Wednesday, and halfway through the ‘extra’ week we have to wait to hear which of the lucky candidates are safely through as the first film to be greenlit. My job represents a 10 to 12 hour day more times than not, so the hectic working week offers plenty to keep me, and my partner The Missus, preoccupied with. In spite of this, today I have noticed for the first time a slowly building, silent scream of angst. It’s always there, just under the surface. It’s a shrill shout of despair, asking me how I will deal with not being picked. “What will you do,” it asks me? “How will you feel… about you?” Over the years, I have built up a defense mechanism to deal with the avalanche of “No’s” that creative people get when they need permission from other people to complete their art. My defense is to think of something creative that I can do now that I’ve got all this spare time after being rejected. I’ve had an idea to write a novel for kids. So I imagine, with alarming clarity, getting told “No” – and then tell myself that I can start the book. I get a sense of relief from the depression, and then an instant later the depression is back again. It would appear that the defense mechanism doesn’t work anymore.

Why? I’m not less excited about writing the book. It’s become a major life goal for me. And there hasn’t been any additional news come down the line that makes getting rejected any more probable than it already is. No, I think it just means that I’m ready. Actually ready, with every fibre of my being, to make a movie. I don’t want to know the true answers to those shrill questions my anxiety is asking of me, but for now, the simple answer that I am absolutely ready to hear a “Yes” is going to have to be enough.