Most people have a story worth telling. Few have the time—or the emotional distance—to tell it well.
Maybe you have a coaching or speaking business and you need to distill your brilliance into a commodity you can sell.
That’s where a ghostwriter comes in.
Working with a professional ghostwriter isn’t about handing off your story. It’s about collaboration. A good ghostwriter listens for what you mean as much as what you say.
They translate lived experience into clear, compelling language that readers—and publishers—can connect with.
For leaders and entrepreneurs, a ghostwriter can help shape ideas into a book that builds credibility and legacy. For survivors and storytellers, it’s a way to turn memory into meaning without getting lost in the emotions or structure.
You’re not outsourcing your voice. You’re partnering with someone who can amplify it—so your message lands exactly as you intended.
Because a well-told story doesn’t just share what happened. It shows who you are—and why it matters.
Writing is hard. Not terminal illness or losing a best friend hard. Okay, it’s not really hard at all.
But ideas are.
Ideas and the time in seat that it requires to hammer out nouns and verbs that agree. Not to mention sticking in a few things to make English teachers go “hmmm.”
That’s hard.
I’m one of the fortunate word slingers. I don’t get writer’s block. There’s a list of 20+ future novels in my notes app on my phone, not to mention all the scrap papers and cocktail napkins that I’ve written my endearing brilliance on. Half of which I can’t read. My handwriting is that bad, despite years in Catholic school with nuns helping me practice penmanship. I must’ve ignored them in much the same way I did my elementary school teachers when they tried to teach me the metric system. I told them it would never take hold in the US. Yes, I was a curmudgeon even then.
But if your head doesn’t resemble my book idea circus, I have a tip for you.
Go someplace that requires your attention on something outside of your own brain like a business meeting, a parent/teacher conference, or your child’s recounting of their latest video game feat.
As they drone on and on, thoughts will begin to percolate. Ideas will vie for your attention.
Listen.
Write that %#$* down.
If they ask, tell them you are taking notes on the conversation so you can refer to it later. Throw in a self-deprecating joke about your memory. Most people enjoy that kind of attention.
If you want to be more creative, have your pick of book or story ideas, and put an end to writer’s block with the same vigor that Jon Snow slayed Daenrys, you’re going to love my new project, Creative Fugue.
When I was 7, I wanted to be two things in life: a writer and a mom.
I am one of the fortunate ones who has had her dreams come true even if I plodded through a very thick, overgrown path to get there.
The author at six, on the right
I’m not going to talk about my path to motherhood. That’s a different type of genre, after all.
But I will tell you how I became a writer.
First, I wanted to. That’s the important part. You have to want to be a writer because you certainly don’t chose this life for the monetary reward, the glamor, the people you’ll meet along the way, or the extravagant business trips.
Writing is a solitary life full of creative problem solving like how you’re going to pay your next bill. Many of us take jobs on the side. Even the famous among us. Well, not Stephen King or JK Rowling. But look at a list of traditionally published authors and you’ll see a lot of teachers, professors, and other jobs cluttering up their resumes. Very few of us are full-time fiction writers. I’m a marketing writer, for instance. I write website copy and articles when I’m not making up tales.
But I digress.
I didn’t go into this blindly. I knew the difficulty behind becoming a writer in a world where people no longer read anything lengthier than a tweet.
Oh. You’re still here? You’re one of the 1%!
When my godmother asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up and I announced my intentions, she said…
and I remember this so clearly. I can’t tell you why I got up and just walked into this room but I can clearly remember she said…
“You sure do have your head in the clouds.”
Another one of my parents’ friends suggested I follow in my parents’ footsteps and go into medicine but frankly, I’ve never been that caring and selfless of a person.
Later, my father told me to find a job I could live off of. Well, that knocked out writer.
So I tried to divert my energies into other ways writers could make money.
I worked writing:
ceremonial documents for the governor
disaster recovery plans
fashion descriptions for a home shopping channel
marketing collateral for a tech firm
These jobs all paid the bills, but they didn’t feed my soul and that’s a luxury most of us Americans long for. I could never shake the desire to do my own thing.
At one point I worked for a publishing company that published college textbooks. Every year before school started, you would swear you could smell brimstone in the office. Dante knows what I’m talking about. It became hellish.
And there was one particular salesperson who took his dissatisfaction with life out on me. Now, I’m not a perfectionist but I take pride in my work and this particular ripping got to me.
I swore at that moment that I wasn’t going to listen to one more angry anyone. I quit my job about two weeks later.
I’d like to tell you I’ve been writing successfully ever since but it took another 10 years and another shove from the universe masked in “the department is going in a different direction” in the tech company I was working for to get me doing my own thing.
So this whole convoluted blog post was written to tell you this:
sometimes your crappiest experiences are laying the groundwork for you becoming the person you want to be.
