The Last Word On Nothing

I remember the thrill of my first byline. The feeling faded pretty quickly but it returned every time I broke into a new publication and saw my name on the page of a magazine I respected. Having a little bit of name recognition has been useful. But for the last seven years—the same length of time I’ve been blogging here—I’ve been gravitating more and more toward writing under someone else’s name.

For the general public, ghostwriting has a mysterious air about it. Nobody quite knows how secret it’s supposed to be and how you can tell when someone didn’t write their book themselves. To fellow writers, though, ghostwriting is not a well-regarded activity. It’s kind of déclassé—the top-tier writers seldom do it—and the mendacity of the whole thing puts journalists on edge.

If my colleagues are being generous, they put my ghostwriting into the same general sell-out category as communications work—the place where journalists go to die, lemming-like, throwing ourselves onto Print Media’s funeral pyre.

But here’s the thing: I love it. Actually, you know what? I prefer it to writing under my own name.

Take, for example, the experience of submitting my work. I’ve spent 20 years writing for magazines and had a wide range of experiences with editors. But when I submit a feature to a top-tier magazine editor, their response is usually, to paraphrase, “Thanks for this, Jessa. I’ll have a giant list of quibbles and extra work for you shortly.” Those comments and redirections have been a great education over the years, but they are also extremely stressful and frustrating. Freelance rates haven’t gone up since the 1970s—in dollar figures, let alone in real terms—and there’s always the danger that the publication is going to go under before you get paid.

In contrast, when I first hand my work over to a ghostwriting client, they invariably react with dropped jaws and gasps, as if I have revealed to them my psychic abilities. Emails may start with “Oh. My. God.” And end with, “Thank you. No, really. THANK YOU.” It’s not because I’m such a stellar writer–it’s because their relationship with the writing is inherently meaningful. It’s their own writing, flowing through the mind of someone else who enjoys capturing voices and inhabiting them.

The client’s experience of their own ideas on paper makes them feel that I am reading their mind, when all I’m actually doing is tapping our phone calls. They feel deeply understood, and I feel deeply appreciated. What a lovely exchange.

It would be nice if the end readers get something out it—learning, entertainment, meaning—but the immediate dance of acting as someone else’s pen…that’s the rewarding part for me. What I realize more and more is that it’s okay to want simple pleasures above prestige. I’m not above wanting to see my efforts make someone happy. That, for me, is meaningful work.