Yesterday I read on a blog I subscribe to that James Patterson, the gazillion-copy-selling thriller author, relies on a team of ghostwriters.

WTF?

I had no idea. At first, I didn’t quite believe the blogger’s statements—I had to find it out on my own. It’s true. This huge name, this powerhouse, is not really an author. At least not anymore. You read his books, you are reading words written by someone else, some nameless, faceless, person hidden in the shadows cast by this publishing behemoth. A ghostwriter.

I can’t say I’m terribly surprised. I have read perhaps two of Patterson’s books, and only because I have an inability to not be reading something—I have been known to read toothpaste tubes and cereal boxes when I forgot to bring a book into the bathroom or kitchen with me. I am not big on his genre, and if I remember correctly, I wasn’t impressed with the writing anyway. Looks like Patterson should get better ghostwriters.

A great name for what we do. An apparition. A spook. Yes, I’m a ghostwriter, too.

To be fair, I don’t write a lot of fiction for others to take credit for; mainly, it’s non-fiction, blogs, and articles. That stuff doesn’t bother me too much…I don’t waste much of my creativity on them, just my time. But there’s the problem. I write so much for other people that my own work has become a ghost. The ghostwriter is being haunted by the spirits of her own dead work. How appropriate.

I have several personal projects in various stages of completion, some merely outlined ideas, some partially or largely finished. One was even tentatively accepted by an agent two years ago, when I naively sent out some cringe-worthy, amateurish queries…about a project that wasn’t even finished. How newbie was that? Shaking my head. She told me she liked it, but I needed to finish it before she could make a final decision. Shortly after that, I started freelance writing to pay the bills when the company I was working for went out of business.

I didn’t set out to become a ghostwriter. I started out as a straight-out article writer of web content, and slowly began accumulating clients. As my reputation grew, I got a couple of fiction clients. I needed the money. All you have to do is read my past personal postings and you’ll see why. So I took them.

It didn’t bother me much at first. Then, the more I became involved in the writing community (mainly through Twitter, where I have met some of the greatest, most supportive people ever), the more I started to feel like a fraud. Sure, I’m a writer, but I can’t tell you who I’ve written for due to NDA’s, although I will say I don’t work for Patterson—I wish! That paycheck might be worth it! Some of the stuff I’ve churned out for others has sold very well, so I know I will do well with my own work…if I can ever break out of ghostwriting Hell and resurrect my dead writing.

Aye, there’s the rub. Time.

There are only twenty-four hours in a day, and some of those must be devoted to such inane, pesky things like eating, sleeping, personal hygiene, and my four kids. Oh, and perhaps to interaction with my husband…poor dude.

I have several major contractual obligations that I must keep to, and they gobble up the remaining time I have. So here I am, writing away like mad, but I’m like a hamster on a wheel, going nowhere. Making enough money to keep going, but not enough to stop writing for others and work for myself for a while. And then, I have to take on new writing jobs for others, to pay the bills that just won’t stop coming.

Dammit, why didn’t I invest in the non-eating models of children? That would help a lot.

So here I am. Feeling guilty for snatching some time to blog and interact with people on Twitter, because I need to “build my platform” for my fiction…but I don’t have time to write it! Egads, what’s a girl to do?

Sigh. Well, here I go, I have work to do. But this ghostwriter is haunted. Where are the Ghostbusters when you need them?