Introducing Myself, Ghostwriter of Business Books and Tinder Messages
I don’t need more on my plate. Between my day job (unusual,) a side project (finishing up,) and the novel I’m writing (“book club fiction, for fans of Eleanor Oliphant x Big Gay Wedding,”) I don’t have time to commit to Substack. Oh well. I have a different sort of commitment issues, I guess.
My day job deals in commitments: relationships, dates, etc. Last year, I decided to move from a full-time ghostwriting position (of business books) to a full-time “ghostwriting position” (of Bumble messages, Hinge messages, Tinder messages, etc.) Yup. Instead of bringing readers to a final call to action - may it be joining the author’s coaching program or applauding them as an industry expert - I bring matches to the idea of going on a date with my client. I go back and forth on scheduling the date (often, the most grueling part of dating apps), and I send my clients off to a bar or a restaurant to embark on the most significant relationship in their lives. Or maybe they’ll leave with a funny story. It depends. I’ve been working in this position for a year and a half but at least one of the long-term couples I’ve set up has already gotten engaged. (Breathes on knuckles, shines ring.)
I set up over a dozen dates a week. And there is one element of my position that makes what I do very successful:
I don’t care.
Well, that’s incorrect. I care very much. I care about the person whom I will be talking to on behalf of my client: what they share on their profile, what photos they’ve added, how they write. I care that my clients feel “in the loop” and that my communication is clear. I care about spelling, grammar, etc. (It’s Friday night, so forgive me if I care less about that on Substack.) I want my clients to get home safe and I want them to send me invitations to their wedding when the time is right.
But I remember once when I was dating around (for those of you who don’t know me, I have a partner I met on Bumble close to four years ago), I sent a flirty message and immediately retracted it. I expressed my embarrassment and my leg shook on the bus as I waited for the person’s reply. We had already gone out on a date, I believe. In the end, I ghosted them. (Not nice. Don’t do it. I was 22? 23? Brain was not fully developed.) In the moment, I received a text (playfully) chastising my lack of confidence. I believe the words “be bold” were used. It was a long time ago, but that was the sense I got. Dare greatly? Had that come out yet?
My point is that I was so tied up in the response that I censored myself, scolded myself. Eight-ish years later, writing for other people, I don’t have that hesitation. I’m far from flirty unless it’s appropriate to do so (clients range from 26-year-olds whose parents want them to get out more to 77-year-olds who have done everything but signed up for SilverSingles), but I’m bold. There is no hesitation. There is no worry about whether the match will accept a date or accept a “nudge” toward a date. If they do? Great, are they free Tuesday or Wednesday? They can choose the place. Here’s “my” number. What’s theirs?
If not, I’ve got another few minutes until I’m logging off for the day, I’ll keep swiping.
And no one is more or less worthy because of it.
Esther Perel, relationship therapist extraordinaire, once remarked that Americans are bad at flirting because we are so set on “the goal.” Europeans? They flirt for fun. They are bold, for fun. They don’t care about whether or not the night ends with whoopie, boot-knockin’, whathaveyou. I am “flirting” for my clients and for a day job, but the goal? I’m not shaking my legs over it. There’s always another Bumble match.
I am all set in terms of my relationship. But I’ve found that applying this “for fun” idea to my novel (“book club fiction, for fans of Eleanor Oliphant x Big Gay Wedding,”) has actually given me the space to write it. To be bold, if you will. To join the writing group and take the classes and reach out to beta readers and apply to the MFA program and consider self-publishing, something that terrified me until last week?
But that’s a story for another Substack. That’s a reason for me to come back here. Unless I just wrote this for fun?
Hey. Go have fun tonight. It’s Friday.