As I detailed in my last Confession, I dodged a wild bullet about two years ago, when a dear friend and collaborator referred a gentleman to me who had a book he wanted ghostwritten.
Long story short, a combination of unwillingness to communicate that ran to paranoid secrecy (he claimed to have written a screenplay that was made into a movie “on the big screen in Hollywood” but refused to tell me the name of the movie), insulting comments, fibbing about the script’s success with publishers, and insisting I sign a contract to write the novelization before I had any more information about the story than its title (THE GAME IS AFOOT! in my fictionalized account) caused me to decline to acquiesce to his request.
Fast forward two years: The managing editor at a New York-based editorial service I work with frequently called and left a message saying he had a new client for me if I wanted him. He sent an email with a link that read: THE GAME IS AFOOT! – Fred Fictitiouson.
I followed the link and found that the Facebook posting looked pretty much as it had the last time I saw it. Did I take the job, you ask, Dear Reader?
I did not.