What It’s Like to be a Working Writer
I got a message from a friend and fellow author today who was curious to know how I felt about the subject of ghostwriting. I have performed extensive ghostwriting over the course of my career. Not only have I written as Don Pendleton for 22 Mack Bolan/The Executioner/Stony Man novels for Harlequin/Gold Eagle/Worldwide Library, but I’ve ghost-written numerous other works of fiction and non-fiction.
I’ve written everything from science fiction novels to bestselling “prepper” and self-defense guides to self-help books on everything from fitness to beauty (really). All of these books were done on contract for other people, most of whom took sole credit for them. That’s the gig when you’re a ghostwriter. It doesn’t feed your ego, but it feeds your family.
In fact, if you set aside your desire, as an author, to see your name up in lights — if you establish as your goal making enough money to support yourself, rather than becoming famous for the publication of works with your name on them — you stand to earn pretty well. It’s not easy breaking into the world of working writers. You have to be willing to make sacrifices. That means writing things for money that you consider beneath you. You have to be willing to forego credit. That means the great book you just wrote will have someone else’s name on it. Most importantly, you have to be willing to work quickly. That means you can’t wait for your muse to flutter past your window; you have to meet deadlines.
I spend almost no time “writing about writing.” That’s because the lion’s share of my time is spent working to get paid. I’ve no idea what the typical indie author makes off his self-published books, but I suspect that I make more money in editing, writing website copy, penning self-help and self-defense works for Internet marketers, and writing newsletters and magazines for other people. I’ve been well off and I’ve been dirt poor; I don’t judge people by how much money they make. What I do, however, is judge myself by whether I can pay my bills. If I’m meeting my obligations and doing so off the sweat of my brain and the speed of my typing, I figure I’m doing okay.
As for whether ghostwriting hurts you as an author, there are two ways to look at that. First, you have to clarify the question you’re asking. Does ghostwriting hurt your prospects commercially, by somehow “diluting your brand” or burying your work history under other people’s pen names? I have never found that it does. If anything, establishing the fact that you’re a working writer lets people know that you’re capable of starting and finishing a project, creating a product that is actually marketable and salable. An indie author who’s typing the great American novel may or may not ever finish. It took me years to write my first novel. It took me three months to write my latest Executioner title for Harlequin, and that’s at a relaxed pace during off hours.
The other way to look at it is this: Does ghostwriting hurt your abilities as a writer? After all, writing to spec, or writing within other people’s IP constraints (or even just their preferences for the output) can be very limiting for a writer. I’ve had entire scenes that I really liked ripped apart by overzealous editors, but I wasn’t in a position to complain because the books I ghostwrite aren’t my property. When conforming to the employer’s formula, there are things you’d like to do, ways you’d like to write, that you’ll never get to do. Does operating under those sometimes stifling limits hurt your ability as a writer?
Again, I don’t find that it does. Writing other people’s work is often a chance to stretch your boundaries, to take on challenges that you would not tackle if you were writing your own stuff. There are certain genres I had never attempted until a client paid me to do it. More importantly, ghostwriting commercially forces you to face certain realities. You have never known writer’s block until you’re staring at a page on a book that was due a month ago and your editor is screaming for the manuscript. You have never known tired until the day you want nothing more in the world than to go to bed, but you can’t because you promised the client you would have 20,000 words of website content to him that evening. I have watched more late nights become early mornings than I would like to admit. I have pushed myself beyond all reasonable limits because the bills have to be paid. I have written things I didn’t want to write, and written them well, because that was the job.
That’s what being a working writer is all about. It isn’t glamorous. You don’t often get to see your name on a book cover, and when you do, that book probably won’t make you a great deal of money. You’ll spend just as much time writing things you hate as sitting in a Starbucks writing something you love. But come the first of the month there is food on the table. The car note is paid. The lights are still on. That, honestly, is the best any writer can hope to achieve.
If you’re writing, you had damned well better be writing to make money. If you aren’t, your passion is just a hobby. You don’t truly become a writer until writing is your job.