How to Become a Ghost (Writer)
On capturing an essence.
Hi friends,
I want to take a moment and thank all the new subscribers who came in through likes, shares, and recommendations. Slow Ghost is just me, your friendly neighborhood writer/editor, and I’m so appreciative of the support.
We’re trying out a small format shift below, so if you have any feedback or hot tips (want more of something? Less? Hate it all? Want to send me flowers?) I’d love to hear it.
Today’s newsletter is about capturing the essence of an individual while tracing the outer contours of a sense of place and time. Slow Ghost has always attempted to explore the flip side of the fleeting and zeitgeist-y, the disposable and surface level. So it brings me immense joy to feature an interview with Sarah Tomlinson, an artist whose job is to capture deeper and more meaningful threads, almost always anonymously and often without ego or fanfare. To ask, as a ghostwriter, what it means to disappear into another person and then step back with a creative work.
I hope you enjoy~
Laura
Image: David Litman, Slow Ghost logo: Tyler Lafreniere
What’s New
See:
Mariko Mori’s anime-inspired exploration of gender in Japan.
The A24 guide to special effects.
The second life of Elton John’s pianos.
This sleek vest made from seaweed fiber.
How an ultrasound was used to make a cold brew in 3 minutes.
Read:
Don’t forget that plants have feelings too.
Why lab grown diamonds are old-hat — the future is carbon capture.
Artadias’s When We Were 25, which features thoughts and life advice for young artists from creators like Nick Cave, Hank Willis Thomas and Autumn Knight.
Author RO Kwon’s incredibly charming (and relatable) writing routines.
Check out:
The Art of Noise exhibition at SFMOMA showcasing pioneering audio and the designs that shaped the modern listening experience.
What’s worth seeing at this month’s NYCxDesign festival.
The smallest museum in NYC.
The Other Art Fair, which opens this weekend.
The LA debut of Sukeban, the Japanese women’s pro-wrestling league, hosted by Kunichi Nomura and featuring costumes designed by Olympia Le-Tan.
Travel:
Fantasizing about a writing retreating at this beautiful Czech hideaway
Take an armchair journey through Anaïs Nin’s Los Angeles hideaway.
The first images of Paris’ refurbished Grand Palais, which will host taekwondo and fencing at the summer 2024 Olympics. (Below, via Chatillon Architectes)
Stream:
Courtney Love’s Women on the BBC.
Isabella Rossellini on her appreciation of traditional knitwear and the artisans of the Faroe Islands.
A few moments from the AmRef Art Ball honoring Kehinde Wiley, which we were lucky enough to attend a few weekends back.
Have an upcoming project, story, or launch? HMU at slowghost@substack.com.
What Does It Take To Ghost?
Sarah Tomlinson is an LA-based writer and former music journalist who has worked as an in-demand ghostwriter since 2008. She has crafted more than 20 books, including five New York Times bestsellers, and one memoir, Good Girl (Gallery Books), published in 2015. This spring, she released her first novel, The Last Days of the Midnight Ramblers, partially based on her years of experience collaborating with top celebrities and entrepreneurs.
Slow Ghost: What was your journey from non-fiction into fiction?
ST: It actually was from fiction into non-fiction! I took my first creative writing class at 16 at the early college at Simon’s Rock and was hooked. It was so meaningful to contribute to a community of writers, particularly female writers. I got into Marguerite Duras, Donna Tartt, Patti Smith – women I was inspired by, both in terms of the writing they were doing, and the way they were commenting on their lives. I was then lucky enough to study fiction at Bard, which had an excellent program.
Afterward, I realized “goodness, what am I going to do next.” I moved to Portland, Oregon and worked as a waitress. Later, I panicked and decided, like many, I would get an MFA. This was followed by an incredible, life-changing moment. I called my favorite professor, Peter Sourian, and said “will you please write a recommendation for an MFA program.” He replied “let me ask you a question: do you write every day?” I hemmed and hawed and admitted “well, not really.” He wisely said “you do not need to go to an MFA program right now. What you need is to get a job. Fall in love. And write. And when you’re writing every day, call me.” He realized I had just come out of a rigorous program and knew how to be a writing student but not a writer, and the only thing that would help was to just write. And he was so absolutely correct. So I waitressed, fell in love, and had a sweet life in Portland. I eventually realized it was going to take a lot longer than expected. I had thought the first thing I wrote would get published and I would have a career as a novelist. Three years after graduation, it hit: “oh, I don’t think it’s gonna happen like that and I’m tired of waiting tables.” So I decided to get a journalism degree. I needed a trade.
Ah yes, a day job.
I went to journalism school at Northeastern in 1999, and started freelancing at The Boston Globe. They had a genuine mentorship model where editors would walk us over to someone’s desk for intros if something was a fit. From there, I got into music writing, which ultimately became my big passion. By my mid-20s I was working as a music journalist, while still pursuing fiction and working on a novel. I had all these entry points for writing, which ultimately helped me become a more skilled and thoughtful writer, but also to learn how to live as a writer and what does that mean.
In your novel, California is a character. I could feel the sunshine on the pages. Did moving to the West Coast influence your work?
Completely. I had grown up in New England and lived in Boston, which was a great smaller city to start since I had complete access to venues and artists. I wrote a ton in a way that if I had been in New York City, or even Los Angeles, there would have been much more competition for bylines. I was immersed. I had gone down to NYC for shows and had appreciated it, but never fell in love with it in the way many writers do. When I went to LA, I completely fell in love. It was so exotic. I loved the palm trees, the bodegas. I went to Beverly Hills, Rodeo Drive, the Hollywood sign, all those iconic destinations. But that wasn’t what I fell in love with. I fell in love with the EastSide. Which is like going to NYC and falling in love with Brooklyn. It has its own flavor and personality and rituals.
When I moved here in 2006 it was still quite inexpensive and there were many talented, successful fiction writers. Janet Finch is the one who comes to mind. She wrote White Oleander, which I was obsessed with, and I often tease her she’s the reason I moved here. She was so kind and welcomed me into the fiction scene. It was smaller, so again I stumbled into this community that– because people weren’t paying as much attention–we were free to write, have parties and quirky little readings in warehouses, and support each other. California has a different texture and population than New England. It was healthy for me as an artist. It expanded my thoughts on who I wanted to write about and what kind of stories I wanted to tell.
Masonic Lodge at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, by Piper Ferguson
You wrote several unpublished novels before this debut. What is it like to create these works and how did you know that this was “the one”?
Well, I do have three novels lovingly tucked into a drawer, and two of them I did bring to completion and tried to take out for publication. The first was about a female musician whose boyfriend/guitarist dies and how she deals with the aftermath and her place as a woman in the industry. I’ve always been hungry to write a rock n’ roll novel. Around this time I started working with my agent, Kirby Kim, who I met through my first ghost writing project in 2008. He was generous but also rigorous and didn’t feel that the first novel, or even the third, were ready for submission. There was something lacking. Of course it was hard to hear, but I knew he was smart and had great clients and so I took his wisdom seriously. I made the difficult choice to instead build up my ghost writing career. Which I loved doing.
With Franz Ferdinand, reporting a piece for the Boston Globe
That was a journey!
Later Kirby suggested I could write a thriller about a ghost writer. That this world is interesting and opaque and would make for an incredible character and world building. That was 2016, and I started working on it in earnest in 2018. Kirby has been instrumental in making sure the book was good enough to go out and that, because of my journalism and ghost writing background, the character should come out of those worlds and be based on a younger version of me. That this would be my best chance to have a character I would be in a great position to discuss, and be a strong calling card for my writing and point of view.
It takes strength to not be offended by others thinking a work isn’t ready. To trust yourself and close confidants. Not enough is said about “trusted readers.”
Every writer’s relationship to their agent and editor is unique. I work more closely with mine than some of my writer friends do, but from my perspective, I know prose and character, and they know prose and publishing and story, and are so wise about pacing, pay off and stakes. It just made sense to take that good advice. I also had a mentor who was a TV writer, and when I began writing pilots for shows and feature film scripts I witnessed them have table reads, where you get your script ready and bring in actors and writers and have them sit and read through, throwing out ideas and jokes. For comedies, you want funny people at the table. If someone has a good joke, you take it. You can’t have an ego. You don’t say “no! That’s my script! I’m only going to have MY jokes in it!” Screenwriting is such a collaborative process. Because I had that experience, I’m not precious. Of course, ultimately, it’s my decision what stays and what goes. But I did maybe thirteen drafts of this novel? And all were based on a unique set of notes from a different reader. I didn’t take every note, but I did take them seriously. I wanted the book to be as good as possible, and if someone had a suggestion that would improve it, I took it.
With a new client, do you only get a few days to learn their story?
As I dramatize in the book, in 2011 I had done a handful of ghostwriting jobs but hadn’t published a best seller. It was a catch 22: having a New York Times bestseller on your resume helps you become more competitive, but until you get your first, it’s difficult to get hired for a job likely to be a bestseller. So you needed that chance. For me, that was very dramatic, and I thought it would be a great jumping off point for the main character. The experiences she has are based on my own and the year I was lucky enough that someone took that chance.
And then you actually have to write the thing.
We had six weeks to hand in the book, and a two week extension, and it ended up being my first bestseller. It wasn't my standard process though. But I believe being a successful ghost writer isn’t just about your talent or skill, it’s your work ethic. Your ability to bring brute force to completing a project. When you’re young and proving yourself, you just have to do that. It’s the thing that differentiates you from the five others up for the job that are also skilled and talented with experience. What do you have that’s different? If you can say “ I’m going to get it done” and actually deliver, that is a huge draw as a ghost writer, journalist or editor.
Do you get one meeting and then write someone’s whole life story?
Normally you get one or two meetings to have them like you enough to hire you. That alone is quite stressful, because a job that is going to be your primary income for six months or a year can be decided over lunch at the Polo Lounge. Then it depends on the client’s schedule. Sometimes they’re on a show so you might meet at the studio before or after shooting for the day. Or, because they’re an entrepreneur and have to travel, you might group meetings together. It's more common to work with someone for 3-6 months, meeting for 2-4 hours at a time. Ideally a couple of times a week so you can build rapport and momentum.
Do you feel like an old hand?
I have more experience, so my nerves are steadier. The more you’ve gone through weird, anxious moments and gotten out on the other side the more confident you are. But ghostwriting is unique compared to journalism or fiction in that part of the process is knowing you’re going to do your best during the interview, pick which stories to put into a chapter, write sample material to get down the client’s voice, bring so much care to it, and when you hand it in, you’re almost always wrong. There’s always something that doesn’t work or resonate. Yet, you just have to go through that process. It’s hard for someone to conceptualize their own stories written down. When they finally see it on the page, even if it’s as it was recorded, in literally their words– it’s not until they see it in written form that they understand it’s not quite right, or gain a broader perspective. A huge part of your ability to thrive is understanding that, expecting it, and not getting upset.
Truly.
I will say “nothing is going to hurt my feelings. All I care about is getting it right.” This can be an uncomfortable process even for someone who is very successful. When you’re in a room with another person, telling them everything they did wrong, even kindly, it’s uncomfortable. I have respect for my clients because each has done that to some degree. It only comes together through that process of identifying what isn’t working. Do I get anxious the first time I give a client sample material? Even though I’ve done 21 books? Absolutely, 100 percent. Yet I have the nerve now to understand “you know what? They’re not going to be happy. Or they’re not going to be completely happy. And it’s going to be fine.” Being able to take and receive notes, respond and make it better – that becomes part of the collaboration.
Courtesy of The Hollywood Reporter
It’s a skill to be able to split yourself from the creative work.
Something that I’ve discussed is having a parent who has had mental health and addiction struggles, and is probably a narcissist. It trained me to take care of people while putting my own needs backburner. I was just at a dinner that The Hollywood Reporter threw with several successful ghostwriters, and was sitting next to Neil Strauss, who wrote The Dirt and some of the most successful, revered collaborations in pop culture history. When I discussed this, he mentioned his mom is a narcissist, as did another ghostwriter at the table. Of course, not every ghostwriter has a narcissist parent. But another writer who discussed this was JR Moehringer, author of The Tender Bar and ghost for Andre Aggassi. In The New Yorker last spring he confessed to having an absent father who was a local Boston radio DJ and the longing, and trying to prove something to his dad, and how that informed his work.
I’ve had many marvel that I can do this job and enjoy it. “I could never do that, I’d hate to not get credit” or “I can’t believe they missed a meeting. Don’t you feel disrespected?” I don't take it personally, and consider it part of the process. I’m used to criticism, but for an entertainer, even one who has been dragged through the tabloids, to tell their story in a serious way in a memoir can be incredibly vulnerable. So sometimes they behave badly. It isn’t because they disrespect me. They're having a crisis of confidence, like all us artists have. I’m sympathetic. Certainly when I was younger I didn’t have a division between my creative self and my self/self and if someone didn’t like a short story I took it personally. But you have to go to a vulnerable place to do creative work, and also need thick skin to interact with the world, both in terms of getting the work ready and seeing how the world responds to it.
via
Understanding that duality should be taught in school.
This may sound very California, but I talk with my clients about it because I consider them creators. Even though I do the writing, they’re having epiphanies and are deep in traumatic moments. I’ll ask “How are you taking care of yourself?” because that’s a huge component. Growing up, I had seen models, like Marguerite Duras, use alcohol to handle their emotions. She was brilliant, but had a troubled life because of her drinking. That’s a path many take. Not that I don’t like a glass of wine to unwind, but we have to have other tools. Here, people are less embarrassed about taking care of themselves and it’s more a point of conversation. You go to a dinner party and we’ll discuss our art or creative projects, but also the best new yoga teacher or what we put in our smoothies. To me, that’s part of being an artist.
In ghost writing, you’re shaping the narrative, and often it’s not verbatim. When do you use artistic license?
That’s the dance. You cannot sustain casual language for an entire book. When I write, I make a deal with the reader that I am going to elevate it. Be thoughtful about word choice and story and stakes and payoff. But, you often use authentic expressions in times of great emotion, whether it’s excitement or upset, because that’s when we drop the veil and are most ourselves. That’s been part of my learning, to respect the voice. I came out of a serious literary fiction background and had specific ideas of writing, but that’s not always what a pop culture book should be. It’s meant to be rawer. I once had a client give a note. “This sounds like a magazine piece about me and I don’t want it to sound like a magazine piece about me. I want it to sound like me.” And it was true! I knew magazine writing and certain tricks you fall back on. Once I got that note, I realized “Yes, he completely deserves to sound like himself.” A book is 250 pages and you have to consider the reader’s ability to be in that space for that length of time.
How does someone become a ghostwriter?
I fell into it because I had a music journalism background and was comfortable with celebrities and representing their story and capturing their voice. But you can also ghostwrite for an entrepreneur, medical professional – an athlete. Whatever your area of interest is. What you need is a relationship with someone who has a great story, they don’t necessarily have to be celebrities. If someone has an exceptional story, or an area of expertise that could make for a good book, talk them into letting you document it. Much like writing your first bestseller, you just have to do it.
When I was hired for my first project I worked on a proposal with a celebrity coach who had a business specializing in artists and entertainers. We were working on a self help book, and though we didn’t complete the proposal or sell the book together, it helped me understand how a proposal worked. How even a book worked. Because you have to think about the components and what to show to convince someone this is the book they should purchase. It’s a combination of finding a worthwhile story, and learning the tools of the trade so once someone does entrust you, you know what you’re doing. If you’re deferential, but enthusiastic, and have a vision for why this story is special and how you’d tell it, don’t be afraid to approach someone. Do it so they don’t think you’re a wingnut, but passion for the project can go a long way. Especially if it’s someone who’s not a mainstream celebrity. Even people who have done incredible things don’t often get attention. To be asked their story can be very meaningful and the start of a collaborative relationship that is really special. Because you were the one who saw the vision for the book–maybe even before they did.
Slow Ghost is a newsletter covering creativity now, brought to you by writer and editor Laura Feinstein.