A Ghostwriter’s Proverbial Corner: The Risk of Only Writing for Others

I realized something horrifying the other day as I was looking for writing positions outside the home: I had painted myself into a proverbial corner, and the only way out was to write.

A ghostwriter’s proverbial corner.

Right before the pandemic hit, I took a chance on myself and began writing professionally. It’s lucky that I did because there was no way I could have predicted what happened next. Despite the world pressing pause, I was able to create income for my family. It was the first time in a long time that I was doing something I loved and making money doing it.

Writing became the release of so much creativity I had held on to for years. The positions I held in corporate America showed little interest in my creativity. They valued my ability to organize, show up on time, be professional, and extend my loyalty. But the moment I showed interest in growing beyond my position, I felt that expansion wasn’t something my company wanted for me. Eventually, I left, saddened that I wasn’t able to use my degree in the capacity for which I had earned it. Luckily, life has a way of bringing you back to what you’re meant to do.

When I started my company in 2019 and began working professionally as a ghostwriter, I was in awe of what my talents allowed me to accomplish. It didn’t even feel like work. I felt spoiled, fortunate to have found a way to blend purpose with making a living. For seven years, I created stories for companies, individuals, families, and networks. I thought I could only go up from there.

During those seven years, I poured my energy into writing for others. Even when I wanted to write for myself, my commitment to being an authentic writer mattered more. My clients loved that their stories sounded like them. They appreciated how I wove vivid imagery into their experiences and transformed memories into narratives they could have never created on their own. I made their lives feel like movies waiting to be released on Netflix.

Then this year arrived, and suddenly there was nothing. So I thought I could branch out and work for a company doing the very thing I had spent years crafting for myself. That’s when I discovered the problem. As a ghostwriter, I had no proof. No full portfolio to showcase. No collection of published work that belonged to me.

I realized something horrifying as I searched for writing positions outside the home: I had painted myself into a proverbial corner, and the only way out was to write. But what I enjoy writing and what LinkedIn, Substack, and even my social media channels seem to reward don’t always align. The public’s demands often feel different from the kind of storytelling I love.

I learned how to use AI, and it brought a little more attention my way. But once again, I found myself setting aside my long-form, vivid storytelling in favor of content designed for shrinking attention spans. Everybody seemed to want something quick and to the point. I was looking for crock-pot lovers in a fast-food economy. But I know my people are out there somewhere.

What I failed to realize was that writing professionally and building a visible body of work are not always the same thing. For years, I sharpened my craft behind the scenes. I learned how to capture voices, structure narratives, and transform memories into compelling stories. I became a better writer with every project. Yet because much of that work belonged to someone else, I wasn’t building a public record of what I could do. My skills were growing while my visibility remained stagnant.

Writing outside your paid work matters because it provides evidence of your perspective. It gives future clients, employers, and readers something they can point to and say, “This is who you are as a writer.” It demonstrates your style, your values, your interests, and the unique lens through which you see the world.

A personal body of work also serves another purpose: it reminds you that you are more than a service provider. Writers are storytellers, observers, and creators. When every word is written to meet someone else’s needs, it becomes easy to lose touch with the voice that made you want to write in the first place.

I spent seven years helping others tell their stories. Looking back, I don’t regret a single one. But if I could offer advice to any writer building a career today, it would be this: write for your clients, but write for yourself too. One pays the bills. The other preserves your identity.

There is interest in the type of work that I do. There are business owners who want their stories written without AI. They want the ability to weave their voice into a manuscript that engages readers and tells the story of how they built their brand.

There are families who want to document their history, preserve the stories that built their foundation, and see their memories painted through an author’s perspective. They are interested in preserving their legacies in a non-cookie-cutter fashion. They want the story to be as unique as their family’s history.

There are individuals who have walked through tragedy and emerged on the other side, carrying not only lessons learned but also a story worth sharing, one that cannot be manufactured without the presence of another soul to help them create the tapestry.

I know they’re out there. And in due time, I’ll find them. Until then, I’ll keep writing.

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Heather Ina is an author, ghostwriter & creator of BoundlessHIM, amplifying Black and Brown stories through truth, trauma, triumph & healing, and creating legacy memorabilia for families. She is the author of Boundless Perseverance, an immersive guide centered on growth, resilience, and self-reflection.