Inevitably, whenever I complete a script, there is an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, of pride at the final(ish) product, and relief that the process is finally over (for now). As most writers can attest, from here, it’ll be a slow build through various stages of elation as you forward the script to your reps, formulate a game plan, and send it out to potential buyers. Then elation gives way to uncertainty as no one gets back to you in a timely manner. Uncertainty gives way to disappointment when they finally do to tell you they loved the script but, unfortunately, they’re only buying crap this year or, occasionally, uncertainty gives way to panic when they tell you they are already developing something very similar (which may coincidentally contain all those small details you spent weeks lovingly crafting). After that, it’s a swift devolution to desperation as the passes pile up and you and your team reconvene to discuss any possible buyers they may have missed (Are you we sure Quibli shut down? Is Blip still around?). And, finally, desperation gives way to depression with the realization that it’s all been a giant waste of time. But, inevitably, vestigial traces of hope arise akin to the redolent scent of the delicious meal your neighbor is preparing that you won’t get to eat, as you take consolation in the fact that at, at the very least, you have a terrific writing sample for decision-making executives to read. Although they won’t. But on the off-chance they do it won’t really matter because they’re only making crap this year.