A few months ago, I wrote a guest-blog for someone else's blog. My first entry (and believe me, the one I wish I'd gone with) is below. I tinkered with it and I hope you like it.
Something's been bothering me for a while now, but I haven't mentioned it since it's one of those tricky subjects that could easily make me seem bitter and bitchy.
But then I thought to myself "Well, you are bitter and bitchy about this, why not just own it?"
Yeah, why not?
Therefore, in the interest of embracing my inner bitch, I'd like to ask you this question:
When buying a famous person's autobiography, does it matter to you whether or not they used a Ghostwriter? (A ghostwriter would be the teeny tiny name usually found way underneath the celebrity's name on the cover.)
But wait! Before you answer, let me tell why I'd like to know:
It happened when I was about 6 months into the terrifying, exhausting & overwhelming process of writing my first book, with zero outside guidance. (Unless you count the few unlucky friends I forced to read each chapter the moment it was finished & then would grill mercilessly for hours afterwards for their feedback.) Other than them, of course.
It was mid-March. A dreary, rainy, freezing New York City day (my favorite kind.) I was meeting with my publisher and a bunch of others at the colossal and formidable offices of Simon & Schuster, right near Radio City. Jennifer Bergstrom, the publisher of Guts, is one of those brilliant, funny, gorgeous women you instantly want to be best friends with. I'll never forget how she entered our first meeting - laughing, shouting out her favorite quotes from the 3 chapters we had sent her. I instantly just adored her. She's worked there for a long-ass time, and has had a hand in publishing hundreds of books and memoirs, ranging from actors to politicians to comedians to filmmakers to singers to reality show people. Gallery Books, her division within Simon & Schuster, has published every single kind of autobiography imaginable, ranging from high to low-brow fare. And Guts, which is mid-brow?
Usually, I'm totally entertained by her (translation: she laughs at almost everything I say), however this meeting was different. I was crabby, pooped from late nights full of self-doubt and the sheer effort it took to keep up the charade that I was actually writing an actual book. I got distracted for a minute, and my gaze wandered over to the profoundly enormous bookshelf in her office, which was stuffed with years & years of many of the best-selling books she'd published.
"God, that would be intimidating" I thought to myself "If I weren't so confident & experienced."
I tried to refocus on what was being discussed, after all, we were there to discuss my book, which was my favorite (and sadly only) topic I seemed capable of discussing at the time. But I couldn't concentrate.
Instead, for some reason, I interrupted the meeting to blurt out this question: "Hey Jen. Of all the people who've written memoirs, about what percentage of them was stupid like me and didn't use a ghostwriter?"
I assumed she'd say "Oh, probably 40%" or something similar.
"None."
I thought she was joking.
"Wait. What? NONE? Not one?"
She laughed.
"Not one." Everyone else in the room nodded the affirmative.
I was gobsmacked.
"Wait…hold up. NOT ONE person other than ME wrote their memoir on their own? Of all these thousands of people??"
But the meeting continued, while I just sat there in a daze.
How could this be?
Do people know this?
I sure as hell didn't.
Now, I'm not the only "celebrity" (Good Lord that word makes my skin crawl) who wrote their own book, of course. I know for a fact that Andy Cohen wrote his, as did Rachel Dratch, Lisa Ann Walter, and many others, I'm sure.
But it's obviously quite a rarity. I've even discovered some books I'd always assumed were written by the person alone had a ghostwriter. (Due mostly to the fact that theirs was the only name on the cover.)
Honestly, you'd be amazed.
Or maybe not….am I the only one that finds this a bit disturbing?
I know many really cool & smart people who used a ghostwriter for different reasons: their publisher made them use one, they didn't have the time it takes to write a book, or their skills lie in other areas.
So using a ghostwriter doesn't automatically mean anything negative.
However, it is different than the blood, sweat, tears, time and effort it takes to write your own book.
Since I've never attended a ghostwriting session, here's how I imagine it goes:
An actress pacing by her pool, chain-smoking & telling war stories to a recorder held by a brainy gal wearing sensible shoes. After six hours of talking about herself, the actress finally gets momentarily distracted from her favorite subject by her trainer, and sensible shoe gal is dismissed. She then takes 4 buses home to her tiny apartment in the valley and spends hours trying to somehow create a linear book out of the mishmash of stories this whack-job just told her. (If this were a movie, sensible shoe gal would be the true beauty, the one Cary Grant falls head over heels with after a chance meeting at his movie star girlfriend's mansion. If only.)
At any rate, what the movie star did isn't writing.
Where I come from, that's called talking.
The only real, honest-to-god writing here is being done by the Ghostwriter.
I know a few of these people, and they work their asses off. Their job can't be easy, plus they get no love, no glory, nothing except a nice check, and they're off to Nashville to write that country singer's memoirs (fresh out of prison, no less.) You go, girl. Just watch your back.
Are there instances where the ghostwriter simply assisted the celebrity, perhaps helped them organize their thoughts? Absolutely.
And trust me, I have nothing against ghostwriters. In fact, I admire them.
But it just kinda chaps my ass that the book-loving public either isn't told, doesn't seem to notice, or they simply don't care that their favorite reality darling didn't actually sit their bony ass down and write that book they just plunked down 25 bucks for.
They talked it.
It's a big difference, at least to me.
Lest you assume I'm consumed with bitterness, let me assure you that I absolutely am.
Wouldn't it bother you if Snooki's 4th novel, Tori's 12th opus or that NJ housewives' book advising you to never pooh in the same building as your hubby, all far outsell your little homemade drivel?
If the answer is "No. That wouldn't bother me."
You're lying.
And now that my Inner bitch is out, you might want to tread carefully.
Love ya!