Bret Calvert

He sat and stared at the blank page on his computer screen for longer than he cared to actually calculate. The vertical, blinking line seemed to be mocking him with every blip. He attempted to fill the space with words several times, but would ultimately highlight and delete his lame passages with about forty times the speed at which he had created them. He stopped to ponder the profundity of that action. Removing something you created from existence always takes much less time and effort than the actual creating. Maybe not for people who work in nuclear plants or Styrofoam factories, but for the rest of us…it’s certainly true.

The task at hand seemed like a simple one: Create a document that detailed his love for writing, his abilities in television production and described his other assets…something that a potential employer would read and instantly become possessed by an overwhelming desire to hire him. He was fairly accomplished and was proud of the work that he had done. He considered himself a capable employee and had created strong bonds with almost everyone he had worked for. He wasn’t enough of an egotist to claim his writing was great, but he knew that, having existed for years as a TV writer, solely by word of mouth, he probably wasn’t too bad.

He knew all of these things about himself, but was having trouble putting them on paper without sounding like a raging douchebag. Self-promotion was never one of his stronger suits. He enjoyed compliments, but couldn’t muster the part of his brain that was able to give them to himself. Patting his own back on paper for a stranger to read was even harder.

All things considered, he had done pretty well for himself. As it seemed everyone in the country was running in tight circles, screaming “recession” at the top of their lungs, he had remained comfortable. Not jet-set, by any means…but comfortable. He knew that probably meant that he was at least somewhat of a commodity. He just felt uneasy saying as much. It was probably his biggest handicap in the entertainment business. Where “sharks” are rewarded and an ego is considered a valuable weapon. There was just too much small-town country boy in him to get caught up in it. He lived with the sharks and could hold his own when there was blood in the water…but he didn’t go looking for plump swimmers.

He thought for a few moments about how much he had butchered that analogy. He felt lucky that he wasn’t applying for the job of chief analogist.

He then considered writing something funny. Comedy had always been his bread and butter. He wanted to somehow convey on paper the pride he felt that, on separate occasions, he had made Cedric the Entertainer, Jeff Foxworthy and Stone Cold Steve Austin laugh so hard that a beverage came out of their nose. Or somehow morph into words the experience he had in uncountable writer’s rooms where he had stood out as the one who could always make the other comedy-minded artisans laugh. He never considered himself a “comedian”…but his efforts produced laughter and that was all he had ever wanted from his working life. Actually, that’s all he wanted from life in general. Laughter was his drug. It was his great white whale. On the other hand, he didn’t want to appear goofy. He didn’t want the phantom employer to think he was silly or didn’t take the job prospect seriously. The time to prove he was funny would come later, he thought…but not if he couldn’t finish this damn cover letter.

After an eternity of continuing to stare at his computer, he finally decided to pretend he was writing about someone else. He could compliment and congratulate…he could brag and convince…he could evaluate and describe. As long as he didn’t feel he was talking about himself. He wasn’t sure if it would come off as idiotic, cheesy or creative. He didn’t know if it would be perceived as endearing, insightful or just plain stupid. He didn’t know if it would work at all.

But he decided to give it a shot…