How I became a ghostwriter

Part I: The Fruitcake Lady

For years, I was an ambitious, scrambling journalist who pitched editors constantly and also pleaded constantly with magazines to pay me for work they’d already published. I traveled around the world on assignment, and spent many late nights alone with my keyboard (typewriter in the old days, then computer) refining draft after draft to meet a morning deadline.

Then in 2006 my agent asked me to ghostwrite a short book on a tight deadline, for an amount that was 10 times what I’d get for a labor intensive article that would have taken the same three months to produce. I boarded a plane from NYC to Tampa and drove to Marie Rudisill’s trailer on the outskirts of Tampa, Florida. She was Truman Capote’s aunt, and is a character is some of his nonfiction writing. She also made regular live appearances on the Jay Leno show, offering a mix of profane and sacred advise in response to viewers questions about marriage, toilets, love, religion and cooking (she was famous for her fruitcakes).

I spent several days in Marie’s trailer asking her questions and recording the answers on a legal pad. (I also taped them, but, in the end, never referred to the tapes.) Marie was in her mid 90s, and full of energy and wit. We hit it off right from the start. I even became pals with the pit bull she kept in the trailer for protection. Given Marie’s age, Hyperion, the publisher, explicitly told me to get the book done soon so it would come out before her hypothetical imminent death.

Writing the book gave me great satisfaction. I worked around the clock and got it done quickly. I felt like a carpenter crafting a building to the basic outline presented by the author/architect. I did a great job.

The book did well, and sure enough, Marie died about a year later.

Afterwards, I noticed that other writers were shocked when I talked openly about ghost writing. While the profession is still much maligned, then, as it is now, about half the books on the New York Times nonfiction best seller list were ghost written books. For some reason, authors would take no pride in the craft. They were snobs and felt that ghost writing a book maligned their reputations. I’ve never felt that.

Since that book, I’ve ghostwritten 13 others, for supermodels, TV news anchors, neurosurgeons, energy moguls, anti-capitalist capitalists and dilettante billionaires. Normally, I would never reveal their names. I mention Marie’s name because she told me it didn’t matter, and also because she is deceased.

At the moment, I’m working on a book with a man who accomplishes more each day than I could imagine doing in a week, and am in negotiations with another man who heads a family sports dynasty. I love how ghost writing leads me into other lives and cultures, other ways of thinking and being. It’s an intimate and anonymous exercise that suits me well.

In coming weeks, I’ll tell more ghost stories — and I’m happy to answer any questions you have about becoming a ghost writer, or using one for your own work.

Here is Marie on Jay Leno: