You have a plan, it's to write for the rest of your life. For money! Day in, day out, that's all you're going to do. But those bills need paying, so you write for others. It's writing, right? But is it fun?

Those who hide their talents behind a mask go through a lot. All of the work, very little glory and quite a bit of hassle. Yes, it's now time for a list of 15 GHOSTWRITER PROBLEMS.

#1 Time is Money - Yes, you’re the best thing ever because you’re writing their beautiful and truly fascinating story. That is until you dare to put a price on your time. Yes, it takes a LONG time!

#2 The Gamble - If the deal is that you get a percentage of sales, it could all come to nothing. Your inner dreamer whispers that it could be a bestseller. Your bills just sigh and look at you. What to do?

#3 To Note or Not to Note – When you meet them, they WILL talk and talk and talk (and talk). They’re expecting you to literally take notes like a journalist throughout. No. For me it’s dictaphone all the way.

#4 Playback is a Bitch – Hearing your own voice asking them question after question, prompting them with thoughtful grunts, all recorded on the Dictaphone for hours on end is torture. Do you REALLY sound like that?

#5 Time Served – You’ve already listened to the stories once. Now you have to do it all over again, and again, and again as you try to decipher what they’re saying and turn it into something readable. What did he just say?

#6 Wanderlust/Wanderhate – You have to meet them, as it just isn’t the same on the phone. Of course, they’re never round the corner and who’s paying for this train, by the way?

#7 There’s Nowt Queer as Folk – Of course, they may turn out to be a complete asshole, but it’s a gig, right? Grin and bear it, sunshine, especially if they’re paying. You don't actually have to like them, just their Benjamin Franklins!

#8 It Takes all Types – They can be has-beens and never-beens and can be egomaniacs, yet the people who have actually made it are the nice ones. It’s like a lucky dip of human beings that we hope you get to win at.

#9 Bullshit Deflector Engaged – You listen to their ‘memories’ agog, trying not to laugh at their tale of fighting a bear or seducing a supermodel. At least they believe what they’re telling you even if you don’t.

#10 Grasshopper Stories – Their stories intersect and their concentration falters and they wax lyrically for hours. Threading them altogether into something coherent is so much fun.

#11 SSSSH! Off The Record – They confide EVERYTHING in you and you’re recording it. You know too much that you can’t tell anyone BUT YOU REALLY WANT TO. One day, you’ll bury them all with the information. Maybe.

#12 Constant Chasing – Whether they’ve paid you or not, they're pretty sure they own you and every minute of your time. Cue 100 calls a week asking “how’s it going”. You bite your tongue.

#13 R.E.S.P.E.C.T. – There isn’t any. They don’t understand off days creative flow, as they are the sun in their own little universe and all else revolves around them. Turn that phone off and have a break (from them)!

#14 Your Story Vs Their Story – Writing someone else’s words just isn’t as fun. It takes ages, and you answer to someone else. Why do you do it? Oh yes, cash. Please oh please, let there be some cash.

#15 The Crunch – When you’re spent, wrung out, bored of them but you've delivered. It seemed like forever and then they move the goalposts and won’t pay. Praise be for laws! And Lawyers. Sic him, boy!

We had an 'almost ran'. Just missing the list was "#16 Is It Spelled Ghostwriter or Ghost Writer?"

Article by Prose Partner Paul who is a ghostwriter who is currently experiencing #15 and trying to get someone to pay up for fifty-eight thousand sweat-stained words.

Interact with him on Prose where he is @PaulDChambers and on Twitter as @MannersCost.

Please comment and share anything that you may think has been missed out. We really want to hear from you ghostwriters (ghost writers?).

I think what hurts the worst is the way you knew me

every scar every secret every crevice I hid my dreams in

and when you cut me down to size

you couldn't help but realize

that you weren't the first to take your fist to my face

that you weren't the first to twist my wrist

that you weren't the first to inflict

the kind of pain that doesn't fade with time

you healed my wounds and so you knew exactly what scabs to pick you knew exactly what makes me tick and how to bust me open

I showed you every weakness every loose thread and when you were done you tugged and tugged and here I am

undone

you knew what you were doing you know what you've done

and here you are with upturned palms whispering lies like

"I didn't mean to"

"I'm sorry"

"let's restart"

and I'm melting because all my skin remembers is the way you sewed me back together the way you held me like a cast til I healed

but my mind knows better and it's all I can do not to sink to my knees in defeat

you were my last chance

my final stand

reluctant trust

and here I am right back where I started

but worse off because you knew

you knew me

I - It is given that knowledge is valued.

IA - "It" = "entity"

IB - "is" = "functions"

IC - "given" = "intuitively"

ID - "that" = "truly"

IE - "knowledge" = "unique understanding of reality documented in writing"

IEi - "unique" = "new"

IEii - "understanding" = "seeing"

IEiii - "of" = "from"

IEiv - "reality" = "experience"

IEv - "documented" = "saved"

IEvi - "in" = "as"

"IEvii - "writing" = "symbols"

IF - "valued" = "demanded by consumers"

IFi - "demanded" = "needed"

IFii - "by" = "because"

IFiii - "consumers" = "humans"

II - It is given that education serves to share and generate knowledge.

IIA - "education" = "teaching"

IIB - "serves" = "works"

IIC - "to" = "for"

IID - "share" = "give"

IIE - "and" = "plus"

IIF - "generate" = "increase"

III - It is proven that knowledge at the college level is especially valued.

IIIA - "proven" = "seeable"

IIIB - "at" = "reaching"

IIIC - "the" = "category"

IIID - "college level" = "conventional education for ages 18-22"

IIIDi - "conventional" = "ordinary"

IIIDii - "for" = "involving"

IIIDiii - "ages 18-22" = (apriori)

IIIE - "especially" = "proportionate to global demand for college level knowledge"

IIIEi - "proportionate" = "realistic"

IIIEii - "global" = "planetwide"

IV - It is given that some knowledge generated at the college level is by students.

IVA - "some" = "part"

IVB - "generated" = "increased"

IVC - "by" = "because"

IVD - "students" = "learners"

V - It is proven that most knowledge generated at the college level by students is wasted.

VA - "most" = "majority"

VB - "wasted" = "killed"

VI - Thus:

VIA - It is probable that student-generated college level knowledge demand is wasted.

VIAi - "probable" = "accurate"

VIAii - "student-generated" = "learner-increased"

VIAiii - "demand" = "need"

VIB - It is probable that said demand's value warrants an equal opportunity.

VIBi - "said" = "again"

VIBii - "value" = "demand"

VIBiii - "warrants" = "suggests"

VIBiv - "an" = "this"

VIBv - "equal" = "same"

VIBvi - "opportunity" = "calling"

Alessia DiCesare is a first-year student at the University of Ottawa where she is specializing in English Literature. After receiving her degree, she plans on teaching high school English. She says this goal will give her the chance to be “a pivotal person in someone’s life.”

P: What is your relationship with writing and how has it evolved?

A: I’ve written my thoughts down ever since I can remember…in journals, mostly. It wasn’t until I was 14 that I took an interest in writing poetry. I cannot recall exactly where this need to poetically express myself stemmed from.

I just remember, one night, weaving some metaphors together in order to make sense of the complexities of the world, and I instantly fell in love.

I fell in love with the way I became aware of who I was while writing, and the adrenaline rush that happens as I piece each sentence together. It’s a difficult thing to explain…writing is sort of an instinct for me.

I feel like if I don’t answer to its call, it becomes so overwhelming, I might just throw up.

When I first started writing, I kept my poetry mostly to myself, sometimes sharing my work with a few close friends. One day, I decided to share a handful of my poems with my high school English teacher, and it was she who encouraged me to share my work with others.

I now post my poetry on many social media sites, as well as partake in a few poetry events at the university I attend.

Sharing my work has provided me with a greater sense of belonging in the world, and I am incredibly thankful for my English teacher’s encouragement.

P: Briefly discuss the value that reading adds to both your personal and professional life.

A: I’ve always been amazed by the way reading has helped to enrich my life--the perspectives I have gained from reading are extremely valuable to me. Reading (and writing) have helped me stay dreamy, while still being in tune with reality: it allows me to connect with characters in a world that may only exist within the novel, but ultimately help me make sense of the world I live in.

I’ve become more empathetic by reading. Being able to put myself in the shoes of others has definitely helped to improve my writing, and my reactions to different life experiences.

P: How would you describe your current literary ventures and what can we look forward to in future posts?

A: Recently, I’ve been struggling to get my thoughts down…I’ve been in a really long, drawn out ‘writing funk’ that I can’t seem to shake myself out of. I’m thinking this block is mostly due to the amount of stress I’ve been feeling at school. I’m hoping that when the summer comes around, I’ll have time to fully focus and dedicate myself to writing.

I would love to publish a book of my own poems, but I don’t think the timing is right. I’ve put a few manuscripts together, but something always seems to be missing.

I don’t want to settle for a manuscript that seems ‘okay’ just for the sake of publishing. I’m sure if I notice that there are pieces missing, my readers will notice as well.

P: What does Prose. mean to you?

A: Prose. has become an intimate literary world where artists and readers come together to share their love of literature. It has introduced me to so many incredible writers and their work. I am very happy to have come across this wonderful community.

P: Where else can we find you and your writing?

A: You can find my writing on my personal Tumblr account at www.featherumbrellas.tumblr.com and follow me on Twitter @adicesaree.

__________________________

This #FridayFeature blog series is designed to help you get to know your fellow community members better. Would you like to nominate someone for interview? Have a question you’re dying to ask of someone on the platform? Send us a private message here or visit our contact page to get in touch: theprose.com/p/contact.

I spent my career balancing between working to be the best diesel mechanic on my ship and attempting to attend every COMREL (Community Relations) trips that I could. I've been to schools, orphanages, and cities in need from Thailand, Indonesia, Brunei, Phillipines, Cambodia, and Greece. I've helped young orphans to stay in school, homeless dogs feel loved, and rebuilding schoolhouses.

The most memorable was from Greece, at the dog rescue shelter. I was at the tail end of my enlistment, ready to go home. I was asked to volunteer at a rescue facility with around 150 dogs. When we arrived at the place, we were welcomed by some of the less friendly dogs, who were kenneled by themselves near the entrance. This ancient lab bounced back and forth, pulling at the tether around his neck and bolted to his doghouse. There were three workers at the site, the sum total of the workforce. They had a cauldron boiling in a little sheet metal shack, where all the food was kept. It was a goulash of rice, dry and wet dog food, and donated left over vegetables from the local grocery store.

Many of the dogs were allowed to roam freely across the yard, in a large pack of probably half the population. Few were friendly enough to come close to you immediately, much like a normal dog would, who once had a loving home. The majority of the dogs were left tied to the perimeter chain link fence, by owners who grew tired of them, didn't want them, or couldn't feed them anymore. These were the lucky ones. On Crete, since it's a rural island (and to be completely honest, very backward and stubborn), many dog owners would hang their dogs in their olive trees, and leave them up for a few hours, to make sure that they were dead.

We spent all of the visits there taking turns cleaning up poop, washing bowls, and spraying out the holding kennels for the new arrivals. We trucked in food and supplies, repainted the buildings, and did yard work. Most of all, at least I think was the biggest impact, was we showed each and every one of the dogs love and compassion. I took it upon myself to get to know nearly every dog, play with them, and eventually pick them up and carry them like babies. They loved being carried because during that time, they were treated like my one and only dog. I loved every single one of them, and I wish I had the ability to adopt them all, but all I could do was come by and work, play, love them, and donate as much as I could.

All my experiences have stayed with me, ever after a year and some change from my discharge date. I've found a great friend who supports me in everything I do, and a family to love me. I'd say I've transitioned pretty well from the young, inexperienced boy who enlisted right after high school, to a well seasoned man, rough and ready to make his own way in the cutthroat world that is the civilian life. I've got two jobs, a car, an apartment, and now a heeler puppy. I couldn't have asked for a better life.

The coffee grounds brown of the floor glistens with an old polish, worn from the feet of weary commuters and early birds. The pungent perfume of fresh arabica beans soak the air, as they are boiled, mashed, steeped, and tossed about.

In the early hours, especially in the wintry weather, the transit of seemingly floating orbs of lights stream by quietly and uniformly, each after the other. As soon as the neon begins to glow, the world is strutting along the avenue, already deep in its quotidian.

Friday night! The little shop is teeming with occupants, each with a softly steaming cup, decorated with cream and sweets, decadently adorned with extra flair. The hushed tones turn to excited and exuberant chatter as the events of the evening are recounted. A happening music venue, a run in with the band, and preferential treatment all abound as the lucky listeners reiterate again and again, to any and all eager ears in shot.

The door is light in my hand, a glass pane with a thin wood frame, yet still more than enough to enclose the shop comfortably. My quiet steps towards the counter are a welcome sound to the staff. Smiles abound, and niceties traded. Ordered and paid for, my coffee comes in a sturdy recycled and plain paper cup, and escorted with utmost care into my possession. A warm welcome to indulge a sweet caffeine tooth.

As she bumped past me, I notice what she's left behind. The worn yet still kind eyed barista smiles. "Good morning, what can I get started for you?" I step forward and give her the "one moment" gesture with my right hand as I lean down towards the wallet with my left. I turned towards the door and yelled. "Oi! Cunt!" The maddened matriarch swiveled on her thick heels, the anger radiating off of her scalp. Before her lips could part to allow the deluge of derogatory and ignorant slurs, her bedazzled, dollar bill long wallet slapped her right on the bridge of her nose. As she fell out the doorway, a cheer arose from the coffee shop. The barista jumped up on the counter, freed momentarily from the shackles is sanity and customer service. "Have a nice fucking day!"

Um... Hi? Anyway, I'm Stellar. If I ever get to meet any of you, you'll find that I'm super shy at first, but... Once I get to know you, it'll be a different story. Okay, hobbies? Well, I like to read...

...

...

And write?

I guess I kind of like to draw. I ski, if that counts. *mega gasp* STELLAR DOES A SPORT?! I THOUGHT SHE WAS A LAZY-

Yeah, get over it. I'm supposed to do track, but I don't.

Whatever you do, don't. Make. Me. Run. I hate running.

I play the ukulele. And some piano.

Let's see, odd experiences...

I broke my leg when I was two or three because I was trying to climb a large box that held some heavy thing... And it fell. On me.

But that's not really an odd experience? See, I told you. I'm not interesting. Well, I'm... Mm.

My day usually goes like this:

1) Fall out of bed

2) Eat no breakfast

3) Go to school

While at school, I...

1) Try to memorize what everybody is wearing

2) Deal with annoying people

3) Count stuff in the classroom.

4) Sometimes, I actually LISTEN.

5) Talk

6) Go home

Once home:

1) Do nothing

Well, then. I hope you enjoyed that, and you didn't fall asleep. -.-