On thick skins and not writing Waiting for Godot

I've been kicking around the pub theatre scene for about a year and a half now, and my failure to progress to anything grander is bothering me a lot at the moment. The most recent rejection in my pile comes from this Radio 4 sketch writing competition. There were over 2,000 entries and only 50 places on the short list, so I've got about 98% of my fellow entrants to keep me company, but I thought I had a good chance at this one. Much sulking took place on the day I got the rejection.

I need to get better at dealing with bad news, or the people who make Prozac will soon be one customer richer.

On the non-self-pitying front, this month I'm writing a one-act stage play as part of a challenge instigated by Piers Beckley and William Gallagher. Mine's a two-hander set on a completely bare stage, and I'm conscious of Samuel Beckett's ghost lurking in the shadows alert for any signs of plagiarism. I hope I can produce something original enough not to invite too many comparisons.