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Years ago, an accomplished writer was given the assignment of drafting the pilot episode of a proposed television series. He thought about it, letting it play around in his writer brain for weeks, and finally got a call from the producer, asking about the script.

“I dropped it in the mail this morning,” he said, and then decided he should probably go home and write it.  Which he did.

I love this story, for reasons you can probably imagine. Deadlines can be discipline or annoying, but there’s nothing like finding your face pressed against one to get the juices flowing. 

The writer in question was Larry Gelbart, by the way, and the television show would be “M*A*S*H.”  Its success is generally attributed in large part to Mr. Gelbart, who was its head writer for the first few years, and who died from cancer last September at the age of 81.

I was sort of inexplicably saddened by his passing, in the way we are when someone famous dies, someone who moved us or made us laugh.  I was a Gelbart fan from way back, and why not?  His credits stretch from writing for Sid Caesar in the 1950s to one of my favorite musical-comedies, “A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum,” to Hawkeye and Radar, to the 1980s megahit “Tootsie,” and more.  He was prolific and funny, a go-to guy when a project needed help, and a mentor to many.

And his words bounce around my head, I realized the other day, very specific words.  They come from his 1977 Oscar-nominated screenplay for “Oh, God!” and they have a life of their own.  It was a cute movie but nothing else, a showcase for George Burns, an odd bump in the career of John Denver, and an old device: God comes to earth with a message for humanity.  Message delivered.  Humanity won’t change much.  Laughs ensue.

Still, at one point the Denver character asks God if He listens to our prayers, and this is what now floats through what passes for my brain:

“I can’t help hearing,” says God.  “I don’t always listen.”

There’s nothing theological or even vaguely spiritual about these words (or the film, for that matter).  They just strike me as true, for me and my time, my life and my limited attention span.  There’s a lot of noise out there, and I can’t help hearing.

I try.  Last fall, I made a deliberate attempt to back slowly out of the room, limiting my time on the computer, taking a break from writing, avoiding exposure to politics and anything that reeked of gossip.  I tried not to listen, and instead I fidgeted.  I took long walks.  I washed dishes and cleaned counters, I emptied drawers and rearranged closets, finding lots of old pictures and a couple of shirts that were apparently once worn by some other guy.

“I’m divesting,” I told my wife, who gave me The Spouse Look and bit her lip, knowing me well and being nice.  Good luck with that.

And I found out that listening is a skill but hearing is free (if getting a little muffled these days).  As much as going all Thoreau might appeal to me, simple pleasures and planting flowers, it’s not practical and anyway I start to sneeze a lot.

So I hear stuff.  Brett Favre is alive and well.  Sarah Palin has a new job, nicer than that dumb governor thing.  Harry Reid and Pat Robertson both erred on the side of opening their mouths and letting words fall out, giving Joe Biden a break.  Apparently there’s some movie about space aliens in 3D.

There’s Haiti, a tragedy that still seems proportionately incomprehensible (as James Fallows has noted, imagine Katrina killing 1.5 million people, everyone in New Orleans and the surrounding areas, and you start to get the picture).  We can’t help but hear.

And then there’s the messy business of late night TV, as Jay and Conan battle over millions of dollars and the right to talk on hallowed television ground, The Tonight Show, full of history and a program that seems remarkable for the fact that on any given night, roughly 330 million Americans ARE NOT WATCHING IT.  Talk about proportion.

It seems I can’t block out the noise, then, no matter how many closets I clean.  I can only screen, avoid, try to get perspective and stay away the best I can.  I wish Brett the best of luck but I don’t really care.  I tend to watch Jon Stewart late at night.  I keep only half an eye on politics, so far I’ve resisted “Avatar,” and I’m grateful that the stupid things I say are mostly only heard by my dog.

And Haiti will be on my mind, along with the uncertainty of earthquakes and the helplessness of watching other people suffer while I’m free to waste time on dumb noise.  I only hope God is listening.