GWI editor worked on this book

Hire a ghostwriter here. One of our Ghost Writer, Inc. team members, a best selling ghost, created the proposal, "edited" the book, got it published and caused the production of the related movie. It became a blockbuster starring Queen Latifah and Jennifer Garner in 2016. Showings have finished, hope you rent the DVD or Blu-Ray!

Friday, February 26, 2016

Acclaimed Book Author and Ghostwriter Holly Robinson

Confessions of a Ghost Writer: Pay No Attention To That Woman Behind the Curtain

02/24/2016 01:30 pm ET | Updated 2 days ago


Recently, I appeared on a radio show to promote a literary event. We were talking about my latest novel, but inevitably the host asked, "So you're a ghostwriter, too? Who have you written for?"
I laughed and gave my standard answer: "Sorry. If I told you, I'd have to kill you."
"But don't you even care if your name's not on the cover?" he asked, sounding offended on my behalf.
The truth? No. I write novels, essays, and articles under my own name, but when I'm ghostwriting, my job is to stand behind the curtain and channel a voice.
By now, I have ghosted over twenty books. I fell into the profession accidentally when my agent, who knew I'd studied biology in college, asked if I'd be interested in helping an editor fix a messy health book written by a doctor. In other words, I was the book doctor to the doctor. It was fun. It was easy. And it paid enough that I started fantasizing about taking out smaller college loans for my kids.
Fixing that one book quickly led to another. The jobs seemed to fall into my lap. Ghostwriters may be invisible to the public, but editors know who's behind the curtain. Gradually I expanded my projects from just health and science books to include memoirs by business executives, cookbook authors, and celebrities. I was being introduced to whole new worlds both on the page and off.
These projects have also led me to develop more creative ways of working, since one reason celebrities make all of that money is because they never sit still. I interview my clients in person occasionally, but more often by phone, as the client rushes to the next TV shoot or salon appointment. One actress was so busy on a stage production that she had to answer my questions via Dropbox; I fed the questions to her talent agent, who then sent me audio files of her responses. Another actor could call me only late at night, after hosting his TV show.
"I bet you hate not being able to write fiction full-time," a friend said recently, when I mentioned a new ghostwriting project. "I mean, it's not like a book is really yours if you're ghostwriting it, right?"
Yes, it's a little surreal to walk into a bookstore during an author event, as I did recently, while someone else is reading a chapter I wrote--especially in a sonorous male voice very unlike my own. It's often difficult for me to sit quietly in the audience without shouting, "Hey! Read from chapter four! That's the really exciting part!"
But, once you finish ghosting a book, it's not yours anymore. The book now belongs to your client, as well it should. And writing these books is a gold mine for a fiction writer like me who is interested in studying character development, new settings, and how to build narrative tension. "Ghostwriting" can mean anything from developing a messy partial manuscript to riding shotgun through another person's life in real time. Sometimes I'm acting as a journalist, researching background material. More often, I'm in a therapist's role, asking, "How did you feel when that happened? What impact did that have on your life?"
My goal is to ferret out the truth of a story. I love hearing a client say, "Wow, I can't believe I just told you that," because then I know we've got something raw and real that we can polish and share.
Once I've gathered the material I need, I become a quilter. I remember my grandmother laying out her swatches of fabric on the living room floor until she found patterns that pleased her. That's what I do, too: I take these fascinating scraps of material from people's lives and piece them into unique patterns. Yes, I might add my own touches with the hand stitching, but that is strictly ornamental. The tone and cadence should belong distinctly to my client, so that anyone who reads the book can recognize the voice.
The longer I do this work, the more honored I am. I have learned to banish my own experiences and expectations of what a story "should" look like. Instead, I let the pieces emerge and fall around me in an infinite variety of patterns, so that I can piece together powerful stories that deserve to be told.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Creative Nonfiction, NOT of a Typical Literary Stripe!

Serious World Politics are Global Slavery Issues are Personal Issues as Well

Meanwhile, it seems I have "serious issues."

Really, this is just a blog post I rattled off for now. Bear that in mind, it's about some disturbing stuff for me.

Nuclear Power is a Phrase for Total Annihilation
Possibly...some issues are more "serious" than I am. I've been told I "go Ballistic" when I snap at people in order to defend myself. But, what is THAT over there?
By Karen S. Cole, Book Ghostwriter, Owner of Serious World Politics – a blog which receives an average of 50-100 visitors per day, while I get a few clients coming from it. My/Our Real Main Website is (and you can “google” Ghost Writer, Inc.) Affordable Ghostwriting Service, New York Times and Amazon Bestselling Ghostwriters. It's a business website, and so is .
A new story of mine is featured below on this blog, It is not published anywhere else. Parts of it appear in a book, “Woody Allen Makes a Scary Sandwich,” by Karen S. Cole. I also wrote my current Magnum Opus: “The Rainbow Horizon: A Tale of Goofy Chaos,” both were published in 2015. Amazon, Barnes & Noble, other places online, libraries and Smashwords. You are now able to get a rough/first draft print or ebook copy of "The Book of Nice Monsters: Or a Few Scurrilous Drawings, in those same places. So far, both the Woody Allen book and The Book of Nice Monsters have made it to bestseller status on Amazon, and probably so did The Rainbow Horizon. Under certain keywords, within the top 10 to 100 range; then after about six months sales usually begin to fall off. This applies to most books featured on Amazon and in all other places; the author has to find ways to maintain book sales nowadays, pertaining to well into the future. Most authors. If you're not the highly supported, financially well based creators of the Harry Potter series, the Fifty Shades of Grey series, the Hunger Games series, the Twilight series....the implication is you need to write a series of books, and hope a lot. It takes carloads of drive, patience and determination. Maybe you will push some book copies.

Well, I'm fine on that, and plan to republish all 3 (and more) of my own books elsewhere, someday. Right now, I'm much too busy being Granny Ghostwriter, Book Rewriter and Editor - for you folks! I make a decent living doing that, and it is up to you to help us find ways to help you get your books reviewed, read and sold in the Great Out There, which can be a fickle world. You know what I mean.

Preliminary Incidental Notes by the Editor:
I got “The Boys of Birmingham,” an editing job I performed for the daughter of an FBI agent, published. I also arranged for a video or film to be made from it, but that fell through due to a sudden, mysterious airplane wreck, followed by a car crash.  It concerned Dr. King’s 1968 murder, and I helped it makes its way into The Library of Congress. Also, onto Google Books. If you Google its title, you will find it there in a box ad on the right side of the page. It’s the first self-published book to grace their shelves (that's what The Library told me, but it "ain't necessarily so," according to some of my other author clients), but it’s PROBABLY the first time the real, actual story of MLK's full assassination investigation was told en complete in print. Also, it's still on Amazon, and it's a bit expensive. I had it running on Smashwords, but the author asked me to remove it from there. You can buy the ebook from Google Books for about $9.99 USD.

Meanwhile, Ginosko (not Ginosoko) Literary Journal, run by both a man and a woman in earlier days, has published one poem and a short story by me, several years ago under a different nom de plume. Literary journals, lit magazines, ezines and litzines are notoriously picky - you have to meet all of their strict guidelines. Some of them are from Outer Space, such as the continuing, annoying need to make you "write like somebody else." If somebody was popular and sold, you're supposed to write "in their general or overall style." Foregoing such ideas, I was encouraged by their offer of my submitting a work of Creative Nonfiction.

Well, that fell through, maybe I have to work harder on my writing style. I just jotted off what I sent, so that could be part of the problem. It was too "instant blog post!" On the other hand, I wonder if it didn't meet Ginosko's absolute need for prior acts of 19th and 20th Century nonfiction, or earlier. I thought, with a category named "Creative Nonfiction," they were surely looking for something outside of their usual purview, for a change. The events in this story did occur in the 1900s, though.
The second version of said short story, viewable below? I'm planning on putting something like it into my book "The Invisible Mitzvah." It will be a memoir, or possibly a full autobiography. It's kinda personal, but I thought I'd share it with you here on our Ghost Writer, Inc. blog. I was raped, brutalized and badly injured rescuing a middle-aged Black lady from two house burglars and their attempt to set a major, likely to spread through their neighborhood and far worse, fire. They were PROBABLY gonna use her stick house in a tinderbox neighborhood as "the starting point," covering up their crime by burning down her house. With her dead body in it, and possibly a night daycare full of kids down in her basement. Time is out of whack, like Kurt Vonnegut used to say, "unstuck in time" as it were.


I recently sent Ginosko, a California-based litzine, this tempestuous tale. They ended up turning it down. I'm not exactly dying of despair over that, because they don't pay you anything for your submittal or even for publishing your story there. Literary mags, journals etc. are supposed to be a "door in" as a writer, a way to get published and get your writer's feet wet. I'm far beyond that now. However, either due to lack of space within their next issue, or due to the fact they didn't believe my story was a work of "Creative Nonfiction." It really is a true story, but I am unsure of the events transpiring that night on Juneteenth in the mid-1980s. Ginosko didn't like the slash fic I sent, too. It was turned down, possibly due to the lack of popularity (at the time) of Woody Allen, not to mention the ever-present dark notoriety of Hitler. Woody's an old friend of mine, but he crossed the Lolita Line too many times. Might not be entirely his fault. Him and Bill Cosby; I am one to believe we all make mistakes. However, I'm a proofreader on top of everything else - So I'm not really ever allowed to make any of them, ouch! And as a woman, any such mistakes are supposed to be all I've ever done apparently. Or does that apply to absolutely everybody?


 LETTER TO GINOSKO, pleading for Mercy:

For what is Karen Cole? Once, I was "God" in a Black neighborhood. Actually, how ‘bout if you use I was “God” of Seattle in a Black Neighborhood and let’s leave it at that as the title. The ACTUAL nonfiction story begins as follows, is about 2,000 words long, and “has to do” with Jerry Lewis. In the movies, that nice “he” wasn’t, which was sorta peculiarly alluring to a baby…Anne Frank? Or a company that made one Goddess-Awful LOUD house alarm. That ripped through the night, beginning my Impudent Tale of Weirded-Out Woe.


Once I was 'God' in a Black Neighborhood

Subtitled: No, I don't mean worshipped!

Or: How "Juneteenth" by R. Ellison came to life one Day

Ralph died the same year Angela was born.

By Karen S. Cole; 1,173 total words
Excerpt from MY Potential Memoirs, Autobiography or Life Story…or so. If I ever seriously get round to writing them, it, or another book. Again.

WHY IS a noisy, blaring warning the Savior? It was for sale. In the early days of house alarms, it boomed out for miles around. Whoever male-manufactured and produced it made things screamingly fetching…not for Nothing. On the other hand, who answers house alarms in the 1980s? At the time, NOBODY...

Ahem. I have several profound physical and mental disabilities nowadays, yet I have hung in there and made money over time. Despite what people "know I am" so much. If I went by that, people are definitely mentally retarded. In 1986, through my efforts alone I saved a Black lady from being brutally raped and killed, saved a small illegal daycare at night she had in her basement, and may have saved half of Seattle or more from the spreading house fire that would have resulted from those two teenage rapists having burned down her wooden stick house in a tight tinderbox, sprawling Black neighborhood.

Where the fire would have spread across the street, from the creosote smeared liberally on the phone poles, and also racing in electrical leaps along the wires connecting them. I got some fire training in Ohio regarding this, from books and magazines. Fire is NOT a thing that is easy to control, or to put out. Usually, it takes a rainstorm or one heck of a lot of fire fighters with fully equipped trucks. You see, those two boys would’ve had to cover over the evidence. Dead or alive, rape victims still tell tales to the authorities. Since she had a garage, they would’ve used the partly full gasoline can in there to burn up her run-down house!

The wind started whipping up later that night. The fire would’ve spread and engulfed two VERY nearby huge Seattle area forests here in the Pacific Northwest - possibly more such forests, too, fading over the horizons locally. It all began around midnight on June 16-17, and there were no fire stations in the area at the time. By the time anybody had arrived, it would have been too late. Those two would have buzzed off in her "fancy," opaque-window car. After leaving a giant blazing fire behind them as "vengeance" for not having had a nice, convenient "cracker" white family to have killed. Just an old, alone Black lady instead. The streets were too windy and narrow for the fire trucks to have made it down them. Most of them were cobblestone, yet. It's still somewhat the early days of Washington State, you see. So they would have called in the "big guns," the US Military and the Forestry services to dump fire-retarding chemicals from huge military dark-colored (bear in mind this would all have been happening at night) helicopters going overhead, at something like 1 or 2 a.m.

Dead black as midnight, though it was summer. By the wee morning hours, too: possibly crashing helicopters into copters and houses, blowing winds sending cancerous firefighting chemicals everywhere, into the choppers, streets, people, setting them on fire spreading uncontrollably...etc. And those two boys would have just jetted out of that neighborhood in that lady’s stolen car. Once they figured out what they had done, they would probably have set more fires and caused even greater damage until they were stopped. Tons of places around forests to blaze down, without anyone knowing.

Basically, I single-handedly saved some of rural, forested and possibly urban Seattle and “God” knows where else around those local environs. Who knows how long that fire would’ve lasted, without any equipment able to be brought in except for helicopter chemical dumps from above? I even had to make that Black lady go back inside, get the phone and call the police, who briefly arrested me for my troubles. They did at least also arrest the two boys, and then the cops decided that "no crime" was committed against me. Those two were caught in the process of attempting to drag me uphill, across about 17 concrete driveways, after they stripped my pants off and did embarrassing things to me. Meanwhile, it helped, because it kept them both there until the police arrived!

Because I smiled and was happy when the police (who were blocks away) finally showed (remember, the fire department wasn’t in the vicinity yet), the male cop threw my pants in my face – the usual claim that I “relaxed and enjoyed it.” After my head was sewn up, I was put in the hospital on a mental ward and grilled by an angry, arrogant policeman: “You must have been the ringleader, you must have caused those two innocent boys to break-in, yadayada,” and so I received no commendations, medals or anything monetary at all. I managed to convince them I wasn’t the ringleader, just a passerby looking for something (namely the fire I was afraid would be started that night, and I was dead correct), and they did find screwdrivers on the two boys who broke in, obviously used to jimmy open the house’s lower window. The basement window; those kids downstairs must have been terrified. The “authorities” even made me pay out of pocket for my psychiatrist, and got me to drop any such “rape” charges. Meanwhile, the two Black teenagers got their wrists slapped and were set free.

Except to prove the point, they both tried stuff again, such as weirdo drug “talcum powder” sales on rooftops and further break-ins, and one of them was finally chemically castrated for his troubles. The poor bloke apparently needed his "mental health services." The other one only broke into "one" other house, so I guess he's "okay." He was 14 years old, the other one was 18. The “14 year old” kept stalking me over the years, him and his little Seattleite Keystone Kop "hoodie" friends. I don’t think he believes I’m KKK. I’m not! I don't like to mention the part where yelling them away from the house led to their physically attacking me, raping me instead of the Black middle-aged woman...I was 26 years old. My first “real,” non-TV, family or whatever rape. And can I prove it, any of the above? I don't have any loyal witnesses, and I'm a paid professional fiction writer, as yet! Life wasn’t kind to me; is it kind to you?

I did this kind of thing several times in my life. I should be a paid professional Superhero, but I can't stand Pretty Boy Phoenix Jones. He owns a mega corporation and is making money hand over fist promoting himself as the World's First Superhero. Yeah, the world's "first" PAID black superhero...yawwwwwn it's getting late. Time to hit the rusty hay and stop being financially jealous. If I get sleep, I have yet another crack at ghostwriting or editing a book manuscript for YOU...

Come back later for the rest of this, if you dare believe!

The earlier version I wrote of this, the first one? I left out the parts about the rapes, etc. and everybody who read it thought that the main character was a man and that it was a straight fiction story. I don't know if anyone believes me.