Category: Writing as a Team

Two people writing as a team can have advantages over soloist authors. But to have a fruitful writing partnership we must adopt a process that utilizes our strengths, and we need a relationship that’s strong enough to support the endeavor. Here’s where we explore the matter from various angles.

Editing With a Partner

Once the fun of writing is out of the way it’s time to edit, and that’s another case where having a writing partner can be extremely helpful. You got yourselves into this mess, now you can work together to get yourselves out.

It’s sort of like having a child. The creation is the fun part. Once it’s there you both need to parent, and everyone will be happier if you’re on the same side.

We like to let a manuscript rest for awhile after the first draft is complete before we get into the editing process, to be able to see it with fresh eyes. When we do pick it up again, we start with a full read-through. On this first pass we mark major problems (plot holes, bad dialog, overexplaining or underexplaining) and any typos that we happen to catch, but we save the line-editing for later.

After each chapter we have a quick (and sometimes not so quick) conversation about what we’ve noticed. The goal is not to fix the problems on the spot, just to make each other aware of concerns so we can pay attention to them going forward.

A writer working on his or her own lacks the built-in sounding board a collaborator provides. The author might sense that there’s something wrong with a passage, but without a coauthor steeped in the minutia of the project to discuss it with, might be unable to diagnose the problem.

You do need to be careful, though, not to talk each other out of necessary edits. We’ll talk about that more in a future post.

Once the first read-through is done, it’s time to start working on those edits. Don’t worry, as you get in and start making changes, you’ll find a million other things to tweak and finesse. It’s fun! Honest!

If you were working on your own you’d be responsible for everything, but since you’re smart and have a writing partner, you can share the load. You can break it down by chapter if you like, or you can make assignments a different way. Set one partner to beefing up character descriptions and the other to improving dialog.

In our edits we’re currently dealing with the fallout of my darling partner deciding that the ending was too abrupt. This derailed all other work while we had lengthy brainstorming sessions and walked laps around the neighborhood, getting some exercise while we confused any eavesdropping neighbors with our cryptic conversational shorthand. We’re coming out the other side of that quagmire now, and I have to admit the finished product is going to be better for it.

Thanks, writing partner!

Tales From the Dark Side

So far we’ve done nothing but extoll the virtues of writing collaborations. But surely it’s not all rainbow muffins and puppy baskets, right? If you’re used to thinking of writing as a solitary pursuit, shifting gears to work with a partner can be jarring. If you’ve chosen the right partner, the adjustment period should pass rather quickly. But for people who just aren’t compatible, working together will always seem hard.

The major obstacle to a successful writing partnership is the need for compromise. You and your partner have to agree. About everything. Perhaps that should more accurately be stated as you and your partner have to be able to come to an agreement about everything. It’s highly unlikely that you will be in complete concordance from the get-go on every issue, so the two of you need to be able to work together to make the finished product the best it can be.

There’s no one piece of advice that covers how to successfully compromise. You will each need to yield a bit sometimes, but that’s not always how to make the writing better. Sometimes you need to take a stand and persuade your partner to do things your way. The trick is finding the right balance of give and take, and doing them at the right times.

These moments of conflict can occur at any phase of a project, and on any level of detail. You need to agree on the big picture, and even something as fundamental as genre might create a snag. The story’s overall structure, point of view, and pacing need to come together seamlessly to create a unified voice. Right down to the nitty gritty of line editing and word picks, you and your partner will not always want the same things, but only if you can compromise is any of it going to work.

The need for skillful compromise is perhaps the most fundamental difference between working solo and with a partner, but there are other pitfalls to beware. There are logistical considerations, like schedules and file formats. How will you decide whose name comes first on the cover? (We suggest sharing a non de plume.) Many of the same things that are strengths in a healthy collaboration can become sources of trouble if you’re not careful. We can’t tell you how to resolve these conflicts, we can just warn you that you’re going to have to.

From time to time we’ll revisit the Dark Side of collaboration, and delve into these hazards in a bit more detail.

 

Collaboration = Synergy

One of the more important benefits of writing with a partner is that together you can be more than the sum of your parts. This applies to various aspects of the process, and shows up in unexpected ways.

Some days it’s hard to get motivated, and if you work alone then there’s nobody to help you out with that. But as long as you don’t want to let your partner down, you can find it in yourself to do the work. Put another way, if your partner is pushy enough you work out of self-defense.

It’s like cycling: two riders are faster than one. They can take turns going first, which lets one of them ride in the slipstream where it takes less energy. Racers know that when you lunge out on your own you’ll be reeled back in eventually, because you have to work harder to maintain the same pace.

It’s also more efficient in other ways. You can each take on the parts of the project that you’re best at, which means they get done quicker. Stuff that would have you stumped for days, or that you just can’t get excited to tackle, might be just what your partner is hungry for. When your plot becomes a riddle even for you, it’s nice to have someone as a sounding board. Come editing time you have two sets of eyes to spot typos or grammar errors, and you have two brains to problem-solve larger issues.

Our critique group members always compliment us on how clean our first drafts are. The secret is, they’re not really first drafts. It’s more like version 1.5. At the end of each writing session we share with each other what we’ve accomplished, and immediately flag problems or concerns. This leads to on-the-spot troubleshooting and the “first” draft benefits immensely. A million little course corrections along the way make for a better final product, one that is closer to the visualized ideal.

It takes time to develop a smooth-running collaboration. You and your partner won’t mesh seamlessly, especially in the beginning. It takes mutual respect and dedication to make it work, but it is definitely worth it. Two heads are definitely better than one. In a thriving collaboration, they’re often more than twice as good!

The Pseudonym

I want to get business cards printed up that say:

Rune Skelley
Pseudonym

We would hand them out at writing conferences, of course, but also drop them in the drawings that restaurants have for free lunches. The thought of someone drawing that card and wondering about it makes me smile.

Why a pseudonym? It’s not that we are wanted fugitives or anything like that, it’s just that we want to have a single composite identity that represents our work. Our novels and short stories are not “by Jen” or “by Kent” or even “by Jen and Kent.” We work very hard at cultivating a shared writing voice that is not simply a combination of His and Hers. It’s almost like the Rune Skelley voice is a child and, individually, Jen’s Voice and Kent’s Voice are the parents. On our own neither of us can entirely capture the je ne sais quoi of Rune Skelley, and we wanted a nom de plume that embodied that.

Our peculiar belief in the genetics of authorship led us to immediately rule out “Jen Lastname and Kent Lastname,” as well as “Jen and Kent Lastname.” We considered “JK Lastname,” but JK Rowling pretty much screwed us on that option. And we both feel that KJ is an awkward combination of initials. Apologies to all you KJs out there!

We dismissed “Jennifer Kent” and “Kent Jennifer” because we decided we preferred a gender-ambiguous name.

After much discussion and many lists we hit upon “Rune Skelley.” We like it because it’s unusual, but not too weird. The name Rune evokes writing in its earliest form. Skelley, according to some baby name book or other, means Storyteller. Put them together and you have something that’s memorable and easier to pronounce than our real last name.

We originally planned to keep our true identities a secret, even the fact that there are two of us. That doesn’t work very well with book tours and speaking engagements, though, so we have finally settled where we are now: Hey, world, there are two of us. We write together. Pretty cool, huh?

If we ever decide to write epic fantasy we will call ourselves Rune RR Skelley.

Sharing a Voice

A common remark about our work is that it feels seamless. Our fellow writers express surprise at being unable to pick out which parts Kent wrote and which parts Jen wrote. This is an important element of our partnership, and it’s not something that happens by accident.

Maintaining this common voice requires attention at all stages of the process. It falls out more naturally in the early steps, because we typically work together when developing story concepts and outlining a plot. Once we have the scene list, we break that down so that we each get approximately half, and for the next little while we tend to be working individually more often than not.

Composing separately allows us to generate a draft in half the time, but if we’re not careful it could also allow us to run into big problems. If our interpretations of the target voice aren’t alike, the scenes might not mesh. So we keep each other updated on our progress, and we critique the scenes as they’re written. This keeps us from straying in different stylistic directions, although after working as a team for a few years we can “do the voice” automatically at this point.

Revision is when we do most of the blending. Jen works the scenes that are a little too Kent, and vice-versa, so we don’t leave any loose edges for the reader to trip on. The objective isn’t to take out each partner’s individual flair, but to make sure the combined effect is fluid and harmonious throughout. Sometimes that does require toning certain things down, but only if they were genuinely overdone in the first place.

For example, Kent has a proclivity for ostentatious word usage. Not just trotting out the expensive words like “proclivity,” but also a perverse drive to exploit the most arcane connotations of familiar words. A useful skill for an author, but also a really effective way to limit readership if it’s not managed. And, if it cropped up at seemingly random times it could easily feel like another story invading. Rather than removing all of the fancy verbiage, we make sure it’s evenly represented (at a reasonable level) throughout.

There’s a lot more we could say about this aspect of a writing partnership. After all, being able to work well with each other doesn’t matter if your results feel cobbled-together. So we’ll be revisiting this in future posts.

 

Sharing the Load with A Writing Partner

Last night was an interesting case in our collaboration workflow.

We’re revising the first draft of our third novel, after poring over all the marked-up copies from our critique group and also doing a fresh read-through of our own. The result is that we have about one hundred significant notes marked throughout the manuscript (Along with another couple hundred picky mechanical things).

This book is the last of a trilogy, which means it relies on knowledge from the first two. In an ideal world it would stand on its own, but this is not an ideal world. The need for recap and reminders about previous events applies somewhat in any sizable work, but it’s especially important to manage it well when the information spans more than one volume. Due to the somewhat unusual structure to our trilogy, this problem did not arise in volume 2, which makes this the first time we’ve had to attempt this delicate balance. Too much recap and the reader gets bored, too little and the reader gets lost.

So after flagging all the notes as “recap” or “other,” we discussed how to divvy up the load. One of the main advantages to working with a writing partner is that many hands make light work. With both collaborators working at the same time you can get done sooner. I proposed that I could take all the recaps, because it looked like roughly half of the work and it felt like there would be a mode to get into with it. My writing partner would tackle all the “other” stuff. My theory was there would be less shifting gears if all the recap-type stuff was given to the same person.

My partner was reluctant to embrace the idea, largely because this recapping is new territory for our collaboration. She was concerned that if I started out headed in the wrong direction I might get lost in some backwoods swamp of info-dumps and “as you know Bob.” We talked about it a bit more and came up with a plan that addressed the concerns. Because we don’t have an established model to follow, we agreed that I’d only do one to start off, and then we’d look it over and make sure we both liked the approach.

That first discussion did lead to some minor alterations, and the same thing happened with the next one. We’re finding the right groove, and soon I’ll be able to cook up batches of three or four at a time. Or, if she gets tired of hunting down minor plot inconsistencies and describing settings and character clothing in greater detail, we will be able to trade off assignments and maintain the level of stylistic consistency we need.

Huzzah for Outlines!

Some writers love outlines, some hate them, some simply acknowledge their usefulness. Whichever group you fall into when writing on your own, you’ll find that when you work with a writing partner, an outline is your new best friend.

There probably are successful collaborations that just wing it, but that way is inefficient. In order for both partners to write simultaneously, there needs to be an understanding of where the plot is going. An outline will be your guide, showing you where your scene should begin and where it should end so that it will mesh with the scene your partner is writing. The outline also helps you track your progress and manage your time (beneficial for a soloist, too). It helps you divvy up the work, because you can see which sections feature the elements that each partner has the right “touch” with.

A good friend of ours argues that outlining a story takes away all of the creativity and spontaneity. We say that’s just not true. An outline should only constrain your wildest impulses while still allowing you creative freedom. You know that your scene begins with your hero and heroine having breakfast at a diner and ends with one of them being kidnapped off the street. That leaves a lot of room in the middle for you to be as inventive as you want to be.

The conversations that lead up to the creation of the outline are where you get to go crazy. Brainstorm as many plot twists, character quirks, and complications as you want, then work with your writing partner to cull the best and shape them into a story you both love.

The level of detail in your outline will depend on the type of story you are writing, the number of characters you feature, and the needs of your collaboration. Don’t get hung up on formalities. There’s no reason to force your story into a traditional outline form, with roman numerals and multiple nested subsections. Do that if you want, or structure it more like a synopsis. It can be a series of short paragraphs, or one huge string of “and then this happens, and then this happens.” It can be as detailed or as sketchy as you and your writing partner want. The level of detail can even vary throughout. Perhaps there’s a big scene where you can picture in your mind exactly how everything happens. Go ahead and include all those delicious details in your outline. But if there’s a scene where all you know is that it gets your antagonist from Point A to Point B, that’s fine too. That’s where you (or your writing partner) will get to be creative later. And remember, you can always revise the outline as you write.

Choosing a Writing Partner, Part II: Compatibility

In the previous post, How to Choose a Writing Partner, we talked about why it’s critical to have shared areas of interest, and to generally agree on matters of taste. There were some other items on the list, so Part II will address the importance of compatibility in your approaches to writing.

Compatibility doesn’t have to mean sameness. If you like to write in the morning, you could still have a fruitful partnership with someone who doesn’t even get up until noon. But if your work schedules don’t coincide, you’ll need to set up a way of communicating about the project. There’s nearly always a way of working around mechanical and logistical issues. Just bear in mind that every complication in your working arrangements represents that much more drag on your system, and it saps energy that should go into your writing.

What’s harder to work around is conflicting attitudes about writing. You must both take it equally seriously, however light or heavy you make it. If you’re not aligned on that point, working together is nearly impossible. It’s important to know that “attitude” here doesn’t refer to someone’s general outlook or personality (although compatibility there helps, too).  In this context, we’re talking about the place writing holds in your life.

Two people don’t need identical writing attitudes in order to work well together; it’s all about compatibility. Similarity plays a big part in making us compatible, but differences are good. If you found a partner who was basically your clone, you couldn’t give each other any new ideas. Many of us wouldn’t get along with our clones, anyway.

To close, it’s worth stressing again that a writing partnership is not static, no more than any other type of relationship. Some partners get off to a rocky start, only to flourish once they learn each other’s styles. Of course, sometimes a rocky start means more bumps ahead. If you produce work that you both feel proud of, everything else will probably fall into place. But if the work doesn’t come out like you want it to, then it’s certainly not worth struggling with an awkward partnership. Even if you and your partner get along fantastically, if the work doesn’t make you proud, then you should reconsider the writing partnership.

How to Choose a Writing Partner

You might be wondering how to choose a writing partner. Think of it like forming a rock band. It’s not just raw talent you want; the group must work seamlessly if they are to make beautiful music together. So it is with storytelling, too. Sam Keith, the original artist on Neil Gaiman’s Sandman comic, said he felt like “Jimi Hendrix playing with the Beatles,” and bowed out. The partnership wasn’t working, despite the enormous levels of ability on both sides.

You and your writing partner must have at least some of these for the partnership to be successful:

  • overlapping interests
  • overlapping tastes
  • compatible work habits
  • compatible attitudes

Without some overlap of interests and tastes, you’ll never find a project that you’re both passionate about. A really good way to measure your common ground is to compare favorite authors or favorite books. If you don’t have favorites in common, it might mean you’re looking for different things as writers. But it might just mean you need to lend each other a few books and see what happens.

Divergence in your backgrounds and styles is crucial too. You each know things the other does not, which broadens the range of ideas you can work with together. You should encourage each other to play to your individual strengths, and learn from each other. A good partner will want to learn, and want to teach, and you’ll want to reciprocate.

Like any relationship, a writing partnership will evolve and grow over time. Don’t strive for perfect harmony; don’t think of conflict as failure. Your partner is helping you the most when she disagrees with you. Your partner will be your first reader, and you hers, which is your opportunity to smooth out some of the first-draftiness. That won’t work if you’re defensive or tentative. A good partner must be someone with whom you can argue and still remain friends.

We’ll talk about the importance of compatible work habits and attitudes next time.