Partners in Crime (Writing)

By Tilia Klebenov Jacobs

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When I tell fellow authors I have a writing partner, I generally get one of two responses. The most common is a shock, rather as if I had casually mentioned that I prefer to eat bananas with the peel on. The second, though less frequent, is a cry of recognition: “Me too!” they exclaim. “Of course, you need to know each other really well first, and it’s essential that you work the same way. Couldn’t have a plotter working with a pantser, haha!”

Well, not necessarily. Allow me to lift the veil.

My partner Norman and I knew each other slightly in college, where he was editor of the campus newspaper that I wrote one article for. After college, I published a few novels, and he published a pile of short works in publications that turned me down. A few decades later we were nominally in touch on Facebook, but never spoke or met.

Then Covid hit. Writing at home with everyone under the same roof 24/7 stunk. I wasn’t good at it. While I was trying—really trying!—to write a story for a teacher friend of mine to share with her students, Norman contacted me on Facebook Messenger to ask if I knew of any writers’ groups for short stories. I didn’t, but after we’d texted for a bit about fiction, families, and more, I asked if he wanted to write together. He did. We hammered out the story for my friend and her students, and then got cracking on a novel. During that deeply unnerving time, it was marvelous to have someone to be accountable for: like having a gym buddy, but for words. 

In our experience—your mileage may vary—partners don’t necessarily need to know each other well, because we certainly didn’t. Nor do you need to have identical work styles: Norman is a pantser, and I am a blackbelt plotter (He’s adjusting nicely.) Instead, our partnership was a process of getting to know each other while adapting to one another’s approaches, and accepting that our skill sets didn’t need to be identical as long as they were complementary.

That being said, writing partners need to have a few things in common. The first, not surprisingly, is a work ethic. We take our projects seriously, showing up for meetings and producing whatever we jointly agree upon. 

The second is a sense of humor. Each of us had our characters do and say things that the other found hilarious. If you don’t share a funny bone, you see the world differently.

Finally, partners need a mutual vision of the project, including an agreed-upon-conclusion. If you’re working on a joint project but one of you is writing a noir detective story and the other has embarked upon a musical rom-com set in San Juan Capistrano on the day the swallows return, the mission is doomed.

(In the not-mandatory-but-useful category, we found it’s very helpful to have families that are at about the same stage. I can’t tell you how many times I texted Norman to say, “I’ll be late for the meeting—turns out I have kids.”)

Above all else, listen to what the story has to say to you. Our novel took us in some unexpected directions, but we respected it and each other enough to see where it led us. Sometimes the art knows more than the artist. Add a steady drip of mutual respect, and you can garner results that outstrip anything either of you could have pulled off alone. 

Sometimes the whole really is greater than the sum of its parts.