Not a ghost of a chance

Someone was advertising recently in my local paper for a ghostwriter to work on a book. Now, in theory this should be right up my street; fourteen years running a daily prep service certainly constitutes ghostwriting, as do my uncredited scriptwriting for cabaret acts, speechwriting, copywriting…

But nowadays an ad like this just sets alarm bells ringing. It might be perfectly genuine but I have had enough unfortunate experiences with would-be writers to put me off such collaborations forever.

There was a dear old lady in Southampton who had written some excellent songs for a musical set locally during World War II and was looking for someone to script the ‘book’ for it. The problem was that she wanted it ready for the VE Day Anniversary in 1995 and this was late 1994! She also expected me to act as an impresario and get it staged. Even if it could have been written, funded, cast, directed and rehearsed in time, a weekend at a community centre might have been the best case scenario, provided she had shed-loads of publicity and relatives, but it turned out that what she had in mind was the 2300-seater Mayflower Theatre! I felt bad for her but just quietly walked away from the project.

When I advertised in the Stage, I frequently got calls from loud wide-boys inviting me to work on their ‘sitcom’ ideas. They would bellow about some character they knew whose life experiences would, apparently, ‘make a good comedy’. In the exceedingly unlikely event of their half-baked ideas being commissioned by any broadcaster, they were prepared to offer me half the proceeds for doing all the work but nothing for wasted time otherwise! One wanted to meet me so he could reveal his brilliant concept in person but warned that I would have to sign a legal document binding me to secrecy about it. Another said he thought we could start off with a two-hour movie followed by several TV series as a spin-off! They all had pound signs in their eyes but not a clue about the requirements of TV or radio (not that radio’s rates of pay would have been of any interest to them). Of course, I never got involved with these people but simply returned to my (guaranteed) work; they probably returned to their market stalls.

But on one occasion, an impatient old man nagged me to read his sitcom. He led me into his ground floor flat. Halfway along the hallway, we walked up three stairs then down three the other side. There was absolutely no reason for them to be there; I soon began to identify with them…

Rather than simply write a synopsis, he had actually scripted six full episodes – of unequal length! Some were fifty minutes, some ninety. He obviously felt that TV or radio would disrupt their schedules to accommodate this blockbuster. There were no strong characters, subplots – or jokes! The storyline involved gambling and there was one scene where the hard-up hero told his partner that he was just off to use the week’s housekeeping to try out a new betting system. Her reply? ‘OK’…

I read through all this, returned (negotiating the six superfluous steps again) and gently offered my opinion about why it was a non-starter. I’d brought detailed written feedback as well.

I asked for some money for my time. I suppose I felt sorry for him; why else would I have asked for little more than minimum wage? He knocked a third off, saying he couldn’t afford any more as he’d just booked his holiday.

Then he showed me a page of a novel he was writing. It described an explicit and energetic sex scene. Looking at him, I assumed that it wasn’t autobiographical.

I left very shortly afterwards, resolving (unlike him) to stick to known quantities.

(Reprinted from the Radio Magazine Issue 829, 27 February 2008).