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Structured arguments

If ever (or, should I be honest and say ‘the next time’?) you’re watching a hokey standard-issue romantic comedy movie and you get to the inevitable scene where boy and girl have a tearful break-up, look at your watch. You now know you are exactly two thirds of the way through and can therefore predict to the minute when the movie will end.

This is because movies like this follow a three-act structure. Act 1: the heroes indicate dissatisfaction with an established status quo and take action to rectify it; the story could end there with their situation slightly improved, or at least the end being in sight. But then, Act 2: it all goes horribly wrong and they reach their lowest point, worse off than when they began. Finally, Act 3: they rally and fight back, and things end even better than before.

The three-act structure is not the only one available; others may apply. This page on Screencraft.org has a pretty useful summary of other choices used in many movies, with examples that you may have seen. The point is that a story must have a structure, in some recognisable form. It’s not just movies; it also applies in writing, though in a book the transitions and turning points can be done far more subtly. Maybe halfway through a chapter or even a paragraph, and certainly more subtly than the requisite tearful break-up two thirds in.

The three-act structure is very easy, both for authors and readers, which is why romcoms use it. No one goes to see one expecting a non-linear Tarantinoesque cerebral workout (although, if Tarantino did make a romcom, I would definitely watch it). But that shouldn’t be held against it. The same trick works for The Lord of the Rings (book and movies), the three original Star Wars movies (both within the individual stories, and the trilogy as a whole) and many more.

Whatever structure the storyteller uses, it can be done well, or it can be done badly, but it must be done somehow.

This is where so many would-be writers come unstuck. Many people think (rightly) that they have an interesting story to tell – maybe fiction, maybe factual, maybe a bit of both, with one based on the other. And so they sit down and start to write. Then they get bogged down, because any story has to be more than just straight reportage of facts.

There must be a sense of purpose that carries you from cover to cover. Scenes must be linked to draw the reader inwards and onwards. Readers don’t read as a favour to writers; writers write as a favour to the readers.

This basic fact of writing can be hard to swallow. Your story is so personally yours that you can’t see how anyone else can fail to grasp the wonder of it. Or, you may feel that you can’t alter the flow of the story, hide facts or elide scenes because it happened this way, dammit!

Which is precisely why it helps to have someone on your side who isn’t quite as invested as you – someone who can take a step back and view it both as a reader and as a writer. An editor will perform this service on the completed manuscript, assuming you ever do get it completed and in front of an editor’s eyes. But why not get someone in at the start who can work alongside you and streamline the whole process of turning in a readable manuscript in the first place?

Trust

When Ernest Hemingway was asked how you could know whether you could trust someone, he growled: ‘Trust ‘em’, before banging his empty glass on the El Floridita bar, trusting that the barman would give him another daiquiri as perfect as the last.

At least, that’s how I imagine it: a casual but typically succinct and challenging response; a brush-off to send a would-be worshipper on his way.

Not that it’s not good advice. I have followed it myself – albeit with mixed results. An unpromising tenant (on paper) has turned into a lifelong friend. But another ‘trust him’ punt ended in one of my flats being turned into a cannabis factory. Embarrassing and costly, but not the end of the world, and on balance, trusting the Hemingway precept has served me well.

But I wouldn’t trust it in more serious scenarios. Take a rope. Would anyone just trust it to take their weight, or would they test it in some way before throwing it over the edge of the cliff and climbing down it? When it’s a matter of life, I imagine we’re all rather more circumspect.

And this is at the heart of the relationship between the ghostwriter and the client who is indeed trusting them with his or her life. If it’s going to work, it has to reach levels of intimacy normally associated with therapy. Interviews will need to go deep to get at the full story, and this may mean uncomfortable questions. But the hope is it will make for a much better book – and, again, hopefully, prove therapeutic.

Once trust is established, the levels of candour can be surprising. Ghosts can find themselves entrusted with secrets that would come as a shock to close family members, let alone the wider circle of friends and colleagues. Obviously nearer the end of the project, the question of how much sensitive material really needs to see the light of day comes into focus. And all responsible ghostwriters will warn of the dangers of being sued for libel. It’s not necessarily true that all publicity is good publicity.

Of course, trust is a two-way street. Which is why the initial telephone conversation is so important. The client needs to feel that his or her life will be in safe hands; and the ghost has to assess whether the relationship is going to work. While we will bend over backwards to realise the vision of the proposed book, everyone has experienced clients who prove difficult to satisfy, change their mind about the direction of travel, and in some instances simply disappear like mountain goats into the mist.  (I still have on file a contract signed by a client with whom I spent hours on the phone. I’m still waiting for the initial payment. Suing for breach of contract is not a great start for a ghostwriting collaboration.)

But to end on an optimistic note. Only last week I got a call from a friend of a friend who recently lost his father through motor neurone disease. A heartbreaking story, especially as the diagnosis came late, meaning his dad was still working long after he should have stopped. His son had kept a diary of his painful decline. Could it be turned into a book?

Send a sample, I replied, and a little while later I responded in a text saying Yes it could be turned into a book and that I was happy to help with the process. The writing was direct, uncomplicated, and the narrative thread straightforward. The old English teacher in me felt for my red biro, but it won’t need much more than a light edit. I’m not charging for this little service (the original friend has bought me too many beers over the years); it’s a good project and will certainly be some help to those who find themselves in the same crushing predicament.

And the book I am just about to start writing came about through another phone conversation. This one was initiated by me in response to a request for guidance by a potential client to United Ghostwriters. It didn’t seem promising, but as there was a phone number, I thought I’d report the bad news in person.

Half an hour later, things had changed. The author is quite a personality and I started to see ways in which a rather unorthodox book could satisfy his desire for a memoir as well as find a potential audience.

I wrote a chapter synopsis and a pitch and sent it to a specialist agent, who turned it down. I then sent it to my own publisher, just to get his opinion, and he phoned back within an hour saying he’d like to publish it. Contract in the post!

It doesn’t often happen like that, but the importance of that first telephone conversation cannot be emphasised enough.

Make that call. You’ve got nothing to lose.

Trust me!

Getting Started

If you’re considering writing a book, you might be asking yourself how do I even start? If you look around for advice, there are about as many ways as there are authors.

For fiction, broadly, the advice can be parcelled into three or four approaches. Some writers start with a basic plan, some a meticulously thought-through plot, others a character or situation while Stephen King starts with nothing but a ‘Wouldn’t it be interesting if…?’ question.

(As an aside, I recently came across a writing method that would make 99% of writers call their therapist. The fabulous Sarah Moss whose recent work includes Ghost Wall and Summerwater described her process like this:

‘For every novel I write a full draft and then I delete it and write it again properly. I even delete it from the trash can. It’s like being a dressmaker – mocking it up in a cheap fabric, to then make it in silk later.’

Shudder.)

For non-fiction, at the very least there is a subject to work with rather than the novelist’s blank page. And as a non-fiction author you will have at least an idea of what you want to say. That doesn’t help get words on the page though: a book is such a complex entity with many and various components that creating something coherent is no easy task. If you’ve hit a wall, you might decide to look for a ghostwriter. Why do that? Well, at the start of any potential collaboration, an experienced ghostwriter can help you in ways that you might not realise. Ghostwriting isn’t ‘just’ about helping you express yourself on the page, it’s also about helping find the right structure, the right length, the right tone, and level for your market. It’s about making your book stand out and giving it the best chance to succeed.

There are thousands of ghostwriters out there – some hugely experienced (like everyone in our group http://www.unitedghostwriters.co.uk/meet-the-ghosts/) and others not so much. Finding the right one is an essential first step to a successful collaboration and you’ll find blogs on our website that help you refine your search before you start talking to likely candidates. Most good ghosts will tell you if they think the partnership won’t work and suggest other ghosts to talk to who they think might be a better fit.

I can’t speak for all ghosts, but when I first start talking to a potential author, there are two parts to the conversation. The first is logistical: timing, availability for interview, whether the author wants to go the agent/publisher route or to self-publish, and the fees involved are typically the areas we need to cover.

The second is the creative part. Here I ask the author to think about the kind of book they want to write. This can be modelled on a book they’ve read and admired, or one that ‘feels’ right (length, tone, structure, readership), or we start with a blank sheet of paper and map out the sorts of things the author wants to say and discuss different ways of achieving that. Either way, it’s an editorial discussion out of which we lay the foundations and draw the blueprints for the book. All experienced ghostwriters will guide you through this process and by the end of it, you should have a much clearer idea about whether you can work together and what sort of book might come out of the collaboration.

That, believe me, is a great place to start.

But, if we do work together, I beg you not to delete the first draft.

3 questions for any author

The moment when you’ve just finished writing your book is a big one.

You close your laptop with a satisfied sigh, dance a little jig of delight, and treat yourself to something celebratory. An inspired choice by an author friend of mine was fish and chips and champagne.

But after the excitement has died down, voices of doubt creep into your head. ‘Is this book a good one? Is it the best it can be? And what will other people think?’

This is when it’s worth pausing for a moment.

Recently I read a brilliant gem of a book: Creativity: A Short and Cheerful Guide by the comedian John Cleese.

It’s worth reading for all sorts of reasons, but one of the best comes towards the end, when Cleese gives three insightful questions for you to ask when you show people your work. (Actually he gives four, but the final one isn’t that relevant to non-fiction, which is what I’m focusing on here).

I found myself inspired by these questions. And as I specialise in ghostwriting business books, self-help guides and memoirs, I’m giving you my thoughts on how they can help you make sure you’ve written the best book you possibly can.

Question 1: Where were you bored?

I love the fact that this question comes first.

So often, non-fiction books come across as if they’re instruction manuals. But readers don’t enjoy reading manuals, because they want to feel engaged with a book. If they’re not, they give up before the end of Chapter 1.

They’re also unlikely to follow the advice within the book. They don’t get the feeling that their needs are being catered for, so they assume that the author doesn’t understand them. This results in them switching off from the content.

Being a little bit boring shows a lack of respect for your readers, who’ve paid money and – just as importantly – committed several hours of their time to read your words.

There are all sorts of ways you can turn your book into a good read. The most obvious are to include stories, fun facts and analogies to make your ideas concrete and engaging.

You can also liven up your language by using varied vocabulary and the active voice. This gives your readers the impression that you’re sitting in front of them, speaking to them as a trusted friend.

Question 2: Where could you not understand what was going on?

There’s a marketing saying that I love: ‘A confused customer isn’t buying.’ Just as you walk away from a supermarket shelf crammed with products that don’t make their unique selling points clear, so will your readers put your book to one side if they struggle to work out what you’re saying.

Clarity is essential if you’re to persuade your readers over to your point of view. This is, after all, the main purpose of a business book or self-help guide.

Consider the difference between a text that takes you from one logical place to another, leading you by the hand so you know where you’re going, and one that jumps around so that you’re confused. You’ll soon give up on the second one.

In addition, part of being clear is starting in the right place for your readers. Are you beginning each chapter where they actually are, or where you think they should be? It’s easy to let your expertise lead you to believe that they know more than they do.

Question 3: Where did you not find things credible?

If your readers don’t find you trustworthy, they won’t take action on your advice. The orator Aristotle called this concept ‘ethos’, or the moral expertise and knowledge that guides your audience to believe you.

If your book doesn’t display ‘ethos’, your readers will question your authority all the way through. Given that one of your reasons for writing your book in the first place might be to enhance your credibility, this could be a killer blow.

You can make your book credible in various ways. Incorporating real-life examples or stories to back up your claims helps, as does including well-researched facts and information. You can use footnotes to reference your sources and to expand upon what you’ve written in the main body of the text.

But one of the key techniques is to address the possible counter-arguments to your claims.

For instance, if you’re advocating eating less sugar to lose weight, consider the cynics among your readers. What might they think? Could they assume that fat is the main enemy of weight loss, rather than sugar? If so, debunk that myth, rather than glossing over it.

To do this, you need to have a deep understanding of your readers. What do they already think? What do they care about? And how can you present your ideas so that they make sense to them?

John Cleese’s three questions are a brilliant place to start when it comes to evaluating your book. And of course, you can have a go at answering them yourself before you turn to anyone else – that will take you a long way.

The added bonus is that, after you’ve actioned the feedback, you’ll feel much more confident about your book. You’ll need that confidence when it comes to shouting about it from the rooftops while you’re marketing it.

Ginny Carter is a bestselling ghostwriter of 20 books, a book coach, and a successful author in her own right. Her guide to writing a standout business book, the award-winning Your Business Your Book, takes you through the process of planning, writing and promoting your own book.

The rise and rise of celebrity culture

As I was driving to my short summer holiday last month, while fretting in guilty fashion about the CO₂ emissions of the petrol-fuelled hire car I was driving, I distracted myself by listening to Radio 2.

Each hour the BBC news headlines informed me about the shocking fall-out of the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan, more extreme weather events, success for the GB team at the Paralympics …. and a story about Tom Cruise’s car being stolen.

Each hour, I waited for more details on this last item: was he held hostage? Did the thieves kill or injure someone through reckless driving? No. It was stolen and then, um, found a short while later, undamaged but with some items missing. That was it.

It is impossible to understand the modern world without acknowledging the steady and deep infiltration of mainstream news and television broadcasting by celebrity culture, the ‘Kardashian effect’ – that is, the idea that something is newsworthy simply because it is said by a famous person, or has happened to one. When I was young, gossip about the likes of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton was confined to the colour supplements. Nowadays such froth may feature on the front page.

This obsession is not harmless. In the same week that the BBC told us about a theft of car belonging to a movie star, I learned more about trauma and suicides experienced by nurses and doctors in the UK who are whistleblowers, hounded to self-destruction by the retributive action routinely meted out to almost anyone in the UK public sector who dares stand up for public safety and civil rights, as I wrote about in an earlier blog. Such cases receive negligible media coverage.

I think I understand why our news media have an imbalance in coverage towards lives of movie stars, singers and sportspeople, sometimes neglecting stories that are profoundly in the public interest.

This is an issue for ghostwriters. After all, to an extent we contribute to, and profit from, celebrity culture. The reasons are largely to do with economics, and the dynamics affected me personally, because I became a ghostwriter in response to them. Before digital media transformed the economics of publishing, around the period 2004-2008, it was possible for freelance writers to pursue a career penning features and news, including material that we might call ‘real’ stories. With the collapse of revenues from print advertisements, all media had to change their business models. The PR industry grew, while the pay rates for investigative journalism fell. Those of us whose only ability was writing had to earn a living by writing on behalf of others – others who could afford to pay.

In my case, I am often able to combine conscience with a reasonable income as there is a growing industry in sustainable business, in which I’ve developed some specialist knowledge. It’s easy, however, to imagine an ethical dilemma for a ghostwriter: accept a modest fee to promote the appalling way in which a citizen’s rights have been denied, or a lucrative sum to describe how an Instagram star made their millions with questionable tactics?

The publishing industry has questions to address. Increasingly, publishers insist upon an author having a large following before committing to publishing a book. This was evident in case of the fake cancer sufferer Belle Gibson, whose misleading dietary advice was published in a lavishly produced publication The Whole Pantry by Penguin on the basis of her huge social media following. The book encouraged cancer sufferers to shift away from scientifically sound medical treatment, before her deception was exposed by investigative journalists.

It might be mistaken, however, to take the cynicism around stardom too far. Most famous people have genuine ability and achievements, often humanitarian as well as artistic or sporting. Marcus Rashford, for example, is a gifted footballer as well as an articulate and effective social campaigner, using his profile to alleviate poverty and suffering. Perhaps, for every bad celebrity, there is a good one.

We ghostwriters could strive for a balance; alternate our memoir-writing with some honest investigative endeavour on behalf of a sound cause, in the way that some lawyers will combine corporate work with pro bono human rights cases.

Above all I think the growing tendency towards celebrity worship is an issue that as a society we need to discuss – publishers and ghostwriters included.

• Philip Whiteley is an author and ghostwriter, who pens fiction under the byline PJ Whiteley. There is more information at www.pjwhiteley.com