Ghosts in the Machine: Story Producing in the Doc World

“We shape the story, then disappear.”

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while.

I’ve been lucky. I’ve worked with some of the best-known documentary directors on big, fascinating, important stories. The work has been good to me—both creatively fulfilling and reasonably well-compensated. I’ve had the privilege of working alongside the best crews and post teams in the business. Every project has taught me something new.

But here’s the truth: I’m a ghost.

The Ghost Visits Death Row in Oklahoma

What a Story Producer Actually Does

Here’s how it usually works: I get hired by a director or production company. Sometimes I help develop a series from the ground up. Sometimes I run the story on one episode. Sometimes I oversee an entire season.

Story producing isn’t just pulling sound bites.

It’s research.

It’s writing treatments.

It’s finding subjects.

It’s carrying their stories.

I’m the one the subjects text when something happens. The one who knows their kids’ names. The one they trust. Sometimes they meet the director. Sometimes they never do.

If it’s a director-driven project, I also plan the shoot days, manage the crew, and draft the interview questions—then hand it over for the director to “direct.” Other times, when the director’s busy with another project, I’m the one tasked with getting the story. I’ve even fielded calls from distributors asking if the director was actually on set.

By that point, I usually know the story better than anyone. Better than the director. That’s not bragging—it’s just proximity. And honestly, I’d welcome some company. But sometimes directors feel protective, even jealous, that I know too much about “their” story.

It’s a delicate dance.

The Edit Room

Then comes the edit—where things really get interesting.

Often, I’m the middle manager between director and editor. Some editors welcome me in. Others roll their eyes. Either way, we’re on deadline, and here’s the reality: most editors on big projects don’t have the time to watch all the footage.

So I step in.

I script episodes.

I paper-edit scenes.

I dig for the gold hidden in hours of footage.

I fight for the editor to have time to do their best work—but I also push them to stop experimenting and get a cut together.

Most days, I’m their main point of contact. And though few will ever say it out loud, I’m shaping the story. Because at the end of the day, I’m the stronger writer.

Some editors resent that. They’ll remind me: you’re not the director. Fair enough. But with no director in the room, somebody has to move things forward. My approach is simple:

“I’ll get us 90 percent there. You add the grace notes.”

The best directors dive into this messy stage with us. More often, they delegate. And that’s fine.

And honestly? Being in charge of the story—that’s heaven.

And Then I Vanish

But then—right around the fine cut—I disappear.

I rarely stick around to deliver the final cut. Or to supervise the online (which I love). Or to manage fact-checking and legal. Sometimes I get called back to help prep a director for media interviews. Occasionally, they’ll acknowledge my contributions.

Usually, they don’t.

That’s the nature of the job. Story producers are essential, but best kept invisible.

We fade. We recede. We’re ghosts.

Ghost Work

We’re not in the DGA. Not in the PGA. Not in the WGA. I’ve asked. They don’t know what to do with us. Which means: no union protection, no residuals, no festival invites.

Our names get tucked away in the end credits. Never the open.

And there are a lot of us. Quietly doing the day-to-day story work because the directors—understandably—don’t have the bandwidth.

These projects wouldn’t exist without their reputations.But they also wouldn’t exist without us.

Why Say This Out Loud?

So why write this?

Not to bite the hand that feeds me. I’m grateful for the work.

But also—let’s be honest. Union representation isn’t coming. Residuals aren’t coming. Credit won’t magically appear. And yet, the work is real. Essential. Invisible.

I do produce and direct my own films. I mentor others where I can. I reach out to colleagues who live in this same in-between space. And I know there are many more out there.

We all know the deal.

We’re the ghosts. Boo.