I worried I wouldn’t be able to find it. After all, I’d
ghostwritten for a baker’s dozen of clients over 35 years. Among others, I’d written for lawyers, a baggage handler
turned airline executive, an Italian-American former NYC cop, a female
executive from the deep (really deep) South, and most intimidating yet, a
former English teacher. I’d written for people twice my age, with far more life
experience, and then for those nearly half my age where I held the life experience
advantage.
I knew my clients’ preferences and priorities. How one
always inserted “you know” every few paragraphs and specifically requested it
appear in the prepared text. (It sounded
fine delivered.) How another liked quotations. Lots of them. From current to
historical figures. Another client liked stories – meaty and metaphorical
stories. Still another client liked both quotations and stories and a big theme
with bold use of repetition.
For my first client, a Harvard-educated lawyer, I spent long
summer drives listening to recordings (audiocassettes!) of his speeches to
learn his voice.
To capture a voice, you must hear it.
For subsequent clients, it came easier, but always required
access. (Yes, gatekeepers, here comes
that pesky writer again.) Two minutes face to face with a client and
well-chosen questions such as, “What do you want the audience to think when you
leave the room?” could replace hours of recordings and easily replace many
minutes with minions.
It’s been a privilege to help leaders articulate and
advocate their policies.
Still, I worried about the solo scribe in the windowless
room. (Yes, dear managers, writers, like plants, need daylight.)
What would the scribe say if she had a platform? Would she
say anything? Did she have anything to say?
I may have completed one journey – moving 400 miles away
from 40 years of personal history. As for that other journey of finding my
voice. Why, it is just beginning.
 |
| Daylight and inspirational scenery on my bike commute. |
No comments:
Post a Comment