I have recently met a writing buddy. It’s brilliant. (I mean, it’s a bit unfortunate, as they live about 8 time zones away from me currently, so actually *collaborating* takes a reasonable amount of logistics, but, ah well. That’s the glory of living in the Internet Age…)
We were having a conversation the other day, that kind of sparked something for me, about writing styles in particular.
I have written on here before about how I’m not particularly good at writing things of length, or of finishing things, and I think I’ve figured out a better way to put. The metaphor that I’ve been using is pebbles – but I think perhaps another way to say it is ‘photographs’.
I am… a very detail-oriented person. It’s hard for me to sit down and bang out a plot line, because I get lost in the minutiae. I’m describing the texture of the wallpaper, and not the action that’s happening next.
Because I write photographs.
I write moments and snapshots; a single frame filled with secrets and possibilities, unchanging, but complete as a statement.
My writing buddy writes films; driven by plot and action; the montages that speak in shorthand for deeper meaning.
Writing recently has been incredibly fulfilling for me, because our styles are so different, but neither one is better than the other. I read the plots, follow along with the strands of the story, but often wonder about what might be falling through the holes of the net.
My writing buddy reads my work and tries to find the motion in it – where did it come from, where is it going?
And together, we’re both getting better, and it’s wonderful.