Friday, March 26, 2010

I'd met with . . .

. . . my friend who is filming a 12-page script next month. The thing was a fucking disaster and to get in good with the production team, I put an hour of work into it as I was drunkenly sprawled across the floor on a friend's unfurnished apartment in St. Louis.

I didn't like the story and I still don't. I just punched up the dialogue, re-wrote the action so it made sense and wrote in a scene featuring Glen Campbell's Wichita Lineman - my trademark.

He just wanted to go over a couple of changes he made. Mainly things they couldn't afford to shoot and a name change to include a friend and financial backer.

The touchy subject of the writing credit was then brought up. I'd been trying to figure out a way to kindly refuse credit for my work. Seem humble as opposed to embarrassed. "Give the first guy writing credit and put my initials down as Script Consultant." No good. "You saved our ass and I want you to get credit." Again, I need to work with them so I can't flat out say that for my name to appear on the credits I'd have to commit seppuku to wipe the slate clean. "Fine, give me co-writing credit. But all I did was type."

He calls me a couple days later - hey can I get your info so I can register this with the WGA.


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