In which our hapless hero hopes not to embarrass himself too badly this time.
'This time things will go well. This time technology will not conspire against me. This time. This time.'
Tomorrow I have the opportunity to speak with one of the greatest television writer/producers in history, a personal hero, the real deal. And I'm twisted up in knots about it.
This really isn't like me.
The problem is that early last summer I spoke with another producer from this same show and encountered a perfect storm of disasters both during and afterward, and a part of me never really recovered from the experience.
That first call took place a week or so after a terrible storm ripped through our part of town knocking out power for a couple of days and messing up our Internet access, which was still spotty when I called the producer via Skype – the only means I had at the time to record our conversation for accuracy.
For the next hour our call cut in and out a few times, and eventually dropped out altogether. Mortified, I called him back on my cell phone and took notes. I haven't been able to schedule a follow-up interview with him since.
Needless to say, this, along with the fact that we ended up taking a family member to the emergency room later that same night, has left the old confidence shaken when it comes to getting the other producers from this show on the phone.
It makes no sense, I know. These are completely different people, and for all I know the first producer might simply have been swallowed whole by his massive workload. But there's always that side of your brain that whispers, 'You're gonna mess this one up, too.' And if I was as prolific in my writing as that voice is in its little whispers, I could fill a library...