Don’t Get Too Comfortable

r-avatarAt the writing conference we just attended, someone presented on the topic of cowriting. It was a married couple who write SF together, but it wasn’t us. Honest. Their excellent presentation was itself a collaborative enterprise, sort of a tag-team slideshow.

One’s comfort zone, specifically leaving it, came up in the context of how having a writing partner differs from writing solo. They mentioned having originally listed it as a drawback then moving it over to the plus column instead.

We agree all around. Let’s take the positive side of things first: new challenges are good for us. About a thousand more homilies could go in here, and we all know them by heart. The difficulty is taking them to heart, and willfully stepping over the line that defines that zone of cozy security. That’s the beauty of what a writing partner gives you, someone who’s invested in your success but who nevertheless sometimes nudges you out into scarytown. Ideally that’s symmetrical, with your partner’s comfort boundaries getting smudged just as much as your own.

The basis for discomfort over entering a cowriting partnership is trust, and trust comes in different flavors. It’s entirely possible to respect someone’s integrity and honesty but still not like how it feels when they want to look at your work in progress. That’s a perfectly human reaction to a new partner, and you have to practice with each other for a bit to get over that first hill. (And maybe another couple of hills.) When it’s working, you’re both more concerned with the quality of the work than with your individual contributions.

Now, for the negative: you might be uncomfortable with the person for fundamental, personal reasons. You might be incompatible, and the amount of effort it would take to overcome that isn’t worth it. You could be the fastest of friends and still not be compatible as cowriters. The dreaded artistic differences. You might, on the other hand, find that working with a particular person makes friendship impossible. Maybe the art is flowing, but it’s at too high a personal cost. How high is too high? That’s for you to say.

Writing with a partner will necessitate going outside your comfort zone sometimes. But a good partner will never shove, just nudge.

Helga Concealed Herself

  1. k-avatarcharacter –bigfoot
  2. setting — dry dock
  3. object –wooden shoes
  4. situation –wet t-shirt contest

Helga concealed herself below the experimental hydrofoil in the dry dock. Stowing away on it in Seattle had been the only way for her to reach Holland undetected, preserving the secrecy of her woodland race. But the next stage in her mission would require that she show herself, in fact the magic tulip bulbs would only be given to the winner of the wet t-shirt contest. And to be allowed into the waterfront dive where the Dutch National Wet Tee Convention would be held, she had to first obtain the traditional footwear. She hoped she could find them in her size.

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I Led Tessa Outside

  1. by jenCharacter – Harajuku girl
  2. Setting – behind the wheel of a large automobile
  3. Object – keys
  4. Situation – hiccups

Tune In Next Time Part 12                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I led Tessa outside and balanced her on the handlebars of my stolen bicycle as I pedaled through the dark city to the self-storage facility where my excavation machine was stored, along with the rest of my inventions. Things were improving between us, but I didn’t fully trust Tessa. I couldn’t imagine letting her get a look at the contents of my storage unit, so I left her in the office, talking to the night manager, a Japanese woman with bright pink hair, cat ears and a parasol.

The submersible digging machine was far too bulky to carry on the bike, so when I hurried back to the office I asked Michiko if I could borrow her car. She charged me $200 and tossed me the keys. Tessa hadn’t run off during my brief absence, which both pleased and frightened me. The two of us climbed into Michiko’s Hello Kitty-bedazzled Lincoln Continental, me behind the wheel, Tessa riding shotgun but twisted around to stare at the mechanical wonder in the back seat.

As I navigated back to the pier, Tessa gave a loud hiccup, and then another. She turned around to face front and hiccuped again. I knew those hiccups well. Tessa always had an attack when she was horny.

“Now’s not a good time, babe,” I said.

“I — hic — know,” she said. “And that only makes it — hic — worse.”

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Writing Cave Status Report

r-avatarRune Skelley’s habitat has been a rather hectic place of late. In addition to the recent travel and interviews that we mentioned the past couple of Fridays:

  • We heard back from two more Science Novel beta readers with much positive input
  • Yesterday’s #PitMad kept us nicely distracted on the twitters for a while, pitching the Trilogy and the Music Novel
  • Jen analyzed the outline of Son of Music Novel and terrified Kent with the number of words we should expect to write by the end of the year to meet our deadline
  • We allocated the next handful of stubs — we will be able to work in parallel for the foreseeable future so our productivity should take an uptick (unless this jinxed it)
  • We’re shortly off to a conference, our first in a while

All the schedule disruptions, while they slow down our prose generation, are also positive things in their own right. So we have mixed feelings about them. Maybe if they didn’t travel in packs…

“We Head Back To The Pier”

  • k-avatarmost likely had a perfect tan
  • Lazy Canadians
  • try another flavor
  • “You’re worth it.”
  • with segmented metal fins

Tune In Next Time Part 11                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We head back to the pier,” I said, my mind suddenly connecting the dots. Tessa scowled at me, nodding bitterly.

“Okay, mister smarty-pants, what’s the next step in my plan?” She still had her arms crossed, carrying her plentiful bosom like a coed’s textbooks. Even in this awful light, even just minutes after being drugged into unconsciousness, she was radiant, most likely had a perfect tan, probably sans tan lines. My train of thought toppled comically off its tracks.

She laughed at me, but the ice in her gaze was melting. “This is just like that song by Lazy Canadians.”

“You mean ‘Try Another Flavor’?” I asked. It was about boobs.

“No, silly! I mean ‘Pirate Booty,’ the one about treasure buried in the sand.”

My mental derailment reversed itself. That was it! Everything started with the map, and with whatever lay buried amid that dead forest of pilings. But we couldn’t forget that John had the briefcase, and that he’d get it open eventually. Tessa’s smile grew warmer yet, reminding me of when things were better.

“Sorry for all the kerfuffle,” I muttered, not sure I wanted her to hear it.

“You’re worth it.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “Before we go running off to the pier, we have to think about what we’ll need when we get there. Some way of excavating the sand, underwater, without being seen. I don’t even know what that would look like.”

I did. It was my own invention, a submersible digging machine with segmented metal fins. John didn’t know about it, no one did. Was I ready to show it to Tessa? It seemed I would have no choice.

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“I Don’t Trust Your Ideas”

  • by jenground patrol had proved ineffective
  • arrested in London
  • You think your great big husband will protect you?
  • Six hours after injection
  • you’re never going to win the lottery

Tune In Next Time Part 10                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I don’t trust your ideas,” Tessa spat. “Not after London.”

I winced, remembering how my idea for ground patrol had proved ineffective during the Barclay’s bank heist, leading to Tessa being arrested in London, and John and me in Birmingham. The charges hadn’t stuck, but it had been an unpleasant couple of weeks for the three of us and apparently Tessa held a grudge.

“Things are different now,” I said.

“I should have listened to John all those years ago when he tried to warn me about you. He was there at our wedding you know, trying to talk me out of it. He said, ‘You think your great big husband will protect you? That asshole only wants to get into your pants. You don’t believe me? Go ahead and marry him. Six hours after injection, or ejaculation, or whatever you want to call it, he’ll be out the door. Girls always want to be lucky in love, but you Tessa, you’re never going to win the lottery.'” She turned back to glare daggers at me. “And he was right.”

“That wasn’t a real wedding, babe. You know that! It was all part of the plan.”

“Your plans suck. This time it’s my turn to be in charge. Now here’s what we’ll do…”

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Q&A with Reggie Lutz


r-avatar
We’ve mentioned our good friend Reggie Lutz several times on this blog, and I’m sure you’ve seen her comments. Reggie has published many solo works (poetry, short stories, and a novel) through both traditional and self-publishing, and has also dabbled in collaboration in the past. Her future writing plans include a deeper dive into the world of coauthorship, so we decided to talk to her about her process.

 

qCongratulations on publishing Aliens in the Soda Machine, and Haunted. Boost your signal here!

aThank you! Get your Aliens here: Amazon or here: Smashwords 

Get Haunted here: Amazon or here: Smashwords

 

qYou collaborated with Jen, on a somewhat… unusual project. How would you describe that experience?

aThat project was one of the most fun writing experiences I have ever had. Jen and I were sort of challenging each other with writing prompts and somehow ended up sharing characters. After a certain amount of time we realized we had enough rough material to fill a book, and started to shape a plot around those. The result is wild, weird, and hilarious. If there is any muscle tone left in my abs, I have to attribute that to all the laughing we did while working on the Saa of Hieronymus Warhol.

Jen is extremely organized and focused, even as she was making me laugh so hard I cried. So it was really great to share the reins with her on that project. Did I mention the laughing? I also learned a lot about collaboration with that project. As someone who usually writes without a collaborative partner I learned how to let go of a certain amount of control, and that when you work with someone you trust that can be a relief rather than a source of stress.

 

qWhat can you say about working with your current collaboration partner, Devon Miller?

aWorking with Devon has been awesome so far. We spent some time brainstorming, then exploring the world via prose until we struck the right note. From there we made decisions about what the story was about, how the plot was going to move. She lives in another state, so we had weekly phone meetings during which we went over the previous week’s work, and then we assigned each other the next scene that needed to be written. Because we were so organized in our approach, we were able to skip around chronologically while we were creating the first draft. This aided in productivity a great deal, as it allowed for one of us to work on one story arc while the other fleshed out a different arc.

One thing we did before going in was talk about how we wanted to work, what the parameters were going to be, who would take charge of which task. This was easy, because Devon and I have been friends for much longer than we’ve been writing together so trust was established well before we took on this project. One thing that was really surprising was the speed with which the first draft of the first book came together. It only took three months. We’re in editing stages, currently, and are set to start work on the second book late September.

 

qHow does writing solo differ, for you, from working with a partner? How is the process impacted, in your specific experience? Does it influence subject matter, theme, tone?

aThe biggest difference in terms of process is that when collaborating, you are not the only one making decisions, and some decisions that you aren’t used to making before getting to the work have to be made before you start. Devon and I worked with a loose outline in order to enable some organic growth of story within certain parameters, but we had to understand who our characters were, and what was crucial in this case was having a shared understanding of the worldbuilding, how the society in the story operates, what the geography is like. It isn’t that you don’t think about those things with solo work, but when working alone, you can kind of wing it and fix it later if it doesn’t work. If you are writing genre fiction with a partner, and you decide the sky is always gray, but your writing partner decides the sky is always orange then those things will come into conflict with each other pretty quickly. A small detail like that can have big implications later. A gray sky might mean the world is moist and there is drama around certain kinds of infections, an orange sky might suggest a desert planet and therefore a lack of water would be a bigger issue. (Assuming we’re talking mammals.)

Working with a collaborator absolutely influences subject matter because you both have to be invested in what plays out on the page. So you’ll look for shared areas of interest, ideas that are exciting to you both and then within that you’ll look for opportunities to play to each other’s strengths. Devon loves horror fiction so we looked for places in the story to use that. I like to blend unexpected elements to create something offbeat but with an emotional undertone so we developed other areas of story to facilitate that.

During the course of a first draft there will inevitably be places where the tone does not match. Part of our editing process is to make sure that it does, and that the tone we choose is what best suits the story. What was a relief and a happy surprise for Devon and I is that the way we write individually works well together, we often find we’re on the same page about things like tone before we’ve even discussed it.

 

qAnything else you’d like to teach us about collaborative writing?

a

That’s an intimidating question coming from the masters of collaboration! I will say that I learned a lot about the benefits of plotting and planning a given work through collaboration, but that learning to leave room or when to be flexible in a writing partnership is as important to a collaboration as having a plan in place. That flexibility applies to everything in the process, from unexpected plot deviations that work better than the original plan, to having to cancel meetings because life, sometimes, intervenes. The second thing is that everything on the page from your favorite character to your most beloved sentence is on the table for discussion. When you work with someone you know well and trust, it is easy to be open in this way. But that openness is crucial to arrive at the best possible version of story.

 

qWhat have you learned from us?

aSo many tangible and intangible things about writing it’s really hard to figure out where to start. One of the things that I always admired about your collaborative process was that you both were always really committed and disciplined about the work and organized in your approach to it. I learned a lot about the value of that and I’ve applied them.

The critique group you run taught me a million things that all speak to one concrete truth about what one absolutely must do when writing fiction, and that is to do everything in order to serve the story.

John’s Fist Came Toward My Face

  • k-avatarpizza cutter, thick with blood.
  • Dr Pepper wrangling
  • as a speckled trout to a fly
  • in inverse ratio to his prowess among men
  • too strong for him

Tune In Next Time Part 9                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

John’s fist came toward my face, but when I ducked that I put my chin directly in line for the snap-kick that was the true attack. It was the same move I fell for last time, the cheap fake-out I’m as drawn to as a speckled trout to a fly. I came to with ringing ears and double vision in time to see John leaving with the giraffe-hide briefcase, wearing my damp gloves.

Damn him. I sat up rubbing my jaw and looked over at Tessa, who was already stirring. Either she was tougher than I knew, or else that tranquilizer had lost potency over time.

Tessa sat up, rubbing her temples. She glanced at me, and said, “Don’t be too worried, the locks on that thing are too strong for him.”

I nodded, more out of hope than any faith in those locks. Then again, my mentor always told me that one’s capacity for puzzling minutiae is in inverse ratio to his prowess among men. That had always just felt like a zen riddle, but in this case I could see its applicability.

“So what happened? Did he have a blowgun or something? Got us both, I see.”

It was tempting to just nod again, but I knew if I lied to her now we would never be okay again. My memory lurched to a linoleum floor and a pizza cutter, thick with blood. So I confessed to the tranquilizer on the handle of the briefcase.

She stood and bellowed down at me, “You son of a misbegotten, Dr Pepper wrangling,  burrito slinger!” She spun away and folded her arms, staring out the window.

“Hey, easy with the casual racism, babe.” I stood up. “Besides, I’m only part Indian. And I have an idea.”

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The Himalayas Were Breathtaking

  • by jenwarm my numb fingers
  • to meet a yeti
  • “Don’t you appreciate my cuisine?”
  • — all those beautiful bullfrogs
  • threatening face of a Doberman

The Himalayas were breathtaking in the moonlight, but even colder than I anticipated. I rubbed my hands together over the fire to warm my numb fingers. This was the vacation of a lifetime, and while many in my group were here to climb Everest, I had a different objective: to meet a yeti. Tomorrow we would hike to base camp, after which we would go our separate ways. That meant a celebratory feast this evening, with plenty of food prepared by the tour company’s French chef.

“Don’t you appreciate my cuisine?” grumbled Henrí. “I brought the ingredients all the way from Marseilles packed in dry ice.”

I, along with my fellow hikers, stared at the display of grisly drumsticks, the webbed feet still intact. I don’t know what the rest of them were thinking, but I could not get rid of the image of the frogs they’d come from — all those beautiful bullfrogs slaughtered for their meaty little thighs.

I was hungry though, so I grabbed one of the frog legs and took a tentative bite. Before the flavor could register, a creature bounded into our camp. It was a large, hairy white biped with the threatening face of a Doberman. Well, the teeth of a Doberman anyway.

It could only be the yeti I’d come to see!

It plucked the frog leg from my hand and sniffed it, then shoved the whole thing in its mouth, bones and all. Such a majestic creature! I managed to get my camera out and begin filming as it gorged itself on the rest of Henrí’s feast. When it loped off into the night I had to make a quick decision. Would I return home to sell my footage, or would I follow the beast into its forbidding mountain home?

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