Make 'em Good

Shane didn’t think the $150,000 boost in his checking account would affect him; he’d received them before. But when he looked at his balance, he had to admit that he got a little hard.

They came through!

He thought back to the Zoom meeting he’d had with Chad and Brad—the two young entrepreneurs who had approached him with a writing offer. They looked like twin refugees from the Untuckit store—early Bill Gates hair, too many teeth, Dr. Who ballcaps.

Shane: “So, how did you find me?”

Chad: “We did a deep search of screenwriters who used to be in demand but aren’t anymore.”

Brad: “Yeah, you used to be big… or at least bigger.”

Shane: “Ummm… blunt, but OK, whatever.” 

Goddamn millennials. I’m still big. Just decided to take a ten-year break. 

Shane: “What do you want me to do?”

Chad: “We have some scripts—made ‘em with AI.”

Brad: “That’s Artificial Intelligence.”

Squelch the eye roll. 

Brad: “We want you to make them good… do it, like… not so predictable. Give ‘em punch, power. Make ‘em sellable.”

Chad: “We’ll pay you $150k for a completed script adaptation.”

More than average. Not high-end.

Shane: “How do I know you’re legitimate?”

Chad and Brad looked around like the Brady Bunch kids in the opening credits, then Chad speed-typed on his keyboard.

Chad: “Check your email.”

Shane opened an email titled “L.Y.E., LLC.” 

Brad: “It’s a contract from us and the first script.”

Shane: “L.Y.E.?”

Chad (beaming): “Yup… Legitimate Young Entrepreneurs.”

Hold the snort. They can see you.

Shane: “You searched me. You know it’s been a while since I’ve written anything.” 

Chad: “We figured you needed the money, but because of the success lapse, we added strict goals and measures.” 

Shane: “Ouch, but OK, whatever. I need to show this to my agent.”

Chad: “You don’t have an agent.”

Obvious, I guess, given my “break” in writing.

Shane: I need some time to think.

Brad (looking hurt): “But we want you to start tonight!”

Shane: “I have a date tonight.”

Chad: “We’ll send her flowers. Start tonight. Please?”

Shane couldn’t stop an “are you kidding me?” look. Brad typed furiously on his keyboard.

Brad: “Check your email. It’s a bonus that you get if you start tonight.”

Shane stared at the $10,000 incentive. He didn’t understand why he had to start right away, but the money called to him.

Shane: “Give me an hour to look over the contract. If it works for me, I’ll start tonight.”

The contract had odd requirements mixed in with standard ones. The non-disclosure looked standard; the eight-hour days sounded reasonable, as did the daily updates. The “unlimited hours if goals are not met” and “unlimited access to script-related files” clauses set off warning bells, but he chose to ignore them. He skimmed the rest, because ultimately, he needed the money. 

He signed the contract electronically. Within a minute, he received the 10k incentive (they know my account info?) and an email from Brad/Chad.

“The script records your progress and uploads it to us. We will send daily comments and changes. Tonight, please read the script and send a list of proposed changes and edits by 8:00 tomorrow morning. Welcome to L.Y.E., LLC.”

What have I gotten myself into?

The script fit the formulaic mold for an action film—safe, but lacking originality. Shane spent the night writing proposed changes. He finished five minutes before 8:00, and the detailed response arrived instantly. 

They read my thoughts as I wrote them. 

“Catch a couple of hours of sleep. We’ll see you back at 10:00,” they wrote.

They’ll “see” me. 

Shane heard warning bells again, but a mild euphoria silenced them. Two strangers who knew way too much about him sparked his creativity after a decade of stagnation. At that moment, he felt happiness.

He began to write, giving the script—what did they call it?—punch and power.

If he dawdled even a minute with his changes, he’d get an annoying email from them. If he was early, he felt their time clock adjust and change the deadline. Day became night. Night became day. 

Brad and Chad sent groceries so he could work uninterrupted. They flooded him with constant updates and encouragement: 

“Ryan Reynolds is interested.”

“Visualizing Anya Taylor-Joy for the femme fetale.”

“Booked the Bahamas location.”

“Reynolds out. Gosling in.”

He tried to call his girlfriend several times, but after a minute, his phone beeped incessantly until it overtook the conversation. He finally promised her a lavish weekend when he got paid.

His TV stopped working. He couldn’t see his favorite websites anymore. He never felt truly alone.

He overslept once, which prompted a Zoom meeting.

Chad: “Do you have a problem? Anything we can do to help?”

Shane: “I worked for hours completing a pivotal scene and had to take a break. I haven’t been outside for weeks. I don’t know what day it is or even what season it is.”

Can’t they see how bad I smell?

Chad and Brad: “We sent some help. Check your door.”

Shane found a large box containing the usual groceries—coffee, granola bars, quick-absorbing energy gel, and… 

Shane: “You sent me drugs?”

Chad: “For your ADHD.”

Shane: “But I don’t… oh, never mind. Thanks.”

He didn’t miss another deadline.

Just get this done. Make them go away.

 The instant he finished the script, he got the bank deposit announcement and an email titled: It sold!!!  Let’s Zoom!”

Brad: “Are you happy? You don’t look happy.”

Shane: “I’m spent. I’m exhausted. I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But yes, I’m happy.”

Chad: “Great! On to the next one!”

Shane: “No… not yet. I need a break. At least a month off!”

Chad: “Great! On to the next one!”

Was that a… rewind?

Shane: “No… I…”

Chad: “Great! On to the next one!”

Am I in “The Matrix?”

Chad’s Zoom window closed.

Brad: “Chad went for coffee. We’re ready to send you the next script.”

Shane: “I said I needed a month off.”

Brad (looking hurt): “But we want you to start tonight!”

Shane: “Let me make myself clear. I. Need. A. Break.”

Brad: “We’ll send a $20,000 bonus to your account.”

Shane: “Listen! I need a break. If you won’t give it to me, then find someone else.”

I have $150,000 in my account. I don’t need you anymore.

Chad’s Zoom window reopened. He laid down the law like a fed-up cartoon dad.

Chad: “You agreed to do 4 scripts. Page 7 of your contract.”

Brad (equally stern): “The next one starts tonight.”

Shane tried to leave the call, but couldn’t close the window. He got up, grabbed his wallet, and tried to leave. The door was locked from the outside.

He ran to the bathroom and cowered in the corner, listening to Chad and/or Brad call to him. 

Chad/Brad: “Check out the new script! We’re reaching out to Meryl!”

Brad/Chad: “They’re talking Oscars for this one!”

Chad/Brad: “Just look at it, Shane!”

Brad/Chad: “Shane! Shane! Come back!”