Springtime for yet-to-staff screenwriters is a season rife with emotion; panic, despair, and fatigue tend to be my go-to’s. Beginning in March and continuing through May, fellowship season permeates a familiar musk in the air, welcoming the hungry and hopeful to try their luck for a guided step across the industry threshold. Writers polish their best drafts, write a personal statement, and cross their fingers that CBS, NBC, or ABC/Disney (to name a few) will finally realize what they should have realized last year and the year before: they’ve got the stuff.

However, the fact of the matter is, it’s probable that they still won’t see that thrice drafted …Always Sunny… spec as the masterpiece that it truly is. Why? The system is rigged, and everyone knows it. Well, maybe not everyone. At the very least, I didn’t know, until recently.

With fellowship season comes fellowship panels, intimate discussions with the fellowship script readers from varying programs and networks who share their experience to help writers tailor their application materials prior to submission. It was during my attendance to one this season that the shadowy veil was raised right before my eyes; a seasoned writer on the panel opened the discussion with, “Listen, we all know the system is rigged, and it’s not fair, but we do it anyway.”

There was a collective chuckle shared by the crowd that rolled off of me as I sat, awkward and confused. That can’t be true, can it? Rigged, in what way? Why is this a joke and not a genuine concern? It baffled me to think that this system that I had put so much faith into could somehow be unfair; if it wasn’t based on the merit of the writer, then what was the point?

As the panel continued, I pushed it to the back of my mind. It wasn’t until the mixer that followed that I allowed myself to bring it up to a friend. I had asked her if she had known about the system’s imbalance and she’d recounted some murmurs she’d heard at prior networking events. The consensus of working writers appeared jaded; fellowship season is rigged, and writers could apply if they felt so inclined.

It was surprising and disheartening. In the same way that modern entry-level positions are practically non-existent, the pathway programs for new writers require a connection to a showrunner. Following the revelation, I added bitterness to my ever-growing list of springtime emotions. It would take the words of a mentor at a speed-networking event to change my perspective; “You don’t have to get in to reap the benefits,” she’d said, coolly.

She went on to explain that there was more value than most writers realize in becoming a finalist and ultimately losing out to a better-connected counterpart. To become a finalist, the panel has to admit that the work submitted by a writer is good; that alone is something that will make a previously sparse resume dazzle. And, just like that, I was back in the express line for another ride on the fellowship season roller-coaster.

At the end of the day, writing is a craft. For me, taking part in fellowship season is a great way to hone it and improve. I would suggest the process to any new writer seeking an industry entry point, regardless of the rigged aspect many believe. There will come a time when that …Always Sunny… spec will land into the hands of a script reader who sees the clear potential; and, even if the opportunity to shine bright like a diamond in a fellowship program doesn’t present itself, strive to be a finalist and shine bright like cubic zirconia. Both will look great on a resume.

Mercedes K. Milner is a Co-Founder and Administrator of the Write or Die Chicks and the Writers Group Coordinator. She is a staff writer for the WODC Blog and she heads the Reading on Writing column.