I wrote The End on Pig early this morning. Edward started the story sometime in 2015 (we didn't keep exact dates, or sign a pre-nuptial agreement). Relationships are strange, these days. It's not like olden days, where I met my fellow writer in a pub and formed a long lasting partnership over pints of bitter and pipe smoke in a back room sprinkled in sawdust and haunted by gap-toothed old guys with their own mug. Edward and I speak on FB, or over email. He lives in the US, while I live in the UK. But we work well together and our styles are similar (and I like him a hell of a lot more than most people I've met in smoky bars).
I read Dastardly Bastards by Edward, and Fog Warning - enough to know he's up my street - snappy, straightforward writing that paints a larger picture with broad brush strokes. Er...as it were...
Collaborating, I won't fib, has been a hard road. It's learning an entirely new way of writing, and we've been winging it all the way. There's a lot of waiting involved, and I'm heroically impatient, but we're tweaking it and we'll do it again, without a doubt. But, while the process - the nuts and bolts of a collaboration - is hard to get just right, having someone else to bounce ideas off, to freshen up the way I look at things - that's been brilliant.
Pig's kind of a pulp-action-survival-horror thing. Early on, we planned it that way - small town horror, no let-up, blast through to the end without a single pause for breath. I think it worked out just fine.
We'll tidy it up, get a final draft after we've both had a rest and worked on our own stuff for a while. Then? We'll send it off and see what happens next.
Pig, born sometimes in 2015, died and moved to pastures new 21st January 2016.
Two heads for the writers,
One hat to rule them all.