Ebook Ghostwriting Jobs Novels & Stories

Or are they more than that? “Listen, Mia. I don’t want you to work for Mr. Powell. Even if he helped us more than once, I don’t trust him. I talked to a new ghostwriting agency today. They like my writing. They are willing to offer me 15 dollars per page. I can make extra money. You can get your old job back. I don’t want us to have any relation with these corrupting rich bastards.” Calvin grit his teeth. Calvin doesn’t know the promise Mia made to Mr. Powell eight years ago. In fact, no one knows it except Mia herself. She couldn’t withdraw her promise. And they need the money that her new job brings in.

A sweet huge dog! "Good morning, darling, good morning, love," Dad greeted. We started our breakfast. When I was 17, I started my writing career. Freelancing, and ghostwritings, and many more. I discovered it and was paid, plenty enough for my school financial support, since my Dad was really having a hard time on his multiple jobs.

She was richer than she ever was within the Blackwood house in this down-at-heels apartment with its down-at-heels walls and second-hand treasures. Because they were hers. --- Days became survival rituals. Preheated bottles, on her diapers, revised manuscripts, pecked-at books at midnight with the two babies sleeping wrapped up like two halves of a soul. Ghostwriting and reception work were subcontracted to the publisher. Deadlines loomed overhead, but with each email that she was getting — every sentence of appreciation from her three million readers for her work — she was filled. “Your stories feel alive,” one fan had written. “Like you’re speaking directly from your heart.”

But I still wanted to shoot all those assholes. It was a good thing that only Massimo and I could see everyone, all they saw during that meeting was each other’s face, never us. What was the deal with the Ghost? I need that motherfucker on my payroll. After my last email, there was no reply, and I found myself wondering if I lost that runner. The services of that individual were highly sought after, and the Ghost only took two jobs, three per month tops. The confirmation email with acceptance of my offer never came, and I debated whether I offered enough now.

He held a dossier in his hand, but he knew better than to speak first. Without turning, Drystan’s voice sliced through the silence. “My lord.” Rocco bowed. “This is the information you requested.” Drystan forward slightly picking up the glass of cup that contained a wine, from the table in front of him. He leaned back into his chair, still giving Rocco his back. His voice was a low growl that commanded obedience. “Tell me everything you’ve learned about Nobel Write.” Rocco cleared his throat and opened the folder. “Nobel Write is a multi-million dollar writing company, headquartered here In Italy. They specialize in ghostwriting, book publishing, and literary services for people who aspire t

“Have you thought about what we discussed yet?” The memory of those early days, hunched over my laptop in the quiet solitude of my apartment, juggling ghostwriting gigs while writing books under a pseudonym, brought a wave of nostalgia. A.R Eve, the name I'd chosen - a combination of my initials and my mother's name - had become a shield, a way to navigate the world of publishing without exposing my introverted nature.

Jayden asked. “She’s up there. Dancing with Adrian,” I said, pointing. Jayden squinted. “Who the hell is Adrian?” “Another ghost. I met him recently.” “This is weird,” Jayden laughed. “You can see two ghosts?” I nodded. “Hell yes, we are publishing this story!” “I don’t know, man…” “There’s nothing to know. The agent wants at least one chapter by Monday.” I thought for a long moment. Then nodded slowly. “Fine. I will send you two chapters. And I want to meet the guy.”

I hope it is what I am thinking. Mr. Ken Washington, was the founder of Cypress Narrative House, a top tier autobiography ghostwriting firm in New York. He had landed a big client for a firm. A client that I personally wanted- needed to be the one handling his autobiography. Barb Stone and I, were they two senior ghostwriters in the firm and the gig would go to either of us. And Barb was a fierce competitor. I just hope my charms and presentation was enough to land me this job. I knocked on the door before pulling it open. Mr. Washington stood by the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city with his hands behind his back.

Biting the corner of my bottom lip, I run my fingertips over the keys and let out a deep sigh. The blank screen stares back at me, waiting for me to start writing a new story. I type in the title. GUARDIANS OF THE GOLDEN EYED WOLVES. This story is going to be short, about two hundred pages only, and I plan on getting it published out there in hard copy with the help of Embers friend who works for one of the most important publishing companies in Blackwood. Smiling before I start writing the outline, I type down. By Author Haven Richmond Blackwood.

With her health condition, she had no choice. Ethan held me close. “Do not worry. Finding a ghostwriter for your songs is easy,” he said, kissing my head, but I was not satisfied with this. Many people could write good songs, but not everyone could write great songs. I had started my career with two good hits. If I did not produce something better in the future, gossip might spread. Moreover, the best part about Gina being my ghost composer was seeing people look down on her. “Finding a ghost composer in such a short time is risky. What if they are not trustworthy? I know my cousin best—she always keeps her word,” I shook my head.