BoomerGirl Diary

On Tuesday, as I reaffirmed the miracle of Earthquake Hold, that gooey stuff my husband affixes to every priceless chochkie on the premises, the phone rang.

“Hello?” I ventured, still shaky from the 5.4 upheaval to my central nervous system.

I expected to hear the comforting voice of a relative or close friend, calling to verify that the Earthquake Hold had indeed worked its magic and that I hadn’t been struck unconscious by a flying doggy figurine, bronze Buddha or crystal candle stick.

“Hi, Carol? This is Shamus,” an unfamiliar voice said.

“Oh… hi!” I said, not quite myself yet.

Had I been myself, I would’ve been snippier. I don’t know anyone named Shamus. There are no Shamuses in my gene pool. Irish-sounding first names aren’t generally the first choice of my people. Whatever this Shamus person wanted, it wasn’t good.

So I waited for Shamus to make his move. If he wanted a contribution to the environment, gay rights or Darfur, it was his turn to talk. He had to do all the work. My chochkie inventory had taken all my energy. I was tired.

“I’m with the Writers Guild,” he informed me.

“Uh huh,” I said, fingers crossed that Shamus hailed from the Residuals Department.

Here’s what I wanted to hear: “You may not believe it, Carol, because quite frankly, we can’t, but we have some happy news to share. A long-lost stash of foreign monies has turned up and you’re one on the lucky recipients. Remember that episode of ‘Who’s the Boss?’ It’s been playing globally in remote places we forgot to track. And that means a generous check for $25,000 is headed your way. Congratulations. Use it in good health.”

Here’s what I heard instead: “You’ve done credit arbitrations for us in the past, haven’t you?” “Yes,” I said, thinking an aftershock would come in handy right about now.

“Could you help us out and do another one?” inquired the brave soul unrelated to me.

“Oh, man,” was all I could muster.

Credit arbitrations are tricky little time-sucking, nasty disputes that help determine whether Writer A or Writer B gets sole credit, shared credit or no credit at all on a script. Writer A and Writer B are anonymous. Writer A is the original writer on a project. Writer B was hired to rewrite Writer A. If Writer B changed every line of Writer A’s dialogue but didn’t change the plot, Writer B could wind up with bupkis. If Writer B’s name isn’t on the script, it won’t be on the screen when the thing airs, meaning Writer B gets no residuals when it repeats on TV. However, if Writer B changed substantial dialogue, character development and story, Writer B could wind up with a nice shared story credit and shared script credit. Translation: Cha-ching. Or none of the above.

I’ve been on both sides of this dance. I’ve won arbitrations. I’ve lost arbitrations. It’s always better to win and you can quote me on that.

Poor Shamus knew he had a frazzled gal on the other end; a gal looking for the exit sign should the earth decide to shift again. He couldn’t have picked a better time to regale me with the mind-numbing details of this particular arbitration. I wasn’t fully coherent. I heard something about four scripts and two outlines and I’m not sure how many personal statements and needing it done by next Thursday and it would mean a lot if I said yes.

On the plus side, a “yes” meant I’d get to sit in judgment of other writers (anonymously!) and what could be more fun than that? On the negative side, I’d have to be extremely fair, weigh every line, every character, and every twist and turn, and read till my eyes popped out and rolled into my coffee mug. Now I ask you: what could be less fun than that?

“Okay, I’ll do it,” I told Shamus.

“You will?” he said, practically euphoric. He couldn’t believe his luck. Only the unemployed say yes. He’d hit the jackpot with me.

“Sure, why not,” I said. “I’ve got the time.”

“Thank you,” said the young man. “I’ll send the messenger right over.”
Any minute now, I’ll hear a large thud at my door, signaling the arrival of a big fat manila envelope full of hopes and dreams, frustration and crazy network notes, hard work and talent. The coffee’s made. I can hardly wait to get started.