So, the BBC is opening its doors to the Writers Academy once again. And it really is an outstanding opportunity for those who wish to develop a career with the world’s most venerable and respected commissioner. Only, one of the things I’ve learned in the last couple of years is that career path is not the one I intend to pursue.

I’d love to write for some of the BBC’s shows, I really would. Dr Who would be my absolute dream gig, but then there’s The Street, and Spooks, and Survivors, and maybe something original for CBBC that would allow me to recapture the eerieness I felt watching Children of the Stones way back when.

But there’s no guarantee that being in the Writers Academy will open those doors. Sure, it’ll increase your chances — but the core task of Writers Academy is to groom writers to script the BBC’s flagship shows: Eastenders, Holby, Casualty and — on the nursery slopes — Doctors. And I realised a while back I have no true passion for any of those programmes.

I’ve written for Doctors, and had a lot of fun doing so. Learned some things of use, too. But having got my first idea approved and developed, I found that I was still more excited by what I’d done for my trial script than what transpired as my first tv episode was brought to fruition. And as I produced more, and more, ideas for a second episode, I realised what part of the problem was. As a writer, your job is to create a distinctive episode. As someone involved in the show, your role is to ensure a consistent series. And those two responsibilities don’t always dovetail. There’s a danger of truly distinctive elements getting sanded down by the compromises involved in working on a branded property.

It took a while to reach that — possibly controversial — conclusion. And I continued to produce concepts after my second episode was broadcast. By which point I realised I was also in a pool of 200 other writers also generating a multitude of concepts for the show. Which had to get past first your script editor (mine were both lovely people I had a good working relationship with) and then people further up the food chain before getting a go-ahead. Now, let’s say each writer contributes 15 one page outlines to their story editor in a season…you can see where this is leading. Generating such a concept could take a day or more, so while the chances are better than that of a spermatazoon fertilising an egg, it increasingly started to feel like a numbers game I wanted no part of.

So, I opted out. Actually, that was part of a wider commitment to only work on projects I felt truly passionate about. And guess what? I’ve been happier since then, and more satisfied with my writing. That’s where my drug worker series The Sharp End came into existence, which has been well received by everyone who’s seen it, and which I’m waiting for someone to bite at — or offer me interesting work on projects of their own. And it’s led to any number of other opportunities, such as the invitations to work with an up-and-coming theatre company and talented filmmaker that I wrote about recently.

All of this suits me because I have an entrepreneurial streak as well as a creative one. I’d rather take a chance on developing projects of my own, getting involved in the networking and production side of it all, than spend a career working on someone else’s shows that I don’t have a real feel for. It’s that simple.

So, I won’t be applying for the BBC Writers Academy. But it remains a superb opportunity for those of you who have a genuine love for the shows it’ll get you involved with: Academy graduates are increasingly involved in scripting those dramas, so there’s a clear route to stability and success to be found. I wish that worked for me, but it really doesn’t, so I’ll be taking my chances elsewhere. Wish me luck.