Oh, boo-hoo, boo-hoo.

If I had a nickel for every time someone declared the end of books I’d be a very rich man. But, alas, I am not rich and no one is considering paying me a nickel or anything else for what other people do and do not say. That being the case, let me take to my soapbox and make clear to you, Books are not obsolete. Storytelling is not over. The sky is not falling.

Yes, the publishing industry is struggling. Yes, “The Book” in its traditional form is undergoing profound changes. And yes, it is hard to get a book published by a traditional publishing house.

To repeat, boo-hoo, boo-hoo.

My advice to you is to never confuse form with content. What books look like and feel like is changing. Kindles, iPads and other tablet computers are changing the way we read books. That delightful turning of the pages may very well be going the way of slide rules and upright typewriters but that does not mean that the thing that is the book itself is going anywhere any time soon.

The book itself is the story! The tale that you seek to tell. We humans are hardwired to be tellers and listeners of stories. Before books (in their physical form) our stories were related aloud or through song. Only after thousands and thousands of years were there “books.” Now there are Kindles. The form changes. The telling of a story remains the same.

If you have in your soul to be a teller of stories, then tell them! You can be sure that if you tell your story well, there will be those ready to listen and read.

There always has been. There always will be.

What exactly is “Point of View” (POV)? And, perhaps more important, How do you know which POV to employ for your story?

POV is where you stand when you tell your story.

Picture yourself at a party. Are you near the center of attention, “in your own head” and unconcerned by the fact that somewhere else in the house, there is drama or intrigue (you may not even notice that burning smell coming from the kitchen)? Or, do you “hang back” and observe what everyone else is doing? Do you notice that glance between the hostess and your best friend’s husband? Did you find it curious that Jim (we’ll call him Jim) stepped outside for a cigarette (he doesn’t smoke) only to be followed a discreet five minutes later (you timed it) by Sue (your hostess, who also doesn’t smoke)? We don’t even have to discuss the relative dishevelment of their persons upon their return to the party.

If the party in question is a birthday party, and you’re the birthday boy (and your wife, Sue, is throwing your party – yikes!) then you will likely interpret all the action and events of the party as being all about you. If you are a friend of a friend of a friend, you might feel very much the outsider, and simply observe the goings on.

In the one case, you will likely employ a first-person narrative, telling the story as “I” see it. In the other, you will likely tell the story by hovering outside the crowd and employing the third-person narrative.

The first-person narrative’s great strength is intimacy and immediacy. It is “me, me, me” even when it’s about someone else. All things are filtered through the “I”. The downside, of course, is that just like Mr. Rogers taught us, when you write in the first-person, you can never really see what someone else is thinking or feeling. That is, you are limited in your ability to completely develop any character other than the narrator. (You still have to develop three-dimensional, believable characters! You just can’t fully get into their souls!)

The ability to develop the inner thinking and feeling of all the characters requires you to stand back and tell the story from the third-person perspective, sometimes referred to as the omniscient narrator or, the God’s eye view.

Think about the kind of story you are telling – is it “your” story or a story that is outside of you that you find interesting? Are you able to imagine the story from someone else’s point of view (I know what you’ve been thinking, but Sue and Jim were disheveled because they were straightening up your tools in the garage. Don’t you feel sheepish now?) or do you only see action from the relatively narrow, but powerful, view in front of you?

Your narrative POV will depend on your story, and your ability to imagine, commiserate, emphasize or dig deep into your own psyche. As we all know, “telling it like it is” does not exist. “It” is only a particular POV.

She cried.
Eliot trembled.
The sky darkened. (Okay, I slipped in a definite article. Sue me.)

A piece of cake, no? So how is it that so many people muck it up? For starters, that noun and verb, while the essential building blocks of a sentence, are often used as weak scaffolding for the incoherent edifices that many writers construct. Noun, verb, adjective, adverb (more than one of each), dependent clause, adverbial clause piled one upon the other. Add mood, voice, case… oh my, you can see how things can go south very quickly.

For too many writers, writing a sentence is like piling on layer upon layer of clothes. To be sure, sometimes the layers are nice; sometimes they are of fine fabric but ultimately to be beautiful they must bring to life what is beneath, not mask what is beneath. Strip away the words, just as you would strip away layers of clothing, and you arrive at the thing itself – in this case, the writer at her most naked. Her sentence.

Let me be quick to say that writing a good sentence is not about being naked (in either a real or metaphorical sense.) It is about having the courage to be naked. It is that courage that suffuses a sentence with power.

A good sentence does not say, “Oh my, I am not pretty enough to be naked.” A good sentence says, “This is what I am and what I am is, by definition, exactly what I should be. Therefore, I am beautiful.”

There is nothing more powerful, more seductive, more compelling than courage. If you infuse your sentence (and the sentences to follow) with courage, you will find that one, all those awful layers of words that you’ve been using to mask what is true about your sentence are unnecessary and two, that you are writing what you really want to write. You are being truly and wholly your narrative “you.”

Try this simple exercise: Take any sentence you’ve written and strip it down. Take away the adverbs. Now, take away the adjectives. Keep going. Don’t stop now. Don’t hide behind a clause or two. Get down to the naked sentence. Now, write another sentence after it, equally stripped down. And another.

When you’ve got a paragraph, strut it around a bit. Then and only then, dress your sentences up a bit. Just enough to show off the bareness beneath, not to hide it. If you can do this, you will be a much better and much stronger writer.

I applaud these writing efforts even though they almost always fall well short of their creative and imaginative potential. Worse, they fall far short of any real chance to reach what is unquestionably a huge potential audience. There are millions of readers who hunger for a well-told fantasy-sci/fi book (does the name Harry Potter come to mind? The Lord of the Rings?)

Creativity and imagination. A huge potential audience. What could go wrong?

Sentences? Weak sentences can be edited. Characterizations? Awkward characterization can be improved. Dialogue? Flat dialogue can be brought to life. These things are easy. The more difficult task is to make the narrative, and therefore the narration, believable.

There is a curious relationship that a reader has with a narrator, with the storyteller rather than the story. While readers of fantasy-sci/fi live for the remarkable flights of fancy that are part and parcel of the genre, those flights of fancy only work when they are related by a storyteller that is firmly rooted in “reality.” (This is why we love a story told by a kindly, grandfather-type, telling of an adventure that happened to him “long ago.” The story can be incredible, but it’s being told by grandpa, sitting comfortably and safely in front of the fire. In a different, though related, context, it’s also the reason why we love roller coasters – we really, really trust the seat belts! We want the exhilaration, but only when we know the danger is “pretend”. Ultimately we want to know we’re safe.)

A fantasy story without a credible narrator is nothing more than the rambling of a lunatic just, as a roller coaster ride without a seat belt is less exhilarating ride and more playing with self-destruction.

A narrative depends on the narrative “voice.” You always want your narrative voice to be credible and authoritative. When it is not, your story will fail. This is particularly true when you are writing fantasy-sci/fi. If I, as a reader, trust the narrator, I will have no problem believing in flying people, dragons, magical elves and strange creatures that have lived through several cycles of creation. Characters can walk on clouds or go to sleep in an arid desert only to wake up in an eagle’s nest. If I do not trust the narrator, I will likely question a character walking across the room on a summer’s day.

Novice writers are often capable of writing good sentences, and of conjuring up delightful characters. It is in “speaking” with an authoritative voice that they often fall short and need to seek professional assistance from a ghostwriter.

Too many writers overuse and misuse modifiers, both adjectives and adverbs. Invariably, a single, strong modifier will be a more effective descriptor than a string of modifiers that serve to choke the reader’s imagination in much the same way that an elderly aunt’s overuse of perfume makes breathing near impossible.

The “hot, sticky, sundrenched, flower-scented and treacherous” pathway is much improved by fashioning the image with writing, rather than masking it with mere words. “The noon sun burned down on the small group as they made their way along the narrow, mountain path…” The one overburdens the poor pathway. The other creates a picture. Which furthers your story? Which is more enjoyable to read?

My advice is to delete every adverb from your writing and see your writing “magically” improve. (Yes, I know I used an adverb there.) In your sentences, choose one adjective rather than three. Best of all, attempt to write your sentence without any modifiers, using only strong verbs and nouns to convey the image you want. Then, judiciously, reintroduce the sharp spice of your modifiers (to taste!)

On a professional note, if you find your ghostwriter relies on the overuse of modifiers… get another ghostwriter! ASAP! Anyone can write a mediocre piece. If you are going to pay a professional to write your article, story or book make sure you’re getting what you pay for.

This confidentiality is highly-valued by my clients but it does pose a Catch-22 with potential clients. After all, when asked for references or the titles of books I’ve worked on, I have to say I cannot provide those things. Sometimes my potential client respects the situation but sometimes I lose the client. That’s fair. I understand my prospective client’s interests and perspective. I just do not compromise my professional relationship with clients.

So, given the confidentiality of the ghostwriting relationship, how might one of my potential clients decide to work with me, or any other ghostwriter for that matter? Because writing is a creative endeavor, the people who do it well do not fit tidily into a particular “type.” And the quality of a writing relationship is not easily quantifiable. So, my first piece of advice is, Trust your gut! If, for whatever reason, the writer you are speaking to doesn’t feel like someone you can work with, don’t. Don’t worry about hurting feelings or “making it work.” Run for the hills.

Beyond that, do whatever you need to do to feel comfortable with the relationship. And expect your ghostwriter to meet you well more than halfway in making you feel comfortable. Want a confidentiality agreement? You should have it right away! Want a contract reviewed by your attorney? At the least, a “boilerplate” that your ghostwriter uses should be in your in-box pronto! Want to speak to your ghostwriter? Either call (and ask, Are you the one who will be writing my book?) directly or email asking for a good time to talk. (I often turn off my phone when I am writing so as not to be disturbed, but I do want to speak with you!) If it is practical and it will make you feel more comfortable, ask for a face-to-face meeting. This should be easily arranged for the mutual convenience of you and your writer.

Ask questions so you can be sure your ghostwriter “gets” you and understands your material and story. Your writer doesn’t have to be like you to write your story beautifully (women can write “men’s” stories and men can write “women’s” stories, non-physicians can write books for physicians, etc.) but he should effectively communicate to you that he understands you and likes your story.

Make sure your ghostwriter can modify his process to make it as comfortable for you as possible. The goal is for your writer to write your book, not for your material and story to be contorted into his vision or comfort zone.

Find a writer who allows you to move forward in small enough increments so that you are not committing a ridiculous amount of money blind. Take baby steps. When you read what the writer can do for you, and you’re happy, then you can charge forward.

Always remember, it is your story or book. You have to be thrilled with it. The purpose of ghostwriting is to find a writer who will write the book that you would write if you had the skill and the time to write it.

A good professional writing relationship between a ghostwriter and a client can be a beautiful thing. A less than good one can be a disaster. I have written many, many books for clients who come to me after a bad ghostwriting relationship. Better to find the right ghostwriter the first time.

However, while many of my clients pass the Mrs. Theriault test, they fail the shopping cart test.

The shopping cart test? you ask. Yes, the shopping cart test. Although in some distant lands it is referred to as the big, black sack test. Regardless of what it is called, it is the conceptual flaw that almost every book suffers from.

In short, novice writers, once they decide to write a book, think of their book as a big shopping cart (or, big, black sack) and commence to load their book with all sorts of things, just as they would load a shopping cart as they moved through the aisles of a supermarket.

But a book is NOT a shopping cart. Just because you can fit something into a book doesn’t mean it belongs there! Every book, or piece of writing, has a very strict internal logic which must be respected. Failing to respect that logic dooms the writing to mediocrity, at best. That logic is established with the very first words that are written, words which determine tone, voice, and narrative structure.

Novice writers, even good writers, struggle with the logic of a book or story. That is why a ghostwriter or professional editor is so important. He can write your story or book so that it adheres to its internal logic, thereby accruing power page by page, rather than simply drifting off into the ether.

So, if you’ve written a manuscript that just doesn’t “move” you and, for the life of you, you cannot figure out why, you can be sure that the problem is not simply your sentences or your choice of adjectives and adverbs. The problem is one of fundamental logic, and needs to be addressed by someone who knows what he is doing. Otherwise, you may get a good grade from Mrs. Theriault, but your manuscript will be forever doomed to remain in a bottom drawer rather than in the hands of enthusiastic readers.

Yes and no. It could be argued that people should grow their own food and make their own clothes as well, but that probably misses the point, doesn’t it? What we all need to do is find the very best way to accomplish the things we seek to accomplish in life. Often, that means doing things ourselves. Just as often, it means finding an expert to help us.

For example, I am very capable of painting my own house or building shelves. I’ve done it in the past. However, the fact is, I don’t paint as well as a professional painter, nor do I build the kinds of shelving my wife would want in the living room. I benefit by having my house painted by a professional and shelving made by a real craftsperson.

The same dynamic might very well apply to writing your book.

When it comes to telling your story, you have already done the “hard” part – you have imagined it or lived it. If yours is a professional book, you have put in the time to gain the insights that you are trying to share. Now, you want to tell it in a way that will make it as powerful and important to your audience as you’ve dreamed it could be and should be. Now, you want a ghostwriter.