When You Hire An Expert Ghostwriter or Editor, Don’t Tie Their Hands
Imagine you wake up and find your car won’t start. It’s got gasoline in it. You can still see the battery under the hood and tires where tires belong. Since you’re not mechanical, you need some help, so you have it towed to a local shop.
“What can I do for you?” the mechanic asks.
“My car won’t start.” You point to your car in the parking lot. “But it should. It hasn’t been in an accident, and as far as I can tell, no one has stolen any important parts off it.”
“Um,” the mechanic replies with a confused look.
“So, get it running,” you answer. “But I’ve already ruled out the gas, battery, and tires. They’re all fine. I got half a tank, the battery is under the hood where it belongs, and my tires are pretty new. So don’t waste your time looking at those things.”
I’m not mechanical, but I know a car battery just sits there until it starts your engine. And when it doesn’t start your engine, it still sits there.
We seek automobile mechanics if we’re not a subject-matter expert on our car. If you don’t trust your mechanic, find another one. But for heaven’s sake, if you know enough to know you need a mechanic, don’t tie their hands. Let them do their job.
And when you need an editor, writing coach, or ghostwriter, don’t tie their hands. Let them do their jobs.
Case in Point—A Tale of Two Authors
I had a client I’ll call Odious (since I’ve never had nor likely will have a client named Odious). Odious wanted to write their own book, a memoir for future generations, and asked me to ride shotgun and show them the ropes.
Fine.
I helped with the structure and the outline. A simple chronological order works best for this kind of story.
Then Odious started writing and sending chapters to me to edit.
Three things you should know about Odious.
1. Odious eschewed contractions.
2. Odious used words like eschew.
3. Odious wrote pages of long details of which I can’t imagine another living soul caring about. Ever—even when the events were happening.
(Excuse me for being a little snarky here. I see the value in almost anyone’s story, including Odious’s. But this was a little hitch in our process until we ironed it out, and it came with a lesson worth sharing.)
As an author, it’s one thing to detail a sunset, describing each hue as it morphs across the sky before the sinking under the horizon. It’s logical and even necessary to spell out a complicated sequence of events that’s foundational to a later part of the story. But it’s another thing entirely to write about every door approached, each doorknob turned, all the rooms they walked into, all the people who were sitting on chairs in that room, and so on. Can we just assume that doors don’t come to us, but we go to them? And that doors with knobs often require a turning or twisting motion to open? And that until we conquer gravity, levitating is still out of the question?
I purged those details and explained why they were irrelevant and potentially less than enthralling.
You get the point.
Sadly, Odious didn’t.
“I do not use contractions,” Odious explained. “I want future generations to understand my life and read my story in my voice.”
Let me contrast Odious with another client I’ll call Delightful. Delightful had more degrees than I have letters in my first, middle, and last names. Delightful had written hundreds of peer-reviewed scientific papers, two dozen books, and was a recognized expert in more than one field. Delightful made me feel unaccomplished and lazy.
When Delightful submitted his three-hundred-page manuscript to me, he warned me it was really more of an outline he wanted me to develop into a full novel. A three-hundred-page outline? I thought. If ever there’s a project I need to refuse, this is the one.
But Delightful said something upfront that put me at ease: “I know my topic, but I’m not a writing expert. That’s why I’m coming to you. If you tell me the story is no good, I’ll stop. If you tell me it’s workable, let’s do it. You don’t have to worry about me micromanaging you. I’ve given you the idea; I need you to make it a page-turner.”
And that’s exactly what we did. Delightful’s book is fully drafted and awaiting an agent, and I fully expect they will get a publishing deal.
Finding the Balance
When you find the right mechanic, you don’t have to watch them work; you trust them. Similarly, when you work with a creative partner like an editor or ghostwriter, remember you hired them for their expertise. It’s normal to be cautious up front, but trust their process and let them do their work—until and unless they prove untrustworthy (or incompetent). If you ignore their valuable feedback, you’ll be wasting your funds and time.
That said, your input matters too. A ghostwriter or editor should use their skills to craft your story, but they should also be astute listeners, receptive to your ideas and preferences. If this sounds like a fine line, it is—which, once again, is why you hire a professional.
