Every writer must needst a partner

That’s right. I used needst.

I'm sophisticated like that.
I’m sophisticated like that.

Incorrectly. But I used it. Don’t judge me.

I try to have fun here at AccessoriesNotIncluded. Keeps things interesting.

Lately I’ve not been doing much writing. Lots of editing on a story that isn’t mine, but not much writing. Instead, I’ve been doing a lot of yapping on and on and on, and some outlining.

Like one of those dogs their owners love, and the rest of us contemplate killing.
Like one of those dogs their owners love, and the rest of us contemplate killing.

Some outlining. Mostly yapping. On the cell phone. Because I’m an introvert and I much prefer texting to actual talking. Also because people are busy. Anyway not the point. Point is, I have a writing partner who is the most patient person in the entire world.

Thank goodness.

If she wasn’t, I’d annoy myself.


Talk to yourself constantly and see how much YOU like it.

I’m just lucky Shiri¬† has the patience of a damn saint. And also reminds me when she has no idea what I’m talking about because she hasn’t read my latest. And I apologise, and she laughs and tells me to keep talking because she knows me so well.

Also? She has a wicked awesome podcast that you should be listening to.

Seriously.Why should you have a writing partner? I know writers who don’t. They prefer to go it alone and rely on their beta readers to do the heavy feedback lifting when the umpteenth edit is done and the book is ready for them. There’s nothing wrong with that. There are some writers out there who REFUSE to admit they’re writing because you get this list of questions (in no particular order):

“What’s it about?”

“Wow! I didn’t know you write! When’s it coming out?”

“What kind of book is it?”

“Can I be in it?”

“When’s it gonna be done?”

On and on and on that list goes, and you have to resist the urge to smack. Hard. The writers that refuse to admit to their endeavours have the belief that, once the idea for their work in progress is spoken aloud, it will be part of the collective unconscious and no longer be theirs.

Think of it like one of these babies. You find it, you keep it to yourself because you want all of the luck it has to give.
Think of it like one of these babies. You find it, you keep it to yourself because you want all of the luck it has to give.

So, they go about writing and keeping it as silent as possible.

I am not that writer.

Not that I’m going around blabbing the intricacies of Annie to the whole world, but there is one person who knows exactly what happens when and who is helping me with the editing/re-writing process.

Because, oh my God is it a process.

Annie went from being one book, to somehow being four. Not starring the same person, mind you, but one in a series of four. They’re all most certainly connected, and it’s those connections I’ve been so desperate for help on. Because, what sounds like a good idea in my head may not, in fact, translate well onto the page.

Her feedback is invaluable. Because there’s nothing like “you crazy” when something you know doesn’t work when you wanted it too, but you said it anyway in the slim hope that it would work.¬† The sound board back and forth is another tool in the chest. Collaboration was never my strong suit as a kid, and as an adult I found myself shying away from people who really only meant well and sincerely wanted to help. But, the kind of help a writer looks for is like finding a therapist. There has to be a ‘click’ a sympatico for the relationship to work.

Not that kind of sympatico.  Well...maybe a little.
Not that kind of sympatico.
Well…maybe a little.

A give and take, so to speak. Otherwise there’s the uncomfortable squishy stomach feeling and that smile you try to plaster on your lips to make the other person feel like they really are helping. After that you feel like an asshole because you didn’t necessarily want their help, they just kind of offered it.

I have been in this position many times before.

And felt like an asshole.

But, when you find the right person, whether by chance or by a writing group, the result is often magical.

Now, if she could just fully convince me I can that I have the ability to write a letter to my science hero Neil deGrasse Tyson begging him to teach me about black holes for my book?

That’d be some kind of magic right there.