From Trader Joe’s to Thought Leaders: How I Became the Ghostwriter Behind 100+ Books
“The shortest path to authority is author — and I’m the ghostwriter who makes that happen.”
I believe stories are the heartbeat of everything — of leadership, legacy, grief, growth, failure, faith. My life hasn’t just been about writing stories. It’s been about living them — through death and reinvention, through tech and art, through love and loss. Here’s mine.
For over three decades, I led massive tech teams, built multimillion-dollar systems, and ran operations at Trader Joe’s. But beneath the titles and responsibilities, I felt a pull — a calling to something deeper. After my wife passed away from lung disease, I didn’t become a writer overnight. I became a photographer first, searching for meaning behind the lens. It was only later that I answered the true call: to become a storyteller. Not just for myself — but for others who needed their stories told.
Over time, ghostwriting became more than a job — it became my calling. I’ve helped executives capture their wisdom, memoirists make peace with their past, and thought leaders step into the authority they didn’t know they had. With every book, I’ve seen how the right story can change a life, open a door, or even heal a wound.
I’ve now ghostwritten 52+ books and published 63 of my own, with topics ranging from cybersecurity and AI to memoirs, leadership, and science fiction. My clients have included senior tech executives, coaches, spiritual teachers, founders, and everyday people with extraordinary stories. Some wanted to build authority. Others just wanted to leave something behind for their families. All of them had something worth saying.
Before I was a writer, I was Director of Computer Operations at Trader Joe’s and before that the VP of two tech firms. I know the pressure of leadership, the language of business, and the need to be seen. That’s why I do what I do now — to help others translate their life experience into a book that actually matters.
In addition to ghostwriting, I host the podcast Leaders and Their Stories, where I sit down with founders, executives, creatives, and change-makers to explore the moments that shaped their lives. I’ve also appeared as a guest on dozens of shows — including The Chris Voss Show, which reaches over a million listeners — sharing insights about storytelling, leadership, and the writing process. If you’re curious, you can explore the full list of podcast appearances here.
📣 Featured On: The Chris Voss Show, The Entrepreneur Way, High-Performance Mindset, and more than 100 podcasts.
The Early Years: A Childhood of Curiosity, Books, and First Jobs
I was born into a complicated household—one marked by a tragic loss before I arrived. My older sister Debbie died as an infant under deeply troubling circumstances, and that shadow hung over my early life. I was born shortly afterward, just after my mother endured labor aboard a cargo plane returning from the Philippines. Raised in a military family, we often moved, eventually settling in San Bernardino, California. My father, a talented but troubled man, worked as a civil servant and graphic artist at Norton Air Force Base.
Books became my first escape. At five, I fell in love with an illustrated copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales (the original versions, not the watered down ones most people read today). My mother noticed and bought me an encyclopedia set—and eventually, against my protests, dragged me into a local library. That moment changed everything.
A kind librarian gave me a cookie and a tour, and suddenly, I found a world far bigger than the one I knew. From then on, I devoured books by the dozen (and a lot more cookies), tracking my reading with stickers on library art projects. I filled out dinosaurs, spaceships, and castles with reading badges and proudly taped them to my bedroom wall. I was especially enthralled with history books.
One day at a swap meet, I discovered science fiction. A magazine called Fantastic Stories introduced me to Jack Vance and the idea of a planet with only a narrow strip of habitable land (Narrow Land). I was hooked. Later, my grandmother’s storage boxes delivered Stranger in a Strange Land and The Astounding Science Fiction Anthology into my hands, and that cemented my love of genre fiction. I even gamed the Science Fiction Book Club system to collect as many books as possible. These stories taught me to imagine better worlds, stranger possibilities—and how to recognize the emotional arc of a tale.
My parents were entrepreneurial, too. My dad transitioned from civil service to art, launching an art gallery in the San Bernardino mountains. They sold wildlife prints and crafts, and although it wasn’t glamorous, it was honest work. I watched them turn their creativity into income, teaching me how art and business could blend—and how hard it was to make that work. I also learned how to observe the emotional tone behind a scene, whether it was a customer admiring a painting or an artist struggling with self-doubt.
At 17, I ghostwrote my first book. It wasn’t paid work, but it was meaningful—based on interviews and journals from my grandfather, a World War II POW. That project helped me understand the power of listening and preserving someone else’s voice. It laid the groundwork for what I’d later become.
An older friend, she must have been in her 70s, named Lola introduced me to the world of geology. From then on, I was fascinated by the wonders of continental drift, mountain building, mineralogy, and rock collecting. If things had gone differently, my path could have easily gone in this direction.
My first real job was as a night manager at a liquor store in Lake Arrowhead. My dad didn’t ask if I wanted a job—he said it was time. I was an introvert, more comfortable with books than people, but retail taught me how to handle difficult customers, keep calm under pressure, and navigate weird situations—including a run-in with local police over an underage sale I didn’t even know I’d made.
The owner, a gruff man who claimed to be a former Nazi U-boat captain, taught me the value of discipline—whether I wanted to learn it or not. Working under him taught me how to show up, even when I didn’t feel ready, and to adapt quickly in environments that were often chaotic or uncomfortable. It wasn’t glamorous, but it taught me something essential: I could handle whatever came my way. That resilience still serves me today as a ghostwriter tackling life stories filled with trauma, triumph, and transformation.
Looking back, my early years were filled with stories—ones I read, ones I heard, and ones I lived. Those stories shaped me. They taught me how to listen, how to work, and how to find clarity even when life was messy. And now, I bring those same instincts to every book I help someone else tell.
From Code to Creativity
Before I became known as The Writing King, I was knee-deep in systems—not just ideas or metaphors, but actual enterprise-grade infrastructure. My career began in the trenches of technology, back when assembly language meant literally telling computers what to do, byte by byte. I rose through the ranks, eventually becoming Director of Computer Operations and Technical Services for Trader Joe’s.
That role wasn’t just about making things run; it was about keeping a multi-billion-dollar operation ticking 24/7—supporting everything from supply chain logistics to HR systems, cybersecurity, merchandising software, and national data centers. I built and led disaster recovery operations, juggled Oracle, SAP, and SQL environments, and managed production infrastructure across coast-to-coast teams.
You don’t walk out of that world without absorbing some very sharp tools. Underneath the jargon and the deadlines was a mindset I’ve carried forward into ghostwriting: the ability to bring structure to chaos. At Trader Joe’s, I was the architect of the unseen—a systems whisperer who kept things flowing even when the clock struck panic. That same skill translates remarkably well into crafting books. A manuscript might begin as a pile of disjointed ideas, disconnected anecdotes, and passionate rants—but give me time, and I’ll build you a compelling, well-structured narrative that works from start to finish.
What surprises people are how engineering and ghostwriting share so much DNA. Writing a book isn’t just about creativity. It’s about systems thinking—decoding the blueprint of someone’s life or message, identifying which stories matter, and laying them out in a way that others can follow and feel moved by. When I ghostwrite, I don’t just play with language. I reverse-engineer your expertise, build an outline that actually functions, and ensure that every chapter connects emotionally and logically with your reader. I don’t just write books. I design experiences.
But there’s another piece most overlook: the human side of tech. In IT, especially at the executive level, listening isn’t a soft skill—it’s survival. Mishear a problem, and you could take down payroll or lose a data center. That taught me how to listen with precision, empathy, and humility—skills that became the bedrock of my ghostwriting process. Today, when a client tells me, “I’m not sure how to say this,” I don’t rush in with clever phrasing. I pause. I ask the right questions. I listen for what they’re really trying to say beneath the surface. And then we build from there.
The years I spent managing networks, SCADA systems (supervisory control and data acquisition for water utilities like Las Vegas Valley, New Haven, and Ojai, CA), and engineering teams shaped me into a ghostwriter who thinks holistically. I understand pressure. I respect deadlines. And I know how to make the complex feel elegant. Whether I’m ghostwriting a thought leadership book for a CEO, crafting a platform-building memoir for a high-profile coach, or helping a public figure shape their origin story, I bring not only creativity—but discipline, structure, and clarity forged in fire.
Ghostwriting isn’t just about writing. It’s about translating a human being into a message that lands. And tech gave me the lens to do that—methodically, respectfully, and with impact. Every book I ghostwrite now benefits from the same structured problem-solving I used to build backup systems and defragment hard drives. And the kicker? It’s just as rewarding.
Love, Loss, and the Woman Who Changed My Life
During one unforgettable chapter of my life, I met Claudia—an extraordinary woman with a spark that cut through the noise. We met at church, and on our third date (at the ultra-romantic Wendy’s), I proposed.
“You’re kidding,” she said.
“Nope. Let’s do it today.”
She called my bluff. We tried to pull off an impromptu wedding, but two of my best friends objected mid-ceremony. (“They don’t even know each other!”) The wedding was called off—temporarily. Two days later, after some well-earned groveling, we rescheduled a beautiful potluck wedding surrounded by friends, food, and more than a little laughter.
Our marriage was filled with love, challenge, and deep companionship. Claudia lived with chronic illness—years of pain, multiple comas, and a fierce fight against opioid addiction and lung disease. Through it all, she remained vibrant, funny, and unshakably strong. When she passed away in 2005, the grief nearly broke me. But loving her shaped who I am. It deepened my empathy, anchored my faith, and ultimately inspired me to help others tell their stories before it’s too late.
A Life Framed Through the Lens
After my wife passed away, I found myself face-to-face with grief—and I didn’t like what I saw. Grief is silent, sneaky, and stubborn. It doesn’t knock before it enters. It lingers long after you think you’ve shown it the door. In the middle of all that stillness and sorrow, I reached for something to help me make sense of the noise inside. I picked up a camera—not to escape the pain, but to look through it. To frame the world differently. To see what was still worth noticing.
That camera led me down a rabbit hole of color, laughter, and community. I didn’t start small. I began by visiting every state and national part I could find, including Anza-Borrego Desert State Park. I jumped headfirst into Renaissance faires, photographing more than 300 across the country. Somewhere along the way, I became known as “the Renfaireguy”—a familiar face in a sea of chain mail, velvet, and fairy wings. My work was eventually featured in “The Original Renaissance Pleasure Faire Fiftieth Jubilee” hardcover coffee table book, but it wasn’t the recognition that brought me back year after year. It was the people. The raw joy. The vulnerability. The sense that everyone, no matter how eccentric or outrageous, belonged.
Southern California’s belly dance community adopted me next. I became their unofficial court photographer, capturing swirling veils, powerful solos, and the glittering chaos backstage. But this wasn’t just about beautiful shots—I helped dancers organize charity shows to fund shelters for battered women and other causes, using my camera to support work that mattered. My Renaissance Festival photography even found new life in sets of tarot cards, proving that art has a way of finding unexpected purposes.
From supermodels to WWE wrestlers, from historical reenactors to intimate one-on-one shoots, I became a trusted eye behind the lens. Then came the mermaids. I was honored to be a photographer for the First Annual Mermaid Convention and World Mermaid Awards at the Silverton Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. Hundreds of tails, crowns, shells, and shimmering personalities flooded the space, and I got to preserve the magic of it all. I also got some large tattoos on my upper arms.
When I write your book, I’m not typing words onto a page. I’m framing your essence the way I would frame a perfect shot—true to light, color, and meaning.
But that wasn’t the only kind of magic I sought out. For years, I photographed the world-famous Rose Parade—arriving at 3 a.m. in freezing temperatures, camera in hand, fingers barely working. One year, I braved icy rain just to capture that moment when sunlight kissed a float for the first time.
I’ve also chronicled the stunning surrealism of the Labyrinth of Jareth Masquerade Ball in Hollywood, with its Venetian masks, cloaks, and whispers of old-world enchantment. And yes, I’ve worked vampire balls. Picture a waltz between the romantic and the gothic, fangs optional but highly encouraged. Each event brought new stories, new faces, and a deeper understanding of the human need to be seen.
And here’s the unexpected twist: all of this made me a better ghostwriter.
Photography isn’t just about seeing—it’s about noticing. It’s about reading between the shadows, catching a breath before it becomes a laugh, or recognizing grief before it has a name. When I ghostwrite, I use those same muscles. I listen to what’s being said—and what isn’t. I track the emotional currents running beneath a client’s story. I sense when they’re holding back, or when they’ve accidentally stumbled onto the heart of their message.
It also rewired how I connect. I used to be shy. Painfully shy. But the camera gave me a reason to talk to strangers—and a way to listen. Over time, that transformed how I interview my clients. I approach every conversation with the same presence and attention I once used to photograph dancers mid-spin or a merman floating beneath casino lights. It’s not just about capturing what’s there. It’s about honoring it, shaping it, and helping someone feel truly seen.
Leading with Integrity: From Tech Teams to Human Stories
Long before I ever wrote a book, I led people—through crises, through growth, through high-stakes transformations that didn’t have a roadmap. As a Vice President at multiple tech firms and Director of Computer Operations and Technical Services at Trader Joe’s, I didn’t just manage infrastructure. I managed people—engineers, support staff, cybersecurity experts, and project managers. I led teams that were diverse, often under pressure, and always vital to the success of billion-dollar organizations.
But I didn’t just hire anyone. When I could, I sought out veterans—Marines, Special Forces, disciplined individuals who knew how to operate under extreme conditions and keep their heads in the fire. They didn’t flinch at pressure. They understood the mission. They showed up on time. Hiring vets wasn’t charity. It was smart business. I valued their resilience, their loyalty, and their grit—qualities I’ve carried with me into every ghostwriting project I take on.
That same sense of mission drove me outside the office too. For years, I quietly supported nonprofit dance events that raised money for organizations helping women escape abuse. I didn’t do it for accolades. I did it because no one should have to endure oppression in silence.
I believe in human rights—not as a slogan, but as a personal, lived ethic. Every person has the right to safety, dignity, and the freedom to tell their story. That belief powers every memoir I ghostwrite, every trauma turned into triumph, every voice I help bring to the page.
Ghostwriting isn’t just about putting words on paper. It’s about building trust. And trust starts with integrity. That’s why I created a publicly available Code of Ethics for Ghostwriters on my site—because too many writers treat ghostwriting as transactional. I don’t. When you hand me your story, I treat it like sacred ground. I will protect your truth, honor your voice, and walk beside you—not ahead of you—as we build your book together.
That balance of operational leadership and personal conviction is my foundation. I understand timelines, pressure, and scope. I also understand heartbreak, resilience, and redemption. Whether I’m helping a celebrity capture a lifetime of reinvention, a coach distill their method, or an executive explain their mission, I bring the full force of lived experience, structured discipline, and deep respect for the human condition.
Words with Weight: Author, Ghostwriter, Story Midwife
I’ve written more than 100 books. That’s not a typo. Over fifty were ghostwritten for others—executives, coaches, celebrities, and changemakers with something powerful to say. A handful have become bestsellers. Some have landed TEDx talks. Others opened doors to funding rounds, keynote stages, or book deals. But here’s the thing: I didn’t write any of them for me. My role isn’t to shine—my role is to aim the spotlight at you, and make sure your story hits home.
But before I became The Writing King, I was just someone fascinated by the early web, hand-coding HTML at 2 AM and dreaming of what the internet could become. My path to mastering words actually started with mastering websites—a 25-year journey through digital disasters, hard-won victories, and the evolution of the web itself. It’s a story of persistence, learning from spectacular failures, and eventually finding my voice in both code and content.
When someone hands me their truth, I treat it like a living thing. It has a shape, a rhythm, a heartbeat. My job is to protect it, refine it, and bring it to life on the page without ever drowning out your voice. Ghostwriting is part storytelling, part therapy, part architecture. It’s asking the right questions, sensing what’s missing, and knowing when to push for the deeper truth. It’s knowing when to back off and when to dig in. And honestly? I love it. There’s nothing more rewarding than helping someone see their own story clearly for the first time.
Outside of client work, I write for myself too. I’m currently deep into a ten-book science fiction series called Peacekeeper—an epic saga that explores war, ethics, and identity in a crumbling galactic empire. It’s sweeping, character-driven, and full of moments where people have to choose between what’s easy and what’s right. I’m also working on a new anthology that explores the afterlife from different fictional perspectives—because death, like storytelling, wears many masks.
I’ve also created a series of writing courses—lessons forged from years in the trenches. These aren’t fluff-filled webinars or regurgitated listicles. They’re the kind of straight-talking, hard-earned wisdom I wish someone had handed me when I started. Writing is hard. Sharing your story is harder. But the right guide makes all the difference. And that’s what I try to be.
To me, words aren’t decoration. They’re power tools. They heal, ignite, persuade, and preserve. They reveal what matters. And whether I’m ghostwriting a memoir or crafting space opera, my goal is the same: to tell stories that matter—and to help others find the courage and clarity to tell their own.
Imagination, Miniatures, and the Joy of Play
When I’m not ghostwriting books or managing publishing timelines, you’ll probably find me surrounded by tanks, starships, or dragons—on my workbench, or teasing my cat. I build model kits for fun: tanks from every era, World War II planes, pirate ships, and cars that look like they were designed by a caffeinated mad scientist.
I also paint pewter fantasy miniatures—think knights, necromancers, dwarves with attitude. There’s something deeply meditative about bringing those tiny figures to life, one brushstroke at a time. It’s storytelling in three dimensions.
This isn’t just a hobby—it’s a way of sharpening my creative instincts. When you’re constructing a replica battleship, every detail matters. When you’re shading a wizard’s cloak, you think about light and movement. That attention to small things? It bleeds into my writing. The way a character tilts their head. The exact pacing of a revelation. The feel of a paragraph that just clicks. I believe craft matters. Whether I’m writing a memoir or assembling a Klingon Bird-of-Prey, I’m building something that will outlast the moment.
Pop culture shaped me, too. My bookshelf holds Dune, The Lord of the Rings, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*k, Game of Thrones, The Eternal Champion series, and most of Larry Niven’s Known Space saga. Michael Moorcock and Mike Resnick? Absolute favorites. On the screen, I was raised on Star Trek: The Original Series, Deep Space Nine, The Expanse, The Godfather, and Invader Zim (yes, really). I love 2D Disney classics and phase-one Marvel—before it all went off the rails. Even Rugrats and Looney Tunes have a place in my heart. Why? Because even cartoons can carry profound truths—if you’re paying attention.
All of this feeds my creativity and expands my empathy. Sci-fi and fantasy are more than escapism. They’re playgrounds for moral complexity, strange beauty, and deep emotional stakes. The best speculative fiction gives us alternate mirrors for our own world—and that’s what great ghostwriting does, too. It takes your story, holds it up to the light, and helps others see their own lives in the reflection.
At the end of the day, I’m a builder. Of books. Of battleships. Of tiny painted elves with oversized swords. And every build, whether made of plastic or prose, teaches me something new about patience, detail, and meaning.
The Ethics of Storytelling, the Heart of a Human
At the center of everything I do—whether it’s crafting a memoir, helping a CEO shape their brand story, or deciding whether to include that spicy anecdote about a Vegas investor—is one simple rule: treat the story like it matters. Because it does. Storytelling is power.
It shapes reputations, legacies, and sometimes, even lives. That’s why I live by the Ghostwriter’s Code of Ethics, which I wrote and proudly post on my website. Ghostwriting isn’t about puppeteering someone else’s voice. It’s about stewardship. I don’t write for people—I write as them. That responsibility is sacred.
I’m also a firm believer in human rights—not the buzzword version, but the lived, day-to-day kind. That means respecting people’s autonomy over their own stories. It means helping them write through trauma without re-exploiting themselves. It means honoring their identities, complexities, and contradictions.
When a client opens up about addiction, grief, betrayal, reinvention—I’m there to hold space, not judge. I’ve ghostwritten for survivors, whistleblowers, C-suite execs, and ordinary people with extraordinary journeys. My job is to reflect their truth back to them in a way that empowers, not distorts.
That belief in dignity isn’t theoretical. I’ve backed it with my time and wallet—like when I sponsored dance events to support organizations helping battered women escape abusive environments. Or when I deliberately hired consultants who were veterans—Marines and Special Forces guys—because I learned early on: they show up, do the work, and carry their weight without drama. Integrity and accountability mean everything to me. In tech, those values kept data centers running. In ghostwriting, they build trust—and trust is what great books are built on.
Now, let’s talk about the four-legged family. I live with a cat named Zeya, who—like most cats—believes she owns the place. Before her, there was Buttercup, Midnight, Tabby, and a surprisingly charismatic rabbit named Fluffy. Each one reminded me that life is short, naps are sacred, and sometimes you’ve just got to chase the laser pointer. Pets keep you grounded. They’re a reminder that you can be brilliant and still forget where you put the tuna.
These days, I wake up not just to write—but to listen. To explore. To help someone, somewhere, finally see their story take shape on the page. It’s not flashy. It’s not about me. It’s about crafting a book that’s so aligned with the soul of its author that readers can feel it. That’s the kind of work I live for.
Why I Do This Work
I don’t ghostwrite because it’s glamorous. I do it because it’s necessary. In a world that scrolls past nuance, real stories matter more than ever. There are too many brilliant people out there—executives, coaches, creatives, survivors, inventors—whose voices get lost in the noise. Some are quiet by nature. Some are too busy leading empires or healing others to stop and write. Others don’t believe their stories are worth telling. They are. Every single one.
Ghostwriting, for me, is about service. I’m not chasing attention. I’m helping others earn it—for the right reasons. I help people shape books that outlive trends, outshine vanity metrics, and outlast the competition. Books that become springboards to TED talks, media coverage, six-figure client pipelines, and generational impact. That’s not hype—that’s just the quiet ROI of telling your story with courage, clarity, and craft.
And yes, I still write my own books too. I’m deep into Peacekeeper, a ten-book sci-fi series that merges strategy, empathy, and human resilience—plus a darkly beautiful anthology exploring different versions of the afterlife. I’ve written courses on writing. Built websites. Helped launch empires and unpack traumas. I build. I document. I preserve. Because I believe every life is a library, and most people never get a chance to shelve their best work. I’m here to change that.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. That means you care about stories—and maybe you’ve got one of your own. When you’re ready, I’m here. Not just to write for you. To write as you. And to do it with everything I’ve got.
My life has been a long, winding story — filled with grief, reinvention, and unexpected beauty. Now I help others tell theirs.
Want more interesting facts about me? I listed 87 or more of them here.