Hello! I’m Hayley. Come in. Pull up a chair. Take off your shoes. There’s tea in the pot.
I’m so glad you’ve come because I have so much to share … about me, about you, but most of all about stories and how they shape our lives, how we can tell them honestly and in doing so, how we can develop, smile, heal and grow and the way that others can benefit from our shared voices.
There is nothing more important to me than honesty because I grew up in a house of lies. The walls were papered with them, the roof was tiled with them, we ate them, washed with them, snuggled under them as we slept at night and awoke with them as every fresh day dawned. As an adult, as truth smashed its way through the lies, I have been forced to rewrite my own story to include abuse in my family to which I was ignorant. I have had to recast heroes as monsters and rebels as victims and reshuffle my whole perspective of a beautiful childhood sun that dazzled me so completely. I have never experienced such pain, but after the pain comes strength and a new perspective on life … of discovering how to cope, knowing that the little things are no longer important, that if I can survive this and still smile and love and take pleasure in the small things, then I can truly survive anything.
And that’s my story … or at least one of them. I’m attempting to write it now with the same bravery that I see in my clients. In fact, I owe it to the people I work with to lay myself this bare because it’s what I ask of them, whether I’m interviewing a ghostwriting client in preparation to write their autobiography or memoir, or encouraging students and those in the community to commit the details of their lives to paper. It is sometimes excruciating, but it is a process that allows us to reflect, evaluate, see things clearly and heal. It is both liberating and revelatory. And when we share our stories, we are sending a gift of hope into the world.
My vision for this blog is to share my experiences as a ghostwriter, public speaker and teacher. I still have so much to learn in all areas and I love being on this learning curve. I would also like to share my experience of writing my own life story, living my own life story, and about the things that keep me sane in life, make me laugh, as well as my research and stories of hope that I stumble upon in my life and in the media. I hope you find something that resonates.
Thanks again for stopping by. Feel free to browse. You are very welcome.
It’s almost as if we spend our lives guarding our darkest secrets, shielding ourselves from the gaze of others, but what if these authentic parts are our most beautiful and human?
It’s such a small, frivolous thing to be thankful for when the world has been brought to its knees by influenza’s older, demented half-brother, with a chip on his shoulder and daddy issues.
If I don’t write every day, I lose confidence, and then I can’t write, because, like most creative people, I am quite mad.
I’m a buzzed-up giant. The washing machine in my head is spinning my clothes for the 800th time although they’re already clean. I’m a whirr. I’m polo-mint breath puffed onto an eyeball …
My God, I was an arrogant writer when I was younger. I knew my work was good, and I reacted to criticism the way flat-earthers respond to the inconvenient truth. I was hot stuff, they were wrong/moronic/picking on me, and the world would have to catch up with my genius sooner or later.
I recently watched a man drink a whole bottle of salad crème in the library, and there wasn’t a salad leaf in sight. Straight from the bottle. Glug, glug, glug. To me, this epitomises libraries in the twenty-first century: a catch-all for those in freefall from the community services and projects that have been cut by the government, looking for a place to belong or snooze or drink condiments. As a writer, obsessed with people-watching, I love it.
Writing truthfully is an act of rebellion. Writing longhand is revelling in the experience. In the absence of cave walls on which to tell our stories, it is the rawest way to express the written word.
My emotional ghostwriting experience, telling a story that needed to be told.