Maiden Voyage

Sydney contemplated which task would be a better use of her time: Organizing her all-read inbox, or brewing herself a fourth cup of coffee. Both tasks would kill her, if done long enough.

Well, I’m only supposed to drink coffee when I’m writing, Sydney thought. But that hasn’t stopped me so far…

It had been a few weeks since she’d received an inquiry from a prospective client, and needless to say, she was running out of ways to procrastinate. Her apartment was spotless, her bills were paid, and her cat had gained a good five pounds of owner’s holiday weight. Christmas was three months ago, but with the way Priscilla ate, she might as well be vacationing along the Amalfi Coast.

As she downed the last sip of her third cup, Sydney decided to check in on her previous clients’ releases. On average, her clients’ books were garnering a 4.7 rating on Amazon and 4.5 on Goodreads. Not bad. Then, she scrolled down to the reviews.

“Amazing story!” Nice.

“I could NOT put this book down.” Cool.

“meh, ive red better.” Gotta love one-star reviews from people allergic to proper grammar.

“Tina’s writing style is so laid back - she feels like a friend I’ve known my whole life!”

Ah, to be known. But ghostwriting all but guarantees the opposite. It’s an occupational hazard, which Sydney knew going in. Still, that didn’t mean she didn’t regret the anonymity at times.

At least someone felt seen, even if it wasn’t me…

*Ding*

Sydney couldn’t jump to her email tab any quicker. At long last, it was an email from a name she’d never seen before with the word “Inquiry” in the subject line. Sydney closed her eyes as she exhaled a sigh of relief. An inquiry email wasn’t a guarantee that a client would work with her, but opening it gave her something to do.

She read on:

Dear Ms. Prawley,

I would like to submit a formal request to become your ghostwriting client. I have lived an interesting life (I think so, anyway) and have thought about getting it published for some time.

I was born in the Andes Mountains in 1929 to parents who were hippies before hippies were around (they were ahead of their time), having taken a steamship from America a few months earlier. I grew up around alpacas and more cats than I could dream of (“We’ll get along,” Sydney said to herself), until my parents decided to move to Spain for other opportunities. I should also mention that this move took place in 1938, and other things were happening in Europe around that time. So, I spent many school years in Spain, which was technically neutral, but they were still a little too close to the ‘action’ for my liking. So, when I was 22, I slowly but surely made my way to the States to try and start a new life. I’ve been in Texas ever since.

Now that I am retired and my children have all married and left the house, this seemed as good a time as any to move forward with my book-to-be. How would I go about scheduling a consultation with you or moving forward with this project?

Thank you,

Edna McCabe

Sydney leaned back in disbelief. How has someone in Hollywood not gotten their paws on her story yet?

While she contemplated the subject matter, she also thought about the task being asked of her, and she quickly grew nervous. She had never written a memoir or biography before; her specialty was fiction, where she could play around with characters and themes to suit the story she wanted to tell. Such wouldn’t be the case with a memoir. This was someone’s real life, and if she were to take this on, she couldn’t change the things that Edna went through to suit her needs. Plus, how was she going to portray the events that happened to her in an accurate way that didn’t disparage others’ reputations (war criminals aside)?

Well, she thought, the fact that I’m even thinking of taking this on is already an indicator that this is something I want to do... Plus, I do need the money.

With that, she got up to make herself that fourth cup of coffee.

* * *

Sydney’s finger hovered over the “Send” button.

She had already drafted up her response, expressing interest in Edna’s request and providing a quick overview of her process. Since Sydney only worked with documents and not video conferencing platforms, Edna would have to agree to send Sydney all her information via email. She also decided to mention that she was a cat lover as well, offering a quick bonding moment with this online stranger.

Edna seemed very polite and keen in her email, and if she was willing to work with a ghostwriter, it would suggest that she has thought about the implications of handing off your story to another human. Still, Sydney felt apprehensive about being that human. She would still be anonymous to the world, but she was no longer working with anonymous material.

And yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about the possibilities of seeing this project through.

After some self-encouragement, she clicked the ‘Send’ button, hovering around her living room as she waited for a response.

Five minutes later, she heard another *Ding* from her inbox.

Dear Sydney,

That is wonderful news! I have all my files ready to go and can send them to you when you are ready.

Thank you endlessly for agreeing to work with me. I am looking forward to having you bring my story to life.

Take care,

Edna

Sydney smirked. “Well, Edna, your story is already real. I’m just documenting it.” No pressure.

Within moments, Sydney received another email from Edna, laden with attachments that contained digitized journal entries. Then, another email with photos. Then more journal entries. Sydney barely kept her head above water trying to track them all. With every email she opened, the more she kept remarking at the spunk and savvy of a 96-year-old woman sending emails of alpacas and soldiers and the biggest hamburgers known to humanity.

Edna was right: She did have a fascinating life. And Sydney prayed that she wouldn’t screw it up.

In one of her final emails, Edna sent a video attachment, which Sydney found to be an interview that Edna’s son ‘hosted’ with her about 10-15 years ago. As she watched the video, she couldn’t help but marvel at the surreal nature of this project. This wasn’t just a name behind a screen; this was a real person, talking about her time living in three continents and travelling across the Atlantic twice. Paradoxically, it didn’t seem real, and yet, Edna’s gentle words seeped into Sydney’s bones.

Time to get to work.

* * *

After months of typing and retyping away, Sydney and Edna exchanged many more emails and documents. Sydney’s heart rate likely never dropped below 75 beats per minute, given the amount of caffeine she’d ingested. But, she was nearing completion of her draft, and still had as much admiration for Edna’s story as she did when she first received her email.

Given how close she was to reaching the next stage of the process, she figured she’d better email Edna to let her know what would happen next.

Hello again Edna,

I just figured I would give you a quick preview of what’s to come next, now that we’re almost done finalizing the content in your manuscript. I work alongside a few editors who do a great job at revising the language and grammar in my work. They each have different rates, based on their experience and turnaround time. Once your manuscript is completed and I have a closer idea of the total word count, I can give you a few quotes.

Please let me know if you have any questions!

Sydney

(PS - Priscilla insists that my lap is the only place she can sleep these days. A tad dramatic, but I’d expect nothing less.)

When Sydney finally brushed Priscilla off her lap, she got up to get herself a snack, but the *Ding* from her inbox brought her rushing back to the screen.

Sydney,

Thank you for these details. Once you are finished writing, I would appreciate it if you could send me the document. I will consider that the final book and do not wish to proceed with an editor.

Edna

That hit Sydney’s ears funny. This didn’t sound like the chipper Edna she’d gotten to know. It was also highly, highly unusual for a client not to proceed with an editor. Sydney pressed a bit in her next email, but Edna held her ground, so Sydney relented. She finished the manuscript and sent it off to Edna, asking that she let her know if she wants anything changed.

No, dear. You’ve done great. Thank you for everything.

Something still didn’t sit right with her, but since nothing had been made explicit, she decided to let it go. Another project—and a rewarding one at that—was in the books.

* * *

After about a month of no contact, Sydney’s curiosity ate away at her. She couldn’t help but wonder if the book had been published publicly, or if Edna decided to promote the book in any way. So, when she had some free time, Sydney typed “Edna McCabe ‘Level Ground’ memoir” into her browser’s search bar.

The first search result: “McCABE, EDNA JEAN - 1929-2025”

Sydney’s heart froze. No. No, no. Is that… I mean, is she…

She clicked on the link so quickly to find an obituary. Edna was gone.

Suddenly, it all made sense as to why Edna wanted the manuscript so quickly. She must’ve known her time was running out, and it was more important to have a copy of her work in her hands than it was to have it polished.

Sydney dropped her head into her hands and let the tears roll down her cheeks. This woman, whose life and dreams she’d become better acquainted with than her own, was just… no longer here. And Sydney immediately became ridden with guilt. I could’ve written it faster. I could’ve given her more time. Maybe she could’ve gone on tour to promote it. I could’ve helped with that… I’ve always wanted to go to Texas. If only—

*Ding*

Sydney’s head cocked back. She checked her inbox to distract her from her racing thoughts.

Hi Sydney,

My name is Sonny, and I am Edna McCabe’s son. We’ve never met, but with the way my mother talked about you, it almost feels as though we have.

I’m not sure if you heard the news, but my mother died earlier this week. It has been devastating for all of us—funny how a 96-year-old woman’s passing can seem so sudden, and yet, she finds a way. She spoke so fondly of her time with you and I just wanted to thank you for giving her this gift of reminiscing over her life in her final days. You deserve to know how much joy you brought her. Please find attached a photo of her holding your manuscript. The light in her eyes is something I’ll never forget (well, as long as my brain allows me to remember it).

Take care of yourself, and thank you for everything you’ve done. You have a gift, and it’s time others got to experience it, too.

Sincerely,

Sonny McCabe

Sydney opened the attachment and started to feel the tears roll faster. There it was. There she was. Apparently, her local library was willing to make her book available in their records, but Edna’s copy was a spiral-bound version with no cover page. It was just a wall of text being held by a woman whose starry eyes could guide a sailor home.

Sydney downloaded the photo of Edna to her ‘Favourites’ folder. This was why she did what she did; this was the way in which she wanted to be known. It was at that moment that she decided her legacy would be one that helped others preserve their own. It was the start of a whole new chapter that Sydney couldn’t wait to write.