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A Little Bit Wicked
Every voice is a collaboration. Some are just honest about it.
In 2009, Touchstone Books published
A Little Bit Wicked: Life, Love, and Faith in Stages
, a mem-
oir by Kristin Chenoweth, written with Joni Rodgers. The byline mattered to anyone who
knew the ghostwriting trade: “with” is the industry’s formal applause, the credit publishing
gives to collaborators who have done something far beyond transcription.
Chenoweth was, by then, one of the most recognizable performers in American musical the-
ater: a Tony winner for
You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown
, the original Glinda in
Wicked
, and a
beloved presence on stage and screen. Her memoir required a writer who could capture a
voice as distinctive as her soprano — the Oklahoma drawl, the church-girl sincerity, the vault-
ing ambition, the teasing wickedness her fans adored. It required, too, a writer willing to
spend long hours in a kind of literary thievery: listening, recording, asking, and finally weav-
ing someone else’s memories into a seamless first-person narrative.
Rodgers had the perfect résumé for the job. She had written a first-person memoir of shatter-
ing honesty; she knew how a life became a book. She also knew the difference — and the dif-
ficulty — of shaping a story that was not her own. In her own memoir, the truth was whatever
she chose to confess. In a celebrity collaboration, the truth belonged to someone else, with all
the complications of fame, family, and public image orbiting it.
The memoir that resulted was widely reviewed and climbed national bestseller lists, praised
for capturing a voice readers felt they already knew.
A Little Bit Wicked
told the story of a tiny
girl with a huge voice — adopted, devout, dazzled by music, driven to the top of a profession
that consumes most of the people who attempt it. It was by turns hilarious and wrenching,
and it sounded, on every page, exactly like Kristin Chenoweth. That is the highest compli-
ment available to a ghost: the reader never thinks of her.
For Rodgers, the project was a masterclass in the ethics of empathy — the discipline of disap-
pearing into another’s voice. She has spoken publicly about the strange intimacy of the
ghostwriter’s chair: the hours of confession, the trust, the responsibility of telling a public
person’s private history in their own tempo.
A Little Bit Wicked
cemented her reputation inside
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