anything but is there to provide something delightful once a year for the rest of my capable life.
Who knows. Last year, my dink letter couldn't have come at a worse time and yet, how cool is it that we now have Brett's experiences to learn from should any of us follow in his -- whatever it is he wears on those big feet of his?
With no job right now, you'd think I'd be obsessing over the Nicholl again. Nope. Did that already. Time well wasted studying my weaknesses and trying to become a better screenwriter. This past few months, I've just been reading screenplays and watching movies.
As for the Nicholl, I may polish an old screenplay or two or finish up one or two I'm working on and I may not enter at all. I don't really don't know. Whatever happens, happens. Doris and Peter knew in Same Time Next Year that somebody would always be waiting for them at that quaint little inn on the coast in California. I don't know if there is a Nicholl waiting or me or not. Nobody does. But it's always there to work toward. I guess that's something.