had been in Tinseltown five years, had finished nine
screenplays on spec, none of which had sold. Finally I got
a meeting with a big producer. He kept taking phone calls,
even as I pitched my stuff. He had one of those headset
things, so he didn't even have to pick up a receiver; the calls
came in and he took them. Finally one came that was
personal. "Would you mind?" he asked, indicating the door.
"I need some privacy on this one." I exited. The door closed
behind me. Ten minutes passed. I was standing out by the
secretaries. Twenty more minutes passed. Finally the
producer's door opened; he came out pulling on his jacket.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!"
He had forgotten all about me.
I'm human. This hurt. I wasn't a kid either; I was in my
forties, with a rap sheet of failure as long as your arm.
The professional cannot let himself take humiliation
personally. Humiliation, like rejection and criticism, is the
external reflection of internal Resistance.
The professional endures adversity. He lets the birdshit
splash down on his slicker, remembering that it comes clean
with a heavy-duty hosing. He himself, his creative center,