Why I’ll Never Ghostwrite For People Who Don’t Know How To Use The Letter “E”

Let my story serve as a warning to those of you who cherish the alphabet.

As I’ve mentioned in some of my previous stories, in addition to my career as a Master Medium writer, I also have a career as an obscure, unsuccessful horror screenwriter.

However, what I haven’t told you was that several blue moons ago, I actually ghostwrote two horror screenplays for a little-known TV actress. Nothing actually came of those two scripts, but at least I got paid almost nothing for my months of hard work.

And while I generally enjoyed the experience of writing a couple of screenplays in my favorite genre, it nonetheless almost drove me to alcoholism — TWICE.

The actress I was working for, you see, didn’t know how to use the letter “e”.

This may seem like a frivolous excuse to turn to hooch for solace, but if you’re an anal-retentive story-maker, you know all too well the stress of meeting someone with a tenuous understanding of the ABCs and XYZs can cause.

And so, I shamefully present to you a succinct editorial tragedy in two parts:

Part the First: The Drinkening

Upon receiving her first very, VERY rough draft, I noticed that whenever a character used the word “aw”, as in “aw, how cute” or “aw, shit!”, the actress added the letter “e” to each of those words, changing a word that is used as an expression of disgust or sentiment to word that means “an overwhelming feeling”.

I figured that this was just a typo, and promptly fixed the fuck out of it with my ghostwriterly skills.

The screenwriting process went pretty smoothly for the next few drafts; I’d spend a few weeks working on a version of the script, I’d send it to the actress, she’d send back with notes, and I’d waste more time working on a screenplay that will never be made.

However, several months in, during the last couple of polishes, things took a turn for the shockingly illiterate.

I sent the actress one of the final drafts, and she responded positively, noting that script was almost done, that she’d made some changes, and that I just needed to make a few last tweaks. I breathed a sigh of ghostwriterly relief that I was in the home stretch, that I would finally be free to write my own screenplays that will never be made.

But when I received this late-stage draft, something strange caught my eye: THE ACTRESS WENT BACK AND INSERTED THE LETTER “E” INTO EVERY SINGLE USE OF THE WORD “AW”.

AND THERE WERE A LOT OF “AWs”.

Shocked, appalled, and shocked some more, I turned to my mistresses — Ms. Jack Daniels and Madame Jim Beam, with some occasional fun with Senora Modelo — for some consolation.

Now, normally I prefer to stay lucid when working on anything creative, but this linguistic assault was too much for my delicate artistic sensibilities at the time, so instead of simply sending the actress a friendly email pointing out her error, I fell into the groovy embrace of mid-priced spirits.

I am not proud.

This was the only thing that could help turn off the logical side of my gray matter long enough to bite my tongue and follow the orders I was handed from on high.

But I eventually finished the script, my literary crapulence notwithstanding. I was given my pittance. And the script, to my knowledge, remains unmade.

I learned an important lesson about the film industry.

A lesson I quickly unlearned, as you’ll soon see.

Part the Second: The Drunkening

A year or so later, the same actress approached me about rewriting another horror screenplay, this time a short.

Because I was desperate for cash as well as an idiot, I agreed.

Upon receiving her first draft — which was complete goblin shit — I nonetheless kept the liquor cabinet under lock and key, knowing how seductive that demon in a bottle can be in the ghostwriting process.

However, within a few pages, I was clawing to get that sweet sweet jolly juice.

What happened, was that there was a character named “Joseph”. Nothing wrong with that. In fact, according to this writer, it’s quite a dashing name.

No, the actress/hack screenwriter had chosen to abbreviate that character’s name.

…

To “Jo”.

“JO”.

NO “E”.

That’s right, looking at the name that I emailed her with countless times didn’t tip her off to the proper procedure of how to abbreviate the name of “Joseph”.

MY NAME.

THE NAME THAT I EMAILED HER WITH.

Yes, “Jo” is an appropriate nickname for someone named “Josephine” or “Joanna” or something.

But not for “Joseph”. Never for “Joseph”. The laws of physics simply won’t allow it.

Luckily, my full bottle homemade tequila-rum-paint thinner or whatever welcomed me back with open arms, and I was soon cuddling in the knowing nuzzle of an old lover.

As you would expect, I drank every night to finish the script.

I got paid in old Blockbuster coupons.

And the script never got produced.

Coda

Not long after completing that final screenplay, the actress reached out to me about another project, this one a sports drama. I told her “no”, partly because I know nothing about how people relate to one another in emotional situations, not to mention the genre of drama.

But I rejected her offer primarily because of my previous experience with her.

I think that lesson may have actually stuck. The lesson of, uh, I don’t know,“say ‘no’ to people who don’t know how the letter ‘e’ works” or something.

Still, this hasn’t ended my nonexistent career as a screenwriter, but I only ghostwrite for myself nowadays. Sure, the pay ain’t great and the benefits are nil, but at least I have a firm grasp of the alphabet.

If I amused you, check out some of my other stories that may or may not amuse you: