You’re finally writing your book. You know it’s time. You’ve decided to do it. And maybe you’ve even started. But…

Now, the writing has ground to a halt. No matter how hard you bang your head against the keyboard, the words won’t come. You feel like you’re failing at this book writing thing, and that feels kinda crappy.

After all, you should be able to do this. In your head, you know what you want to say, but everything that comes out on the page is just... meh.

I want you to know that this is okay. We can figure this out together.

Introducing your editor, book coach, and ghostwriter

I’m Liz Green, the editor, book coach, and ghostwriter behind Green Goose Writing. I help people who want to write a book they know will inspire others, but are stuck trying to get the words on the page.

They’re used to getting things done and are frustrated that, for some reason, their memoir, self-help, or business book just isn’t coming together.

I help them finally finish their book and feel proud of sharing their words with the world.

My superhero

Most people have a vague idea of what an editor does. They make words good. ( <— Those are my bestest words.)

But “book coach” is a weird term. Everyone knows what a football coach does, but a book coach?

It’s a pretty new concept—a response to a publishing industry under ever-more-intense pressure with fewer resources to help writers, and authors who desperately wish writing wasn’t so damn hard.

It’s pretty awesome that through book coaching, I get to do work that helps both publishers and writers.

But I’ve never met a kid who says they want to be a book coach when they grow up.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be Lois Lane. This was in the 90s, and I hunkered down every Saturday evening to watch her in The New Adventures of Superman.

To me, she was the superhero.

I mean, Superman was fine, but I was in awe of Lois Lane running around Metropolis, notebook and press badge in hand, writing the essential stories citizens needed to hear.

She was exposing the baddies and celebrating the saviors. That meant something.

I sat on the edge of the couch, biting my fingernails, desperately willing her to escape Lex Luther’s dastardly plans and still get her news report in on deadline.

Following the footsteps

When I was old enough, I followed in my superhero’s footsteps and trained to become a journalist, getting a prestigious postgraduate degree that made me feel very fancy. With my own notebook and press badge in hand, I proudly walked into a newsroom and sat down at my new desk.

And just two days later, my editor told me to get out.

“Liz, get outta here!” my editor shouted as he barrelled out of his office into the bullpen. He tripped over a stack of papers and staggered. Finding his footing, he waved wildly toward the window, where an ambulance had just screamed past, sirens wailing.

“Go chase that ambulance. Get the story!” He practically lifted me from my swivel chair, threw my jacket over my shoulder, and shuffled me out of the office with one last order.

“Don’t come back without a picture of a dead guy.” 

“You want me to take a photo of someone dead?” I asked.

“Dead, dying, bleeding, whatever. Just get me something for the front page,” he said.

And that was the moment I knew I couldn’t cut it as a journalist.

Whiplash

I stuck it out for a while, as I still believed it was important to share stories with the world. It was hard to keep the passion, though. Breaking news that “there were no incidents at today’s school fair” was not exactly world-changing.

And when there was something news-worthy? Getting the story at any cost didn’t feel noble.

It felt gross.

In a whiplash reaction, I ditched the search for meaningful work and looked for something F.U.N. And what’s more fun than… 

Skiing!

I was a lucky kiddo who grew up skiing with my Grandma in Europe. Before my journalism degree, I’d cleaned rooms at ski hotels in France and Austria. I wasn’t very good at skiing. (I fell down a lot. Helmet = essential.) But I loved it.

So, I took my wordsmith skills and talked my way into a public relations job for some of the world’s greatest ski resorts. I moved to Canada, played in the snow, skied every weekend, and spent weekdays pumping out a metric crap-ton of writing for the resorts’ marketing department.

I created press releases, wrote web copy, designed marketing campaigns, helped journalists with their articles, and honed my craft communicating with skiers and snowboarders around the world.

I was flying my way up the career ladder, arm outstretched like Superman himself, reaching for every opportunity I got in PR, marketing, and events management. I shifted roles and companies but stayed in my small ski town, living the dream.

Then, in 2013, everything crashed down.

That’s when I got sick.

Crashing down

I had a minor medical procedure that the doctors said was “no big deal.” It went wrong, and I was left with a terrible chronic pain condition. From that moment on, I was in constant pain.

I stuck it out in my corporate job as long as I could, but hospital visits and specialists’ appointments and sick days soon overwhelmed me. I went on medical leave and spent long days sitting at home feeling hopelessly lost without my work.

You see, I really enjoyed work. It was more than fun; it had become satisfying to put in the effort and know I was performing to the best of my ability. I loved excelling in my organization and, frankly, I enjoyed being praised by colleagues and management every time I soared past another quarterly goal.

I did have a secret, though.

When I got quiet, when I allowed myself to feel real feelings, there was disappointment under the success. I was a little bit sad that I’d dedicated my career to helping rich old white guys make more money.

It wasn’t that they didn’t deserve money. My employers had worked hard to create strong brands and successful businesses, and there was nothing wrong about them being rich, old, or white. I just wondered what it would be like to do something… more.

More impactful. More diverse. More meaningful.

My career was great on the surface, but a little bit empty.

When I got sick, all of it crashed. The great work... the deep but ignored desire for more… it all came crumbling down. I didn’t have the energy to think about any of it.

I spent years working on my health. I traveled for care, was admitted to the Calgary Chronic Pain Centre, and, when nothing else worked, I eventually joined an experimental treatment program. I saw doctors, physios, pharmacologists, occupational therapists, and cognitive-behavioral specialists every day for months on end.

And slowly, I started to get better.

A new chapter

I knew I was ready to return to work when I started cleaning the house. I’m a clean person, but cleaning my house? Nah. Not if I can help it.

After having cleaned all those disgusting hotel rooms that reeked of damp ski boots and sweaty thermal underpants when I was younger, I now develop hives just looking at a vacuum.

So when I found myself timing how long the cordless Dyson could last before charges and scrubbing the front of my kitchen cabinets, I knew it was a sign that I needed to change things in my life. I was so bored I was actually cleaning, so it was probably time to return to work.

But I couldn’t stomach going back to the old work.

The fun stuff was, well, fun. But it was time to try and find real meaning in my work again.

For me, that meant making the world a better place than before. I wanted to do something that tipped the world’s scales towards good.

I was never going to be the person who cured cancer. I did pretty well at high school biology, but still, I reasoned, my biggest impact was probably going to be in an area I knew more about.

I knew words.

So, I started writing for people. When someone had a good idea but crappy writing skills, I wrote for them. I put their idea on the page, so they could share it with others.

I started writing blog posts for business folks who had something to say but no time, energy, or writing finesse to do it themselves.

And man, I was good.

I know it’s not considered “polite” to toot your own horn, but toot toot. I was good, and I was proud of it. I could take people’s rambling thoughts and passions and jumbled ideas, and translate them into engaging, exciting writing that would actually impact its readers.

Zoning in

As my confidence grew, I expanded from writing blog posts to ghostwriting books.

I always loved books, and now, I loved the space they afforded for authors to express themselves on a profound level—with a bit of help from yours truly.

I felt like there wasn’t much I could do myself to tip the world’s scales towards good, but I saw others who were doing incredible things. And I could help them share their work. I could help spread their message. 

There are a lot of people with important stuff to share who aren’t skilled at writing. Or, more specifically, they aren’t that skilled at writing a book, because a great book is a complex art form that requires skill and experience to craft well.

I ghostwrote for incredible authors who encouraged their readers to be stronger business owners, more present parents, prouder people, more loving leaders, and better world citizens.

As I wrote more than 14 books, I discovered my passion was really in helping people identify their message, speak up, and use their voice to make the world a better place.

That was my superhero skill.

It didn’t matter if I was doing the actual writing. I could save a scrappy book idea by coaching an author through the heart of the matter.

Today, I’m an editor, book coach, and ghostwriter. I help people who want to write a book they know will inspire others, but are stuck trying to get the words on the page.

I fly in like Lois Lane and Superman combined, notebook and superhero skills in hand, ready to save great book ideas.

Because that little idea someone has for a book? The idea they think might be good but can’t quite nail on their own?

That might be the most meaningful thing they can share with the world.

And it means something that I can help them do that.

Let’s connect

I would love to hear what’s meaningful to you. What idea do you have for a book that might mean something to someone?

Send me an email or click here to find out more about working together.