The executive whisperer
I have a thought leadership client who has a general theme for an article every month. They’ll send me a lot of different material for background: a Word document of some notes and thoughts, a transcript of another interview. We also talk on the phone about each article for maybe 20 minutes so I can ask more specific questions and figure out the exact angle or main point they want to make.
We’ve worked together long enough that they trust me to suss out their point of view. Originally, we had a more structured approach, as I do with all my thought leadership clients. However, over time, we’ve been able to make some shortcuts as I grow familiar with their thought processes and they understand my abilities.
I’m even able to infer additional ideas that add value. For instance, in a section on mergers and partnerships between large and small companies in their industry, I added the point that both benefit: the smaller firms get additional resources and the bigger ones get the cachet of working with a more agile company known for innovation.
Over the years, I’ve started thinking of myself as “the executive whisperer.” Our ideas can be a whirlwind of chaos in our minds. Even narratives that seem clear-cut in our heads get muddled when we try to write them down.
My job as a writer is to corral and translate those untamed notions and theories into a structured narrative. I serve as a conduit not just to communicate their opinions and ideas, but to inspire and elicit additional connections and deeper insights. I’m more than a ghostwriter—I’m a partner helping to clarify and translate their thoughts into something meaningful and memorable.
I don’t always agree with the points my clients are making or their opinions. Occasionally I do push back if I think something will be awkward or unnecessary, or I suggest a more elegant solution. Because that’s my job: writing what they want to say in a way that’s clear and compelling.
I’ve been thinking about how I do all this, and it’s difficult because the process so intuitive for me. As a journalist in my former life, I developed skills in asking probing questions that go below the surface to generate original answers. I also am good at seeing interesting themes and patterns and knowing which ones can support a strong narrative. And I have an innate sense for word choice and the cadence of sentences, which can make all the difference between a dry, flavorless article readers skim and one they end up spending some time with—and remembering.
The truth is, this kind of work can't be easily replicated by a formula or checklist—or even AI. It requires something more elusive: the ability to listen not just to what someone says, but to what they mean. To recognize the difference between a tangential anecdote and the core insight that deserves center stage. To follow up on seeming non sequiturs to uncover a fascinating new angle. To know when to preserve someone's authentic voice and when to smooth out the rough edges that would distract from their message.
This is the craft I've spent years honing—not just writing words, but understanding minds. It's about building enough trust that a client can send me scattered notes and a rambling phone conversation, confident that I'll return with something that sounds unmistakably like them, only clearer and more compelling than they could have articulated alone.
When that Word document comes back to them, polished and purposeful, they should recognize their thinking immediately. But they should also feel that slight thrill of seeing their ideas articulated better than they imagined—insights sharpened, connections strengthened, arguments that finally land the way they always hoped they would.
That's when I know I've done my job. Not when I've imposed my own voice or agenda, but when I've amplified theirs. When I've taken the tornado of half-formed thoughts and ideas and shaped it into something that doesn't just communicate—it resonates.
Could I dump all of the notes into an AI and hope for the best? Yes, but figuring out how to tell the story is often the most fun part of writing. Why would I want to outsource that?