TL;DR: In the poem, an author with a book inside them gets a visit from a ghostwriter who helps bring it out, and the verses end on the relief most authors feel when they realize the book doesn’t have to be a solo struggle. For the prose version of that process, see how ghostwriting works.
The poem’s silly on purpose, and I had fun with it. I like this work: the writing, the constant conversations, the interviewing, and helping somebody get a book out of their head and into their hands. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, but I like it, and a little holiday verse is about as close as I’ll get to putting that feeling in meter.
The poem
Every December I think about the authors who carry a half-formed book through another year. Notes in the drawer. A chapter file that hasn’t been opened since spring. The sense that this thing is going to happen someday but maybe not this year either. The poem below is for them. Read it the way you’d read any holiday verse: out loud, with a small smile, and only if you’re in the mood.
Every December I think about the authors who carry a half-formed book through another year.Share on X
‘Twas the night before writing, and all through the air,
Ideas were swirling, a plot to prepare.
The notes were all scattered, the structure unclear,
In hopes that a ghostwriter soon would appear.
The author lay tossing, their vision half-formed,
With dreams of a bestseller ready to be born.
While characters waited, untold in the mist,
And the plot begged for twists no reader could resist.
When out of the blue, there arose such a tapping,
A ghostwriter arrived, their keyboard a-clapping!
They unpacked their craft with a smile so bright,
And dove into the project with lyrical might.
“Now pacing, now style, now arcs that compel!
On tension, on dialogue, on tales to retell!
To the heart of the story, the soul of the theme,
Let’s write it together, a reader’s dream!”
With fingers like magic, they flew through the prose,
Adding richness and meaning wherever it goes.
From chapter to chapter, the story took shape,
Each sentence so vivid, no detail escaped.
The author looked on with growing delight,
Their vision transformed, the words now just right.
The characters sparkled, the plotlines now soared,
And every last page left readers wanting more.
Then the ghost gave a wink, their work now complete,
And left the tale polished, a literary feat.
But I heard them exclaim as they closed up the draft,
“Happy writing to all, and may your stories last!”
What Does the Ghostwriter’s Poem Capture?
Light verse lets me say things I’d dress up in a serious post. The poem gets a few things right about the job, and one of them makes me grin every time I read it: the ghostwriter shows up, and the author finally has help.
The “notes all scattered, the structure unclear” stanza describes about ninety percent of authors I meet on a discovery call. They have considerable material. They’ve lived the experience or built the expertise that would make a real book. What they don’t have is a structure that connects the material into something a reader could follow start to finish. The structure is what most authors think they should have figured out on their own before bringing in help, and it’s usually the first thing the ghostwriter solves.
The “vision half-formed” line is also accurate. Authors often arrive thinking they need to know the entire book before the project begins. They need to know enough to start, and the rest emerges through interviews, drafts, and feedback. It frustrates me that so many people wait for a complete vision first, because that wait keeps good books unwritten for years.
Most authors don’t believe the closing stanza, with the wink and the polished draft and the ghost departing, until they’ve lived it. A book gets done and the author has it in their hands. The relief is real, the relief of a problem carried around for years finally set down.
I’m watching that relief happen right now. A memoir client of mine read her first chapter and started crying, then told me I’d caught her perfectly, exactly what she wanted. She said the same about the second chapter. Apart from small things like name changes, she’s loved every chapter so far.
The serious version of the joke
Underneath the meter and the alliteration is a real claim that I’ll defend on a regular weekday.
The relief is real, the relief of a problem carried around for years finally set down.
Some kinds of work aren’t improved by being done alone, and ghostwriting exists because books are one of those kinds. Brain surgery, structural engineering, tax law, and books are all in that category. The person whose name goes on the work brings the substance and the judgment. A professional brings the craft of converting that substance into the right form. Combined, the two produce a better outcome than either party would produce alone.
The poem makes this look magical because it’s a poem. In real life the magic is six to eight months of structured interviews, careful drafts, several revision rounds, and a manuscript review at the end that’s closer to surgery than to lyric verse. The result is the same though. A book gets done. The author has the book they meant to write, instead of carrying the half-finished idea into another year.
Doris, the author of Gators in the Soup, described that finish better than any stanza of mine: “The moment I held my book in my hands, it reminded me of the first time I held my child.” That’s the relief the poem is reaching for.
| Line in the poem | What it reflects in a real project |
|---|---|
| “The notes were all scattered, the structure unclear” | Authors have plenty of material but no structure; structure is usually the first thing the ghostwriter solves |
| “Their vision half-formed” | You need enough to start; the rest emerges through interviews, drafts and feedback |
| “With fingers like magic” | In real life: months of structured interviews, careful drafts and several revision rounds |
| The wink and the polished draft | The book gets done, the author holds it, and the relief is real |
My take
Books come out better when two people make them, the person with the substance and the person with the craft. The poem’s jokes sit on top of that serious claim, and I’ll defend it any weekday. Stop waiting for the whole vision before you start. You need enough to begin, and the rest comes out in interviews and drafts. People who wait for a complete picture carry the same unwritten book into another year.
For authors thinking about it
If the first stanza of the poem describes your situation right now, the project is more accessible than you probably think. The first move is a structured conversation about whether your material is ready, what the book would be about, and what the working relationship would look like. The Book Discovery Intensive exists for exactly that purpose. Ten hours of interviews, a Book Strategy Report, and a sample chapter, and you walk away knowing whether the book is real and what it would take to finish it.
From there, some authors continue into full ghostwriting. Others take the report and write the book themselves with a clearer plan than they had before. Both outcomes make me happy. The point is to move the project out of the “someday” file and into a form where a decision can be made.
If the poem made you laugh, good. If it also reminded you of a book that’s been waiting for years, take that seriously, because every year of “someday” is a year your readers go without it. I get impatient on authors’ behalf about that. The ghost in the verse works faster than any real one, but the relief at the end is exactly as described.
If the poem made you think of the book still inside you, The Ghostwriting Advantage explains how to get it written with a ghostwriter, from someone with 54+ books behind him.
Frequently Asked Questions
- A Visit from St. Nicholas, Encyclopaedia Britannica
