To Mr. or Ms. Francis Moss (Calender Letters, May 8): I want to join the union, but quite frankly, my dear, I'm at a loss. The Big Guys won't hire me unless I'm in the WGA, and you won't let me in till after I've made my play. These people with money get pretty bold; they tempt you with limos and ladies and gold. Producers steal ideas, but so do other writers; pay attention to the "scabs," they're workers and they're fighters.
While the Pros sit it out, the dreamers still dream. And what would you guess could fuel this machine? If you pay a mortgage, then you have a home; I want one of those for my very own. Forgive me if I ghostwrite, the money is so nice; sometimes I think I was born on thin ice.