Much like fried Brussel sprouts or Hillary Clinton, co-writing is not for everyone. Whenever I talk to fellow authors and mention that I co-author (with Derric Miller) for most of my horror projects, the first thing out of their mouths is typically, “I don’t know how you do that.”
Derric and I have thus far written one splatterpunk novella (“Mudslingers”) and one survival-horror novel (Gristle) together and are currently working on a short ghost story (“Gurgles”) for our upcoming anthology. We have also sketched out plans for a Gristle sequel as well as a Christmas horror novel about holiday icons (Santa Claus, Frosty, Rudolph, etc.) coming to life and turning murderous (we’re guessing Disney won’t be interested in the film rights). So while we may not have yet achieved the co-writing cult status of John Skipp & Craig Specter (our literary heroes and inspiration), we do have some experience at co-author shenanigans. Enough experience that we have figured out the #1 rule for harmonious co-writing.
Check your ego at the door.
Co-authoring is all about surrendering control of your writing to someone else. If you are consumed by the need to have every word on a page come from your brain, then co-authoring is not for you. If you cannot handle spending days/weeks/months writing something, only to have someone else shake it up and twist it all around, then co-authoring is not for you. If you cannot accept someone taking your words and deciding they can write some of them better, then co-authoring is not for you. So yeah, fragile egos and thin-skins need not apply.
For example, when writing “Mudslingers,” Derric one day decided to write the whole ending without even consulting me. I received a message in my inbox saying, “Yeah, I went ahead and ended the story. Hope you like it.” I could have screamed and hollered and thrown a temper tantrum and told him that was some straight up crap. But instead I just said, “Okay,” then sat down and added my twists to what he wrote. No muss, no fuss, because my ego did not demand that I have a say in how the story climaxed. Besides, even at my most sick and twisted, I probably couldn’t have conceived the deranged denouement Derric dug up. (Not sure if that’s compliment or condemnation…)
During an early draft of Gristle, Derric penned a sex scene that I disliked because a) it felt too comedic, and b) I didn’t feel the scene made sense at that point in the story. Derric took no offense to my criticism but remained firm that the lovemaking was vital to the plot. After some back-and-forth, we compromised by keeping the scene but rewriting it in a more serious tone. In other words, we checked our egos at the door and worked together toward a resolution we could both live with. I mean, yeah, I called him crazy and he called me a prude, but that’s all part of the creative process.
Now, in the interest of full disclosure, part of the reason Derric and I co-write so easily together is because Derric checks his ego more than I check mine. He’s the kind of guy who writes the first draft at blitzkrieg speed and then waits patiently while I pore over every word and typically has little issue with all the changes I make. Of course, I think I take so long doing my draft revisions that by the time I’m done, Derric just wants to get the book released and no longer cares about how much I altered what he wrote. So maybe the secret to co-authoring isn’t, “You need to check your ego at the door.” Maybe the secret to co-authoring is, “At least ONE of you needs to check your ego at the door.”
Bottom line, co-authoring is not for everyone. Even for myself, when it comes to my action fiction, I don’t think I could relinquish control enough to co-write with someone (though if Lee Child is interested, I’m willing to give it a go). But for some reason, I’m perfectly content to co-write horror. Find the right (write?) partner, slay your egos, and just have fun with it. After all, if you’re not having fun writing, what are you doing it for?
And now, it’s Miller time…
For the most part, I agree with Mark. I think going into a co-writing project—which I’d never done until we wrote the abomination known as “Mudslingers”—you just have to realize you won’t get everything you want and need to compromise. You know, like the exact opposite of how the U.S. Senate operates today.
With “Mudslingers,” Mark wrote the first chapter and sent it to me. As we were both music reviewers at Hardrock Haven at the time, the most we delved into the plot beforehand was, “we should have two music journalists battle it out to the death.” How their exact death came to fruition was never discussed, but the story arc basically meant they had to be in the same physical location at the same time … and then it came to me (as Mark said, “the deranged denouement). If you haven’t read it, it’s worth the .99 cents even if you only read the final chapter.
Mark decided the book should be chock full of metaphors, many of them (purposefully) overwrought. Not really my style, but he wrote the first chapter, meaning I had to follow his lead and not stylistically veer from the path he carved first. So I got in a groove and wrote, “His mouth opened wider than a glory hole in the bathroom at a Weight Watcher’s convention.” Mark nixed it. I didn’t complain. He didn’t like it. I didn’t care one way or the other.
Gristle was a whole different ballgame. I wrote the entire first draft with a lot of phone calls and input from Mark along the way. It was based off a screenplay Mark had penned years ago, so I had an outline to work with. Mark was busy working on The Assassin’s Betrayal, so he asked if I wanted to take the first stab. I did, but kept it short enough so he could add 20k words when his turn came. I tied myself up in knots trying to write the logistics of an escape scene; I was just too close to it. So I literally turned it over to Mark and said, “Fix it. I can’t.” And he sure as hell did.
I don’t know if opposite styles is one reason we work well together. He’s right … I write at a frenetic pace. I am not hyper-critical of my writing. I do not bother to fix each typo as I go along. In radio interviews, I have described my style as, “Puking my words onto the page and cleaning it up later.” Mark couldn’t be more opposite. He’s diligent, methodical, but has the ability to write nearly every single day. He has the kind of dedication I need to work on.
Quick aside: I found writing “Mudslingers” hilarious at times. I’d turn over a chapter, then a few weeks would go by and Mark would finally send the next chapter … and I would then write the next chapter in a day or two and it’d be right back in his inbox. I’m sure part of him had to feel under pressure at times because I’m so fast.
So yes, another aspect to co-writing is the pressure. You can’t come up with something half-assed and turn it over and say, “Good to go!” Neither one of us will let the other do that. So for me, there’s a voice saying, “Don’t let Mark down.”
Gee, does that mean we are actually learning from each other and making us both better writers? I can’t speak for Mark (just co-write with him) but I know I’m becoming better at my craft each project we create together.
Co-writing is not easy and it’s not for everyone, especially those who take themselves too seriously. But when you do it right … it’s fun as hell.
Oh yeah, one last note … Mark and I have never met in person. Ever. Wrap your head around that one, kids.
