Confessions of a Life-Scripter

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You’ve probably never heard of me. That is by design. It’s part of my job to be unknown. After today, though, everyone’s going to know my name.

In 2014, I was hired to script the life of Cheryl Voordenhaven, better known by her stage name Oopsy Fantastic. It wasn’t my first life-scripting gig. I’d also penned the existence of Beverly Fluff, right from her very first stage appearance to her 2011 “Rehab Comeback” tour. I’d still be with Fluff, in fact, if she hadn’t overdosed on prescription drugs and died during the comeback tour.

Very, very few people know that life-scripters even exist. This, too, is by design. We sign papers that legally bind us to silence. Even now, as I write this, I’m breaking the law.

Oh well.

For the last four years, my job has been to plot out the points in Oopsy’s life. Most major pop stars receive this treatment. Their parents sign their lives over to the agency for which I work (and even now can’t name without fear of lawsuits or death by “accidental mishap”), and from there, every move they make is scripted first by us.

Music isn’t about music, anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time. Only fools think that.

Splatter someone’s face on the news enough times and crank their songs out of enough speakers, and they’ll be stars. People listen to the music that corporations tell them to love, and that’s about that.

The most important thing in the life-scripting process is keeping the artist sufficiently newsworthy, which means all sorts of affairs, addictions, breakdowns, uplifts, sexual deviancy, and drama. That’s where I come in. Oopsy Fantastic wouldn’t exist without me.

My mistake (and I admit it was my mistake) was that I set Oopsy’s life on an unsustainable pace. Her sex tapes dropped too fast, her Christian conversion went too quick, her addiction problems were too severe. It got to a point where there was nowhere left to take her.

Oopsy began to crack under the pressure, too. She just couldn’t take the sheer speed of all her personal crises. She wanted out.

The problem is, like me, she signed papers. Her life isn’t hers to just remove from the machine surrounding her, and neither is mine. So, I was given the impossible task of keeping Oopsy relevant.

I honestly didn’t think I’d be able to do. I’d simply run out of ideas. But then it hit me — a stroke of true, literary brilliance.

I was going to do what has never been done before. I was going to break the fourth wall and write myself into Oopsy’s life. That’s what I’m doing right now, actually.

And so here is the first part of my confession as Oopsy Fantastic’s life-scripter. Hello, world. Come and get a piece.

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I’m not in the Matrix. I AM the Matrix.

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