Hens Lay Eggs
food for thought
I can’t read your mind
I was contacted recently by someone about book design, but received no information about the project. I followed up with some questions. The potential client did not respond. Giving it one last try, I followed up a week later to ask if the potential client had any questions. That’s my not-so-subtle way of telling someone to shit or get off the pot.
The potential client replied: “How much is it?”
And there’s the rub. I cannot quote a price for service if I don’t have information. Here was my response:
I need information to calculate an accurate estimate for service. My standard rate is as follows: $50 plus $1 per formatted page + $5 per image placed within the text. So, if your book ends up being 100 pages and has 15 images (e.g., graphs or photos) placed throughout the book’s interior, then my fee would be $50 + $100 + $75 (15 images * $5 = $75) for a total of $225. The number of pages will vary depending upon the book’s trim size (page dimensions), the font(s) used, the size of the font(s) used, word count of the manuscript, and other factors. For instance, using 16 point type for body text will use many more pages than will 11 point type. Rule of thumb is estimating 250 words per page. The per-image fee includes minor image editing (e.g., resizing, cropping, color to black-and-white conversion).
My rates include up to three rounds of revision to ensure you’re happy with the page layout.
So, if you want an estimated fee for book design, then I need the following information at a minimum:
- Manuscript word count
- Book/page trim size
- Number of image files to be place within the book
- Any other specifications, such as separate title pages for each chapter.
The same applies to editing. I have standard rates that enable anyone with basic math skills to calculate fees:
- First round of intensive, detailed editing – $0.03 per word
- If the first round of editing results in substantial revision/rewriting, I recommend a second round of editing – $0.02 per word
- A final round of proofreading – $0.01 per word.
I’ve learned through trial and experience that per-hour invoicing for editing doesn’t work for me. The issue is whether the project’s a good match. To determine that, I need information:
- Fiction or nonfiction
- Topic or genre (I don’t accept scholarly work or horror.)
- Word count (This helps me calculate how long the project will take.)
- Level of editing (I’m a sentence-level editor, not a developmental editor.)
- Deadline for completion (This helps me determine whether my calendar can accommodate the project.)
- Budget. (This is a deciding factor if the budget is ridiculously low.)
The information I need doesn’t require the author to divulge any confidential details about the project, so those authors nervous about someone stealing their work need not fret. There’s nothing in that information that could lead to theft of intellectual property.
Again, when it comes to ghostwriting, I need information before I can estimate a fee for pretty much the same reasons as used in editing:
- Fiction or nonfiction
- Topic or genre
- Anticipated word count
- Deadline for completion
- Budget.
Other considerations include how much research will be involved, whether the project requires interviews with subject matter experts, and other factors.
Although the information needed to calculate fees for service overlaps, the process for delivery of service varies. Sometimes it varies by client or project; other times it’s simply a variation of service model. Regardless of the service, I work in the best interests of the client and the project.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Refining the niche
Writers and editors are advised to “niche down” and become subject matter experts. The reasoning for this is to develop deep subject expertise that makes one a “go-to” resource for writers in a particular genre or topic. However, I’ve always been a generalist rather than a specialist, and it’s served me pretty well. I can tackle a diverse array of topics, genres, and document types and do a good job. Through that diverse and varied experience, I have developed a good “sniffer” that detects inaccuracies and prevents authors from looking stupid.
In fiction, that matters just as much as it does in nonfiction. In fiction, an author needs to inject plausibility to earn a reader’s trust. If the reader doesn’t trust the author with the small, easily researched details, then the reader won’t trust the author to lead him or her into fictional realms of impossibility. An SME in automotive racing won’t necessarily understand that an elopement from London to Gretna Green via horse and carriage took at least nine days. Today you can drive the distance in a single day and, possibly, on a single tank of fuel.
Research isn’t the same as deep familiarity.
The farrier came today. (A farrier is someone who trims and shoes horses’ hooves.) He asked if I’d sprayed the horses with fly spray. I hadn’t, remiss on my part. Since I’d already brought Teddy out of his stall, I handed the lead rope to the farrier and fetched the spray. The farrier continued to hold Teddy while I attempted to apply the spray. Teddy detests, loathes, and hates fly spray. The farrier could not hold him in place—and a human being cannot out-muscle a horse. I set the fly spray aside and walked Teddy to a tie. I snapped the tie to his halter, gave him a pat, and began to spray him. Teddy squirmed and shifted bit, but he stood much more quietly, which enabled me to quickly spritz him down.
“You know what works with him,” the farrier commented.
That’s familiarity. I know what works and what doesn’t with Teddy. We’ve got history. The farrier, on the other hand, knows what works with horses in general, but not what’s effective with a specific horse.
So, with that lesson in mind, I terminated a ghostwriting project and refunded the nonrefundable deposit.
This wasn’t the usual type of ghostwriting project. It was fan fiction.
The client sent links to videos (about six hours’ worth), so I could familiarize myself with the fictional “universe,” the vast cast of characters, the overarching plots, and the myriad subplots. I had difficult wrapping my mind around it all and realized that I needed that same deep familiarity I have with Teddy to write the client’s trilogy of fan fiction stories effectively.
It’s disappointing, because I wanted this project. I was interested and enthusiastic. But I didn’t understand my limits when it comes to this sort of project; I didn’t realize deep background knowledge was necessary to base new stories on it.
Now I do. So, I did the honorable thing. I terminated the contract and refunded the deposit.
Writing like horsemanship is an area in which there’s always something to learn, no matter how long you’ve been doing it and no matter how expert you are.
This lesson brings another realization: I’m pretty damned good at creating something new.
A great analogy for ghostwriting
Zack Williamson, Ph.D., posted a truly apropos analogy for ghostwriting that, with his permission, I am using:
Does it bother you not having your name on it?”
That’s the question I get most often when people find out I’m a ghostwriter.
And it doesn’t. Not even a little.
If they add your name to the cover or acknowledge it in the back, sure, it feels good.
But you never expect it—and you never need it.
The deal is: someone brings the vision. I bring the time, the structure, the language to make it real.
Sometimes they have the skill but not the time. Sometimes the time but not the skill.
Either way, it’s a better use of their money than their time.
It’s like hiring a tattoo artist.
You explain what you want.
They execute—sometimes exactly how you pictured, sometimes in a way that’s better than you imagined, but still undeniably yours.
And they don’t insist on stamping their name on your arm.
That’s what this work is. And it’s a beautiful thing
Years ago, my first writing mentor told me:
“Give away your best ideas, and trust that more will come.”
I’ve seen the truth of that line again and again.
You let go of the instinct to hoard. You give your best work to someone else’s vision. And more ideas show up. They always do.
And yeah—sometimes it feels personal, letting go of a line you’re proud of.
But when you care about the person you’re writing for, it starts to feel less like loss and more like a gift.
Some of the work I’m proudest of doesn’t have my name on it.
And I wouldn’t change a thing.
So, to answer the question often posed, no, ghostwriting isn’t cheating. It isn’t stealing. It’s using a professional to use your idea and develop it and, quite likely, improve upon it.
But it’s still your idea.
Author
Hard boiled, scrambled, over easy, and sunny side up: eggs are the musings of Holly Bargo, the pseudonym for the author.
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Karen (Holly)
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