Ghostwriter No More

Ghostwriter No More

My story began in the late 80s. I was an aspiring screenwriter in Los Angeles studying film at the American Film Institute and UCLA. I had been a journalist for a small local newspaper in Northern California, but my life’s dream was to write films. So off to LaLa Land I traveled.

“Struggling” writer probably describes that period in my life better. It’s always been a running joke in Los Angeles that everyone is writing a screenplay. No matter where you went or who you talked to, they were working on a script. I was a bit of a San Francisco hipster back then, interested in organic foods, herbs and supplements, even what was then considered fringe natural medicine. Maybe it was kismet that I met the man who changed my writing career path forever at a natural health convention. In this story, to abide by my confidentiality agreements, I’m calling him Doc.

Doc was a rising star in naturopathic medicine. His specialty was combining Eastern and Western science and philosophy to address a dearth of information about women’s healthcare. His experience and extensive scientific research had helped him create a medical practice at the cutting edge of women’s medicine. He focused on using foods, herbs, and natural hormones to address many of the most common health issues women experience.

I was intrigued. Doc was what media likes to call a total package. He was brilliant, charismatic, handsome, and articulate. Everything he said in his compelling lectures made sense, and the results he was achieving were exciting. His patients gave amazing testimonials about heart health, blood pressure, depression, anxiety, chronic illnesses, and hormone-related issues, from PMS to menopause and beyond.

After our chance meeting that day, Doc and I became friends. There was an undeniable chemistry between us, a definite attraction that neither of us understood right away. Over a period of a few months, we went out for lunches and the occasional dinner or special professional event. We truly enjoyed each other’s company and conversation, but it was all casual. Then, one afternoon he confided in me that he had landed a big publishing deal and was collaborating with a woman, whom I’ll call CeeCee. She was a successful screenwriter just coming off a huge box-office hit, a woman of a certain age, and had been one of Doc’s patients. It was her agent who had landed the publishing deal. The book was slated as a revolutionary approach to menopause. Everything was set for success. But there were problems. CeeCee and Doc did not see eye to eye on the manuscript and how it should be written.

“Just have a look at it and tell me if you get it,” Doc asked me as he handed me a draft of what they had written so far, “and tell me what you think.” I agreed to read it right away, and I did. I could tell immediately Doc was not a writer, but at the same time, I could see the jewels in what he was trying to convey. So what if he couldn’t write?

CeeCee was famous, older, and had tried his treatment methods successfully. She had been well-known on Broadway before she ever arrived in Los Angeles. Certainly, if she could write hit plays and movies, she could write bestseller books. Well, not exactly. To me, over and above who could write what, I cared about Doc’s message. I believed it was incredibly important and could change the way a woman understood her body, her health, and what she accepted as safe and effective treatment for what ailed her. It was obvious to me how powerful his message could be if it were delivered in an accessible way.

I gave Doc my notes on the manuscript and my opinion about how important I thought the book could be. What I suggested then is now called creative nonfiction. I believed that women would resonate better with the material if they didn’t have to read page after page of scientific studies. They needed to be able to identify with it, to understand that what was happening in their bodies was a natural part of aging and not illness. They needed to be able to apply what they read to their own day-to-day experience. The notes I gave him illustrated how that could be done. As I look back now it was simply my way of telling a story. If the book could read the way Doc explained physiology and his treatments to his patients, I was pretty sure it would be wildly successful.

Doc liked what I was saying and what I had written, because it captured what happened in his office time and again when he introduced simpler, safer methods to his patients to help them manage their symptoms. More importantly, his treatments were effective and without horrible side effects. The book needed plain language, real stories of personal experience, lots of research to back it up; it needed to capture his charisma without forsaking the science and research.

It was in that meeting that Doc and I began to understand our connection. Doc had the scientific and medical experience and I had a way with words. I understood what he was trying to convey, and he could see that my words achieved what he wanted. We spent hours talking through his pages and all the ideas he had. I began working on the manuscript with intent and soon something exciting started to take shape.

When it came to meeting with CeeCee, well, she didn’t seem to like me. She spoke mostly to Doc, looking past me as if I wasn’t there. She did not like the way Doc and I related to each other. We were too familiar with each other and too at ease with the work. I could understand why she didn’t want me in the picture. Who would want another writer brought into a process that was already in the works? Especially one who could do something she couldn’t. But it was more than that. CeeCee and Doc had had an affair before she became his patient. They met on a holiday in Puerto Vallarta. The relationship ended before they got the publishing deal, but she was hoping to rekindle it with the book. That explained a lot.

In the end, CeeCee knew they had to deliver a book worthy of the enormous advance they received. She read the notes I provided, and in spite of herself she liked them. She also liked that I could capture Doc on paper. She quickly realized I could also be a liaison between them, and the arguing would stop. I assured her that my primary purpose was to help them bring in a book that was successful for both of them. We came to an agreement, and I started working with both of them. It was an incredible amount of work, running back and forth, navigating their differences and trying to maintain equilibrium between them. Ghostwriting that book basically took over my life.

I didn’t get credit for my work, and I didn’t get much pay, but what did happen was the book got written and became a bestseller. There was a lot to celebrate, and I was young and idealistic enough to ride the wave of what we were doing for women. This isn’t a treatise on those changes in women’s healthcare, although I will forever be grateful for the path Doc’s book carved for me, not only in the world of ghostwriting and publishing, but also in the world of women’s health and hormones. I went on to do more projects with Doc and CeeCee, and they both sent many other clients my way. I became a full-fledged ghostwriter, well versed in the ways of the publishing industry. I got invaluable boots-on-the ground, in-the-trenches training that you can’t get from books or in classrooms. I had a lot to be grateful for.

So, in this happily-ever-after story, what could possibly have gone wrong? As I mentioned, ghostwriting can be complicated. When collaboration is sparking and creativity is firing on all cylinders, as the work intensifies, it can become intimate, almost like a marriage, and the work becomes like a child you are raising together. Creatively, there is a lot of juice. But in the same way that boundary lines can blur in a marriage, ownership and authority can become issues when a book is being ghostwritten. They can get in the way of the work. In a creative partnership, the nominal author — no matter how much or how little work they do — always has the final say. They have dominion over the project and they can begin to believe that they have dominion over you too. And this didn’t happen only with Doc and CeeCee, it happened with many of the other authors with whom I worked.

My relationship with Doc continued over many years and we became increasingly enmeshed. But at the same time, I enjoyed many of the perks of working with him. We traveled together, discovering exciting new science and research. We started a supplement company together. I helped him launch a television show in Europe. Doc got married, I got married, and our extended families became friends. It was quite a ride, even though the whole time, I was working behind the scenes. The name ghostwriter is not a misnomer; I was like Casper and part of me was tiring of being the friendly ghost, always working in the background. But then Doc had yet another one of his great ideas. He wanted to pursue a big national publishing house with a concept for a national newsletter.

Doc had many great ideas. He just couldn’t put the words together on paper to convey them. But I could, and he was glad, and it worked. The downside was there were times when he liked it so much, he actually thought they were his words...and in a way they were, I had just fiddled with them. See what I mean? It’s complicated.

If he landed this national newsletter, he’d be the first naturopath to launch at a time when national, direct-mail subscription newsletters were gaining in popularity. He asked if I would help him. Of course, I agreed. I wrote everything he submitted to the publisher, including samples of his work and the branding material. He got the contract. Publicity for Doc at this level would put him in the catbird seat for national television exposure in the U.S. Sure enough, once the newsletter got rolling, PBS picked him up. Naturopathic medicine was no longer just coming into its own. It had arrived and it was big business.

Once work began on the newsletter, the publisher let Doc know they provided in-house writers and editors. That wasn’t a problem for me; I had developed a ghostwriting career of my own. In fact, I was ghostwriting a book for a close friend and colleague of Doc’s — I’ll call him Sci-Guy — and it was already out to publishers. Sci-Guy’s book was at the cutting edge of brain science and memory enhancement. He had a program for increasing memory power and speed that he had been working on for over a decade. Doc, Sci-Guy and I were all very friendly. We often talked with each other about the work, the research, the science. We shared drafts of everything. It was very collegial and, I thought, based on trust.

Right before Doc’s premiere issue of his newsletter was set for release, he sent me a copy to review. I was so excited to read it. But when I opened the manuscript and began turning the pages, my excitement turned to dread. The words I was reading were my words, only I had written them for Sci-Guy’s book, now going into its final editing phase. Doc’s newsletter launch was all about the brain. He had plagiarized Sci-Guy’s work. I was in shock. How could this be? I called Doc immediately. “What the hell is going on here?” I heaved into the phone.

“It’s not plagiarism,” he said. “Calm down. Don’t get your panties all in a bunch. There is nothing wrong here. The science is out there in the public domain. So, I’m using it.”

“It’s out there because Sci-Guy put it there. It’s years of his research, Doc!”

With new science and new ideas about health and well-being, who’s on first matters. This was cutting-edge material about the human brain and memory, and SciGuy was at the forefront. Doc kept telling me to calm down, that everything would work out just fine.

I felt a scream rising in me. Doc’s final shot was, “Besides, you and Sci-Guy wouldn’t even know each other if it wasn’t for me.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I slammed the phone down.

How could he say something like that to me? In reality, I could see how Doc misconstrued this whole mess. He was the cornerstone, he was the star quarterback, therefore in his mind, all of it was fair game. Sci-Guy’s years of work, my words, all of it. I felt nauseated and like my heart was going to burst out of my chest.

I called Sci-Guy and told him what I’d just learned. He went silent. Then he said, “Doc wouldn’t do that. You must be mistaken.”

I assured him I was not and read him some of the passages from Doc’s manuscript. He went silent again. Then he choked up and I could tell he was holding back tears. He mumbled, “Years upon years of my work. My friend. How could this happen?”

I could hear in his whispery rasp that he was devastated. Heartbroken. I was still enraged. I tried to suggest that we take action but he didn’t want to.

“Doc is so well-known, such a powerful personality. Everyone loves him. We can’t do anything; it would be scandalous for his career.”

“For his career? It’s going to be suicide for yours if you don’t do something to stop him.”

“But we’ve been friends for so many years.” Sci-Guy was afraid. Paralyzed, really, with fear and grief. Finally, he caved. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Everything within me was screaming NO. There is something we can do. This is not right. Prominence does not give a person the right to steal another’s work. But I wanted to be certain that what Doc had done was truly plagiarism. So, I looked it up. According to Oxford, plagiarism is the practice of taking someone else’s work or ideas and passing them off as one’s own. The word’s origin from the early 17th century derives from the Latin plagiarius ‘kidnapper’ (from plagium ‘a kidnapping’, from Greek plagion) + -ism.

How perfect. Kidnapping.

I began to compare Doc’s manuscript and ours, side by side. I yellow-lined all the sections that were the same. I was stunned to see that page after page, Doc had lifted word for word, paragraph after paragraph of our material. I covered his newsletter manuscript with red highlighter and matched pages of Sci-Guy’s with yellow highlighter. Right then, the path forward became crystal clear to me. It wasn’t that I wasn’t afraid. I was terrified. But I had to do it. If not for SciGuy, for myself. It was my work too.

My letter to Doc’s publisher simply said, “Before you roll the presses on Doc’s big launch, you might want to consider where the content came from and whether there is any infringement involved.” I included dates, times, and footnote details. I was sick with fear. Speaking truth to power is a grand idea but terrifyingly difficult to do. Highlighting Doc’s plagiarized work calmed my fear and fortified my resolve.

The publisher pulled Doc’s launch. He didn’t lose the newsletter; he was famous after all. According to Doc, it was really just a big misunderstanding. What Doc said to the publisher, I will never know. They just shifted gears, chose another topic, and Doc rose to the surface like cream rising on milk. They sent letters to SciGuy and me apologizing for their oversight. Oversight!? Willful negligence was more like it. But, regardless of their word choice, it was their retraction of the material that assured me I had done the right thing for myself, for Sci-Guy, and for the years of research he had put into his material.

Doc never spoke to me again. Nor I to him. It was a loss, yes. We had been friends and colleagues for so many years. He was a great doctor. We did good work together. I grieved the loss of him and the loss of my faith in him. But I celebrated finding my grit in that moment of truth. So why am I telling this story now?

Georgia O’Keefe once said of her work, “I had to create an equivalent for what I felt about what I was looking at, not copy it.” That resonates with me.

To me, words have music and vibrations in them, rhythms and emotions, shadows and light, truth and lies. Words are my art, how I bring my interpretations of what I have seen and experienced into the world, in the form of books, stories, essays, and the tools for living that have helped me navigate my life.

I’ve finally started writing again. And for the last year and a half my relationship to my writing has been transformed. I’m writing what I want to write, my words, my ideas, and in my own name. I’m grateful for all the experiences I had ghostwriting, including the time I spent with Doc and everyone else I worked with along the way. But coming out from behind the curtain, leaving Casper behind, and stepping into the light, is liberating. It’s coming home, to me.