Plagiarism and Ghostwriting

This past week I got two emails from writers referencing the Brazilian romance writer who employed ghostwriters to produce books for him or her. (I don’t know the writer’s gender.) Apparently, the writer was trying to feed reader demand. In the process, it seems the ghostwriters plagiarized the works of some 20 authors.

I feel sorry for the Brazilian. He or she was trying to meet reader demand and make a buck and got burned.

In the wake of this scandal, writers, it seems, have been impugning the age old practice of ghostwriting. One of the writers who sent me an email even went so far as to call ghostwriting dishonest when it comes to fiction. But not nonfiction. That logical disconnect I don’t understand. 

Whether we’re speaking of ghostwriting fiction or nonfiction, the so called author is claiming the work is his or her own creation, when in fact it isn’t. Or is to only a minimal degree. Logically, if ghostwriting is immoral for fiction it should also be immoral for nonfiction. Either the practice is immoral or it isn’t.

Plagiarism

Personally, I think plagiarism is wrong. Just like I think reproducing a Chippendale and then trying to pass it off as the woodworker’s original work, or even as an original Chippendale, is also wrong. Plagiarism = Forgery.

In Western culture, at least modern Western culture, we respect the original work of the artist and seek to preserve the creator’s right to earn money from that work if he or she so chooses.

However, I do think this attitude is peculiar to contemporary Western culture. It wasn’t always that way in our past. And other cultures don’t necessarily share our view. But that is a discussion for another post.

But where does plagiarism stop? Is it plagiarism if one sentence gets copied? I suppose it can legally be called plagiarism, even though the copier didn’t steal the entire work of the other author and pass it off as his or her own. And the “stealing” of one sentence hardly threatens the creator’s livelihood. 

Nevertheless, we don’t look kindly on that sort of thing. We want creators to be 100% original. Which, of course, is impossible. There is nothing new under the sun, the Preacher reminds us.

It is interesting how attitudes change. In the Baroque period, copying another musician’s work, with the intent to improve upon it, was common practice.

Bach copied (or transcribed, if one prefers) numerous concerti of Vivaldi and other composers. The Bach transcriptions were for organ and harpsichord. The originals were for string instruments. To my ear, the Bach transcriptions didn’t improve much, if any, on Vivaldi’s original work. Was Bach in fact a plagiarist? Probably by our standards. He would have been hounded out of today’s music industry. His work banned. Hm. Something to think about.

But in those days, thoughts on creativity were different. Composers even borrowed from themselves! Because they were often under tremendous pressure to produce. They were after all employees, for the most part.

In the Baroque period ideas were free for all to improve upon. By today’s standard, however, almost all of the composers in that era would be guilty of plagiarism.

Back then, copying each other’s work was how new musical forms were shared and musical styles spread. This sharing, in an attempt to always improve, wasn’t considered plagiarism. And thanks to Bach’s “plagiarism” we rediscovered Vivaldi and his massive body of wonderful music.

Very interesting how times have changed. Isn’t it?

Ghostwriting

Hiring someone to create a work of art is a time honored practice. A ghostwriter is simply a writer who is willing to write something for you for a fee. It is a form of work for hire. The ghostwriter gets paid, and the one doing the hiring gets his or her name on the work as the author.

To suggest that there is something morally evil about ghostwriting fiction is to announce to the world one’s lack of understanding what a work for hire is.

Alexandre Dumas used many assistants and collaborators — none of which, to my knowledge, got their names on the covers of his books. Does that bother any of us today when we read a novel by Dumas? I hardly think so. It certainly didn’t bother the readers then, who couldn’t wait for his next novel to appear.

HP Lovecraft ghosted short stories for Hazel Heald and Zealia Bishop. Were those women immoral for asking Lovecraft to do so? Was Lovecraft immoral for accepting the jobs? I think all three were satisfied with the arrangements that were made. The women got their stories, and Lovecraft got money that he badly needed.

Or what about Kipling and Haggard? Those two fast friends often spent the day writing together. If one got stuck, the other helped his friend out. So how much of Kipling is Kipling and how much of Haggard is Haggard? I suppose we’ll never know.

There is nothing wrong with ghostwriting or with claiming a ghostwritten novel is yours. It’s the very nature of work that is contracted for hire. 

For the ghosts, our friendly Caspers, it’s often a good deal. A ghost can earn up to $25,000 (or even more) per book — which is far more money than most writers ever make on a book. The person for whom the ghost wrote the book will probably never get his or her money back. If anything, hiring a ghost is probably closer to financial stupidity than immorality.

Derek Murphy has a very good blogpost on this subject. It’s well worth your time to read.

Pressure to Produce

Sometime ago a writer was publicly complaining he’d like to take a break. He was tired. I urged him to do so. He replied he couldn’t because he needed the money and his fans wouldn’t let him.

He sounds like a candidate for burnout if I ever heard one.

But the pressure to produce, especially for those writers who are selling their work in sufficient quantity to pay the rent and put food on the table, is considerable. Even to the detriment of one’s health.

It is true the indie mantra is to write fast, write lots, and publish often. If you want a chance at making money.

Why? Because the world of indie writers and readers is the 21st-century version of the pulp fiction era. Success came to the pulp writers of the ‘20s, ‘30s, and ‘40s by following the above formula.

For example, Erle Stanley Gardner wrote 100,000 words a month, month after month while holding down a full-time job as a partner in a law firm. He assigned himself that grueling word count because he wanted to ditch the law job. Which he eventually did.

William Wallace Cook produced many hundreds of works of fiction, drama, and poetry for over 20 years to put food on his table and a roof over his head. Writing was his only source of income. He’d quit his job when one month the payments for his stories were greater than his paycheck. He tells his story (under a pen name) in his book The Fiction Factory.

H. Bedford-Jones was called King of the Pulps (until he passed the title to Gardner) due to his prolificity.

Edgar Wallace, who was dictating complete novels in 3 days back before World War I, was at one point said to have penned a quarter of the novels published in Britain.

Before them there was Anthony Trollope, the Victorian Writing Machine. While working full time for the post office, Trollope wrote 2,500 words in 2 1/2 hours every day. That’s 912,500 words/year. Trollope felt that was enough for any writer. And even when Trollope quit the post office, he never wrote for more than 2 1/2 hours each day.

Also keep in mind, one secret of Trollope’s prolificity was that he didn’t revise. He wrote finished text. When the final word of the novel was penned, he simply sent it to the publisher.

And Lawrence Block, for an example from the post-pulp era, wrote over a hundred novels under pen names during the ‘50s and ‘60s before he started to make it to the big time. Under his own name, he has produced dozens of books to put a roof over his head and food on his table. Writing has been his only job for his entire adult life.

In today’s pop fiction world, demand for books seems insatiable. Some writers write fast enough to keep up with demand. Others cannot.

If a writer has a great idea for a novel, but realizes he or she may not get around to writing it, and gives that idea to a ghost — what is wrong with the practice? The writer is happy, the ghost is happy, and the reader is happy.

How is ghosting any different than when a big-name writer, who has an idea for a book or a series, asks someone to write it for him or her? And then shares the authorship — thereby promoting the less well known writer? The big name writer probably had little input into the work, but that doesn’t stop us from reading.

What is wrong with either scenario? It seems to me this is a win-win situation.

In a very real sense, it is readers who are driving writers to produce faster and faster. Because readers want books!

Where I’m At

I think plagiarizing entire books or sizable chunks of a book is wrong. When it gets down to words and sentences, I think things start to get very gray. But best to play it safe and not copy.

Plagiarizing ideas is an even trickier area. After all, there is nothing new under the sun.

Many authors copied the Cthulhu mythos and added to it. Were they plagiarizing? I don’t know. Lovecraft, himself, was okay with it. He didn’t seem to think it was plagiarizing. On the other hand, if he had, then the Cthulhu mythos probably would have died with him.

Still, to be on the safe side, it’s undoubtedly best not to copy an idea as elucidated by a particular writer without the writer’s permission. Unless the writer who’s copying is going to personalize it to the degree that the idea becomes “new”. Or at least unrecognizable as to its origin.

Concerning ghostwriting, I don’t think it’s wrong. Would I use a ghost? No. Why? Because I love the process of writing. Hiring a ghost would deny me what I enjoy most.

I’m interested in your thoughts. Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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