✍️ “I didn’t need another fancy degree to be qualified to do my soul’s work.” [GuestStack Personal Essay]

When her ghostwriting client died unexpectedly, Rachel made a life-changing decision.

Sep 04, 2025

✍️ From the Editor: When a Book Changes Both of You

As ghostwriters, we know the impact a book can have — not just on the person whose name is on the cover, but on us, too. We carry these stories. We shape them. And sometimes, they shape us right back.

That’s what struck me about Rachel’s essay. It’s a reminder that ghostwriting is more than just a service — it’s soul work. The kind that lingers long after the manuscript is finished.

This piece captures the quiet, life-altering moments that can happen when you help someone tell their story — and what it means when they’re no longer here to tell it themselves.

Rachel’s client changed her life. And her words in this piece just might change yours.

-Amy Suto

Editor & Curator of GuestStack

📚 Personal Essay: My Soul’s Work

written by Rachel Warmath

I was up early, working on accounting homework, when I got the news. I had just gotten back from a walk. It was a crisp autumn morning in Salt Lake City—the kind where you can see your breath and the leaves are starting to turn. I returned home from my usual creek loop feeling energized by the brisk air and beautiful colors.

I threw off my jacket, grabbed my mug of coffee, and sat down at my cluttered desk. I wanted to dive into the math assignment for my MBA program while I had the motivation. As I waited for the online quiz page to load, I clicked over to social media for a quick scroll. And then I saw the announcement. My hands went cold.

My ghostwriting client—he had passed away.

What? He’s gone?

My mind started to spin as I thought about our conversations: his childhood, his years as an NFL player, how his career path led him to become a prison guard and later an elite fitness coach. We had collaborated two years prior on his book. The stories in it traced how he had turned his deepest struggles into strength. Now he had passed away unexpectedly of a heart condition.

After everything he'd endured and overcome, it seemed impossibly cruel that his story would end too soon.

My chest felt heavy. Yet even in that moment of sadness, I felt a stirring—a sense of purpose. I imagined his family and friends turning the pages of the book, searching for his humor and wisdom. I picked up my phone to text his daughter who had been heavily involved in the project. My mind flashed to the dedication page of his book, how he had listed his wife’s name and all of the names of his children, including hers. I thought of how a dedication page shows us what really matters in life.

My words didn’t feel like enough (how could any words capture this loss?) but I sent them anyway: I’m devastated for you and your family. I’m sending so much love your way.

Her response came quickly and that’s when I started to cry.

I'll always be so grateful that he got to publish his book. He truly loved working with you. You made a difference.

Something clicked. It was then that I knew: I needed to quit the MBA program.

Being in classes felt stressful and confusing. The anxiety was ramping up in my body. Those words you made a difference dropped me back into my heart. I didn't need another fancy degree to be qualified to do my soul's work. I knew in my bones I was already where I needed to be. Writing.

I tuned in to his funeral through Zoom and watched in awe as countless people lined up to pay their respects. Messages poured in from lives he had touched. I drafted my message to the MBA program director that same day.

In quitting, I remembered my client’s courage. I re-aligned with my values. My passion. Suddenly creativity poured through me in ways I hadn't experienced in years. I stopped holding myself back.

Now, when I take that same creek loop on autumn mornings, I think of him. How death often reminds us what it means to be alive. How sometimes the most courageous thing we can do is let go of the path we thought we wanted.

What a gift it is to finally be walking the one that was calling me all along.