Part of the pack

For several years I worked as a writers' assistant on TV shows. Basically the primary job is to type on a computer (which has a screen that all of the writers in the room can watch), either taking story notes or taking directions to edit a script.

One morning while I sat at the computer in the writers' room, the writers were chatting away, chatting which, as an assistant, you're pretty much supposed to stay out of -- but you still have to listen, as at any moment one of the writers might say the funniest line the world has ever heard or come up with a genius story twist or idea and if you don't capture it verbatim, you have failed at your job.

For me, that was one of the hardest things about working as an assistant -- there's no such thing as excelling as an assistant. If you do everything right, if you go above and beyond, you're just doing your job. The paradox is that most people who are entertainment assistants actually want to be doing a creative job, and the assistant job is a way to make contacts and build experience to make the leap to the creative job -- but if you are a really great assistant, instead of giving you that chance to get ahead, you boss is likely instead to thwart you because hell, you're a good assistant, and he doesn't want to have to hire another. So the target? Be a good assistant, but not too good.

Anyhow, back to that morning. The writers are prattling on, and then one of them starts talking about their child's upcoming and very important upcoming preschool interview.

I've always felt that people put way too much emphasis on their little kids getting in to the "right" school. I grew up in a small town, went to that small town public school system (with a 50% drop out rate, by the way) for K-12, and then went on to an Ivy League school. I feel confident that no matter what school I'd gone to, I still could/would have ended up at the same college. I went to Whatever preschool, what's with the freaking out over a preschool interview?

Yet here I was, highly educated and skilled American worker, smarter than anyone else in the room (though there are many very academically smart writers I've worked with, but not on this particular day), and I was working as a less-than-gruntled assistant. What the hell?

Well, it was then that I realized something. That writer's kid is likely pretty average, ok, benefit of the doubt, above-average, but not someone whose toddler brilliance will make your jaw drop. But their parents have very high hopes for them; and the best way to make sure those dreams come true is to make sure that they give their child absolutely every possible advantage, build them the best resume you can imagine, hire tutors and trainers and take them to museums and buy them books and basically hustle their asses off, anything to make them stand out from the pack so they can get into an Ivy League college.

I was in the same boat as that kid.

I was working as a writers' assistant because I wanted to be a writer. I made the somewhat Faustian bargain to work as an assistant in exchange for connections and exposure and the chance to make the leap to writer. But there are many working writers who didn't take that path -- they wrote some great samples, got an agent, got a job, and were off and running.

But although I had been an academic superstar, I wasn't a writing superstar. I was average, hey, benefit of the doubt, above average. But I didn't drop jaws. And just like that kid, I was going to have to use every connection, hustle every moment, build the best resume I could, because now I was just part of the pack.

I should quit typing and schedule my daughter's preschool interview...