A Clear Vision

For a successful ghostwriting collaboration, both parties need to be on the same page. This is why it’s crucial to establish, in advance, what the client expects from his/her/their project, in order that the ghost has a structure to adhere to. With a clear direction in place, each person has a roadmap of sorts to follow; and while some deviation from that is expected – and, often, necessary, if the prescribed structure needs some refining – a complete overhaul is not only unhelpful, but a highly disruptive process.

In preparation for the actual writing, the client will need to be able to instruct the ghost as to the various intricacies of their story. This will include character descriptions/traits, and their arcs/overall plot, if fiction; and a well thought out rundown of content if non-fiction. Memoir is a little different, as the story is already in place, so in this instance, it’s more a case of what to include, and what not to, for personal and, sometimes, legal reasons.

When a client changes their mind about a project’s direction, though, it puts the ghost in a very difficult position. It might be comparable to, say, asking a plumber to fit a new boiler, only to request an alternative model once they have all but finished the job they were originally tasked with. Not only does it jeopardise the trust that has developed between both parties, it means the ghost’s work to date potentially counts for nothing, while loading them up with what could well feel like an entirely different story.

It’s fair to say that this has happened to me very rarely, with the overwhelming majority of clients sticking to their original idea; but on the occasions it has, it has resulted in my workload effectively doubling, which doesn’t strike me as a fair outcome. There may be some rescuable elements from work already laid down, but that can feel like crowbarring content in, and that’s something I avoid.

Building a good structure is like constructing a house. Solid foundations are essential for the resulting premises to stay in place and, likewise with a manuscript, those foundations need to be strong, so that the end product is as robust as possible. It helps that most of the people I’ve worked with have had their stories in their heads for years, and are thus at least fairly well established. But for anybody with only a vague idea of what’s required, I would advise that you take some time to work out what it is that you wish to say, and how, because the end result will be so much more pleasing, and save your collaborator a potentially enormous workload. And that extra work might well be chargeable, which isn’t in the best interests of either person.

Seize the Moment…

‘Seize the moments of happiness, love and be loved. That is the only reality in the world. All else is folly.’

Leo Tolstoy was almost completely right when he said this. What a shame, though, that he didn’t add ‘love and be loved…and write your book’. Perhaps he didn’t think of this at the time because he had already written many of the books that have made him immortal, so he wasn’t feeling the misery of knowing you have a book in you that is still waiting to be written.

For so many others, though, the book is still topping the bucket list, still something to mull over, dream about and plan for when the right moment arises.

How often do we ghostwriters hear, ‘I’ve always wanted to write a book,’ or ‘Everyone tells me I should write a book’? These statements are always delivered with great eagerness and passion. No-one ever sounds half-hearted when they confess that they would love to write a book.

We never mind how many times we hear this. Because we know, for absolute certain, that if the people who tell us of their hopes and dreams actually do write their books, it will bring them a great deal of happiness and they will never, ever regret it. No-one says, ‘I wish I’d never written my book.’ The only possible source of true regret is not writing your book.

Yet sadly all too often writing a book is something people plan to get around to – until time runs out and they realise they never did get around to it and now no-one will ever know how the story went, or what it was that inspired them to achievement or how they managed to found a business or what Great Aunt Maud said that made the whole family fall off their chairs laughing.

Writing a book is far more worthwhile than almost anything else you can do. Carl Sagan called books ‘proof that humans can work magic’. Books, he said, ‘break the shackles of time’. They outlast us in a way that nothing else ever can.

Have you ever heard of Harold Thorpe?

No?

That’s because he didn’t write a book.

His friend Elwyn White did though. He wrote a short book in 1952 about a spider saving the life of a pig. Almost 70 years later, children and adults are still loving it.

While Harold died wishing he had written the book he knew he had inside him, Elwyn left the world Charlotte’s Web, and so we think of him still, and smile our thanks for the gift he gave us.

Books beg to be written. Books bring creativity, fulfilment and joy. Books are our legacy, our gift to those we love – and to ourselves. Think of the tales not told, the dramas unremembered, the wisdom unshared, the memories forgotten when, for want of a pen (and a bit of time) the book is lost.

So, if lack of time is stopping you from writing your book, seize the moment and come to us, at United Ghostwriters. We will make the time so that you can save it and still see your book where it deserves to be – out in the world.

Live first, ghost later

About 5,300 years ago, some bright spark in Mesopotamia invented writing, using a wedge-shaped (cuneiform) tool to press marks into wet clay. Roughly 530 years ago, Shakespeare picked up his quill and started his playwriting career. And 53 years ago, I started writing for publication, wondering if I’d ever be able to make my mark, or at least scratch a living doing what I loved best.

Well, I didn’t. At least, not without a lot of compromises.

For years, I paid the bills working as a reporter or sub-editor or churning out ad copy and sales brochures for anyone who had a budget. When I started writing my own books, I quickly discovered that the compliments and sense of fulfilment I got from doing that were not matched by anything remotely resembling an income.

But now I have the best job in the world. Looking back, everything that went before seems like a long, meandering apprenticeship, eventually leading to this point.

If you’re lucky – and I am – and choosy, which I try to be, with varying degrees of success, ghostwriting can be a wonderful way to earn your daily bread. You get to meet interesting, unusual, often exceptional people. You get to delve into all kinds of unexpected subject areas and educate yourself about all kinds of fascinating topics.

In the last few weeks, I’ve dived down numerous rabbit-holes. I’ve been learning about new 3D metal printing systems for making heavy-duty auto components, about doping in sport and about the delusions that lay behind some famously disastrous investment decisions. I’ve been working with three authors – and they couldn’t be more different. One’s a top Olympic athlete, the second’s a financier who’s backing several sensational digital start-up companies and the third’s an expert in behavioural economics who also happens to be a highly-rated magician.

And that’s just what I’ve been doing. Various United Ghostwriters colleagues of mine are busy helping abuse survivors tell their stories, giving whistleblowers a platform for their grievances, explaining the ins and outs of business law, working on diet and self-help books, crafting family or sporting memoirs and guiding first-time novelists whose ideas have outrun their technique. There’s a lot going on this year, probably more than there was before the Covid pandemic gave so many potential authors so much unscheduled thinking time.

I don’t think any of us ever set out with a burning ambition to become a ghostwriter. And it’s hard to know what qualifies you to do the job. Most of the fourteen members of our little group have put in years, or even decades, honing our writing skills as journalists on national newspapers and magazines. But the best ghostwriters always seem to be people who have gone through at least two different careers to get here.

We’ve all knocked around a bit and, as a result, we have a lot of other strings to our bow. We’ve got poets and screenwriters, publishers and novelists, IT experts and musicians, entrepreneurs and academics, marketing specialists and a former brewery drayman. One of our ghosts spent time doing voluntary work in Nicaragua. Another worked on the Daily Mail, but gave it up to train as a psychotherapist. A third risked his sanity investigating the highs and lows of life on the road with Pete Doherty and his intermittently splendid band, Babyshambles.

So we’ve all come to ghostwriting from different directions. But now we’re here, few of us would want to swap this odd niche profession of ours for any other.

It’s stimulating, demanding, sometimes frustrating, but there’s nothing more satisfying than knowing you’ve been able to help people get their stories or their points of view down on paper and present them in the best possible light.

Writing, after all, is what makes us human. Animals can remember their own experiences, but we are the only species that can pass our thoughts on and accumulate wisdom and insights, year after year, generation after generation. And it would be a sadly limited world if the only memories and ideas that were preserved were those of professional writers. Looked at that way, I suppose, ghostwriting – often seen as the preserve of uninspired hacks – could even be seen as an unexpectedly noble calling.

   

Ian Shircore’s latest book is So Brightly at the Last: Clive James and the Passion for Poetry (RedDoor Press, 2019)