There’s a book launch taking place later this week…
A proper one, too-nice venue, proper lighting, glasses being polished in anticipation, and, if we’re lucky, at least one slightly bewildered microphone.
Somewhere in England, an author will stand up, speak proudly about their new book, and see their name in crisp, confident lettering on the cover.
And I’ll be there as well.
Only… you wouldn’t know it.
Because I’m the ghost.
Ghostwriting is a wonderfully odd profession. You invest months, sometimes years, shaping a story, finding the heartbeat of someone else’s experience, and turning scattered ideas into something that looks suspiciously like a book.
You agonise over commas, chase down obscure facts at questionable hours, and suddenly become an expert in subjects you didn’t even know existed earlier that morning.
But when the book is finally released into the wild, when the launch invitations are sent, the speeches prepared, and the spotlight is fixed firmly on the author…
…you step back.
You hover somewhere near the book table, perhaps, or linger politely near the canapés as everyone congratulates the ‘writer’.
It sounds like a raw deal.
Is it?
After all, my name won’t be on the cover next week.
It won’t be whispered into the microphone, or printed discreetly on a banner. Nobody will rush over saying, ‘Excuse me, are you the one responsible for that beautifully structured argument in Chapter Four?’
No. It isn’t.
The credit belongs, rightly, to the client.
It is their story, their ideas, their voice.
My job is not to appear in the foreground. My job is to disappear into the craft.
This is the curious, slightly magical life of the ghostwriter: necessary yet unnoticed, central yet invisible, the person who holds the ladder so someone else can climb.
And it’s a role I’ve come to value deeply.
There’s a quiet dignity in being unseen but essential-a little like the person who aligns the spotlight rather than standing in it.
Next week, as the compliments flow- ‘What a moving chapter’; ‘What a powerful story’; ‘This is so beautifully written’…I will feel each one land, softly but unmistakably.
A private pulse of pride.
A nod to the hours poured into shaping something meaningful.
And yes, I’ll be at the launch. I’ll take my seat, clap enthusiastically, and watch the book take its first public steps.
I’ll listen to the speeches, enjoy the atmosphere, and let the author have their rightful moment in the light.
You might walk right past me.
You might even stand next to me at the bar.
You might glance around the room and think, ‘Everyone involved must be here somewhere’.
And I will be.
You just might not realise it.
Because that’s what ghosts do.
We show up, we help bring the story to life…
…and then we melt quietly into the room, content to let the book speak for itself.
