Let me tell you about a doctor (I’ll call him Scott, because that’s his name) who suffered at the hands of the medical system, leading to extreme medication, hospitalization, a series of suicide attempts, and a severe case of PTSD. Now he’s writing a book about his experience, and I’m his ghostwriter, writing coach, editor, and steady hand.
His traumatic experience now lies in his past, but Scott has processed events by writing extensively. And I mean—extensively. When we met last year, Scott had written outlines, essays, narrative descriptions, medical guidelines, and an overview of his (successful) malpractice lawsuit. In many cases, he had drafted several versions of the same incident or argument. At a guesstimate, Scott had well over 200,000 words of text. To put that in context, a standard nonfiction book is between 60,000 and 70,000 words, so the task of whittling down words was formidable.
Scott shared it all with me, walking me through his complex story so I could understand the sequence of events and the significant takeaways. With my guidance, he wrote up lists of the key points he wanted to convey and drafted additional material about some of the more traumatic events he had been reluctant to revisit. We talked a great deal about whether this would be a memoir, a “call to action” expose, or something in between.
At first, I acted as Scott’s writing coach, but I shifted gears when it became clear he needed hands-on help sifting through the clutter. I took on the task of sorting his content into “buckets” as a preliminary stage before creating more coherent chapters.
Our set of buckets served two purposes: it was a first step towards a chronological narrative, and it highlighted some stages in his experience where Scott wanted to massage the timeline to create a more effective narrative arc. We tackled questions such as: did the reader need a blow-by-blow account of the four times Scott was hospitalized, or would it be more effective to describe his hospitalization experience in a more holistic way?
For the next stage of setting up chapter drafts, Scott took the lead, taking our buckets and rearranging and selecting material. I then did a pass that I would describe as developmental editing: developing transitions and “connective tissue;” picking up on gaps and overlaps; and massaging the voice so it was even, rather than swinging between dark humor and whistleblower outrage.
Over the course of this year, we have met regularly to compare notes. As I write this, we are still a little way from having a complete manuscript, but I can see it will be a powerful piece of work. Scott and I both hope his book will shine a light on specific kinds of medical malpractice and help patients and their families know what questions they should ask and what answers should set alarm bells ringing.
Was the process a standard example of ghostwriting? No. But then, over the decade-plus I’ve been doing this kind of work, I’ve come to see that there really isn’t a “standard” ghostwriting procedure. I meet authors where they are, and offer every writing device, editing remedy, and publishing solution I’ve discovered over my years as an editor, publisher, author, and book creator.
That’s how it looks from my side. Scott will often write to tell me the impact I’m having on his writing work, so here is how it looks from his side of the fence:
“It's my first rodeo, as you know, and I'm so very close to this story (for obvious reasons) that, excuse the cliché, I can't see the forest for the trees. I have so much to tell, and I know I tend to wander a bit—and I have a couple of axes that I have sharpened for "the desperados who did me wrong," to borrow an expression from the Old West. I need a steady hand on the tiller.”
“… This ‘book stuff’ has so many moving parts that it feels like I'm trying to tune up a motorcycle while riding it! I'm so glad you've been the adult in the room and have been able to manage this torrent of information.”
“I didn't appreciate the enormity of the challenge of keeping it all together … trying to write and think in ‘chapter-speak’ mode while keeping track of where and when to insert all the ‘facts,’ e.g. National Guidelines, dates, medication, malpractice issues.”
“I don't have words to tell you how grateful I am to have found you! I really need someone to guide me, put up some guard rails, and keep me in my lane.”
“Thanks, Sally. I appreciate your keeping me out of the quicksand.”
“… Ah yes, the recollection of the thousands of wasted keystrokes from the pre-Sally era! You saved me, Sally. If only I had found you earlier!”
Comments