Crying in ghostwriting interviews happens all the time. People are talking about their lives, and sooner or later they reach the tragedies. A retired police officer tells the story of the night he couldn’t save a child, which he’s told a hundred times, flat and fast, until someone asks what he remembers about the drive home. (He’s a composite, but the moment is one I’ve seen again and again.)
Clients are embarrassed about it, without fail. They apologize, sometimes three times in thirty seconds. I tell them not to worry. I’m trying to write the best book I can, and their emotion is part of that book.
Is it normal to cry during ghostwriting interviews?
Completely. Ghostwriting interviews ask you to revisit the most important moments of your life, and the important moments are rarely the easy ones. Memoir clients cry about parents, children, marriages and losses. Business clients cry about the company they nearly lost, the partner who betrayed them or the employee they couldn’t save. Tough, private people cry more often than they expect to, because nobody has ever asked them these questions with this much patience.
If it happens to you, you’re in very good company.
What does a ghostwriter do when a client cries?
Ghostwriting interviews ask you to revisit the most important moments of your life, and the important moments are rarely the easy ones.
A good one slows down and gives you room. They’ll stop asking questions, wait, and let you decide what happens next. Some offer to pause the recording. Some suggest a short break. Most say very little, because the moment doesn’t need filling. When it happens in my sessions, I ease the client into some easy conversation about something else for a few minutes, like a recent trip, and come back to the subject once they’ve settled. For in-person sessions, I bring tissues.
What a good ghostwriter won’t do is rush you past it, change the subject nervously, or treat it as a problem to manage.
A writer who glances at the clock while you’re crying about your father has told you how much your story matters to them, and I’d find another writer. A good one also won’t push you further than you want to go. The emotion belongs to you, and so does the decision about what to do with it.
Can I stop a ghostwriting session if it gets too emotional?
Yes, any time, for any reason. You can pause, take a break, end the session early or skip a topic entirely and come back to it another week. You don’t owe an explanation. A professional ghostwriter plans the schedule with room for exactly this, because it happens in almost every memoir and in plenty of business books too.
I’d be suspicious of any ghostwriter who packs interviews so tightly there’s no room to stop. That schedule is built for the writer’s convenience, and you’re the one who pays for it, in a book full of the safe version of every story. If you know a session is going to cover something hard, say so at the start. Your ghostwriter can plan a shorter session, put the hard topic in the middle so you’re not ending on it, or leave time afterward to talk about lighter things before you hang up.
Why do emotional ghostwriting sessions make the best parts of a book?
Because emotion marks the moments that changed you, and those are the moments readers want. A book full of accomplishments reads like a résumé. A book that shows what those accomplishments cost, what almost broke you and what you felt when you came through the other side is a book people finish and remember.
When you cry in an interview, you’re also telling the story differently than you’ve told it before. The polished version you’ve given at dinner parties falls away, and the true details come out: what you saw, what you said, what you wish you’d said. Those details are what a ghostwriter needs to make a scene come alive on the page.
That’s why I won’t sand those passages down into something tidier. The shaky, unfinished sentence you said with your voice breaking is often closer to the truth than anything you’d write on a calm afternoon, and readers can feel the difference.
Will my ghostwriter think less of me if I get emotional?
No. If anything, the opposite. A client who lets their guard down is trusting the ghostwriter with something real. That trust makes the whole relationship stronger. Ghostwriters who’ve been doing this a while see emotion as a sign that the work is going well. If you ever feel judged for crying, or rushed past it, tell your ghostwriter. If it happens again, that’s a real concern about the fit. My article on trusting your ghostwriter with what you tell them covers what a safe working relationship should feel like.
Do ghostwriters record the emotional parts?
Yes, because the recording captures what you said in the moment, and that’s some of the most important material in the book. You decide what happens to it. You can ask to pause the recording, ask for a segment to be deleted afterward, or keep it out of the book entirely. Your ghostwriter should store your recordings securely, and the recordings should belong to you. My article on what happens to your interview recordings explains how a ghostwriter should handle them.
How do I prepare for an emotional ghostwriting interview?
A few simple things help. Schedule the session at a time when you won’t have to walk straight into a meeting afterward. Have water and tissues nearby, and don’t feel silly about it. Tell your ghostwriter ahead of time if a topic is especially hard. Plan something gentle for after the session: a walk, a call with a friend, time with a pet.
If the material involves trauma, grief or anything you’ve struggled with for a long time, consider having a counselor or therapist in your corner while the book is being written. A ghostwriter is a skilled listener, but not a therapist, and some stories are easier to tell with that support in place. Sometimes a book interview starts turning into therapy. When it does, I gently back the client off and tell them I’m not their therapist.
| Step | What to do |
|---|---|
| Pick the timing | Schedule the session so you don’t walk straight into a meeting afterward |
| Set up the room | Keep water and tissues nearby |
| Warn your ghostwriter | Say ahead of time if a topic is hard, so they can plan a shorter session or put it in the middle |
| Set your limit | Decide how much of the story you’ll tell this week, and say so before you start |
| Plan the after | Line up something gentle: a walk, a call with a friend, time with a pet |
| Know your controls | Pause the recording, take a break, end early or skip a topic, with no explanation owed |
| Get support | For trauma or grief, have a counselor or therapist in your corner |
My take
Tears in an interview don’t embarrass me, and they shouldn’t embarrass you. People cry over the events the book needs most, so tears are no reason to stop. Take the break, keep the recording, and decide later what stays. Schedule hard sessions with nothing right after them. I do hold one limit. When an interview starts turning into therapy, I back off, because I’m not your therapist.
What should you plan for an interview you know will be hard?
Decide ahead of time how much of the story you’re willing to tell this week, and tell your ghostwriter before you start. You don’t have to get through the whole story in one sitting, and nobody sensible expects you to. I’d much sooner spread the worst night of someone’s life across three sessions than drag it out of them in one, because the version you give when you feel cornered is thinner and angrier than the one you give when you feel safe.
If you’re thinking about a memoir and want to see how the interviews feel, the Book Discovery Intensive includes ten hours of them. My memoir ghostwriting page explains how memoir projects run. The full engagement is described on my ghostwriting services page.
Tears in an interview are part of the work, and nothing to apologize for. The Ghostwriting Advantage explains what working with a ghostwriter is like, so the sessions feel familiar before they start.
