From my experience, most writers prefer to write alone, without lots of contributory voices. That’s not to say that we don’t seek advice on, say, character arcs, when writing fiction, if we feel that something’s missing or, conversely, if we sense that there’s too much going on in that particular story. Many of us shy away from working in a collective, favouring either our own company or a trusted confidant or two, if considering a shared vision a better option. In many ways, it can be. By collaborating with another writer, we can benefit from their particular take on character, style and structure, with the resulting story potentially taking an entirely different, more compelling route to that which we’d originally envisaged.

This process potentially means losing material we really like, with the possibility that characters are expunged and dialogue that has been laboured over vanishes too. But, just like any relationship, give and take, or compromise, is inherent and to be adhered to; and the results might far outweigh our original vision, if indeed, it was that advanced. Most projects probably start out as a few fragmented ideas that need to gel in order to stand a chance of bearing fruit, and who knows – maybe a partnership not only accelerates that process, but enriches it too? Brian Clough was a great manager, but didn’t he perform better when Peter Taylor was at his side, and vice-versa? How might Vic Reeves have fared without Bob Mortimer? And then there’s Morecambe and Wise, Cannon and Ball, the Two Ronnies, and other comedy acts who may not have enjoyed the success they did had they gone it alone.

Most of us, even those who’ve been brought up in the same area with the same cultural and social leanings, will have different experiences and environments that helped to shape us, and by tossing them into a creative melting pot, the resulting work can be much more colourful. It’s why writing rooms for film and television have the potential to work so well, so long as they don’t venture into the ‘too many cooks’ scenario, whereby the outcome is a confused, sometimes contradictory mishmash that fails to impress.  

As for who writes what, that’s something that, where possible, should be decided upon before embarking on a joint project. Not that it’s something that’s easy to define – in my experience of co-writing, each person tends to encroach upon the other’s ‘territory’ via suggestions for improvement, or polishing dialogue, for example. You might not see eye-to-eye when it comes to what ultimately gets cut, but since holding onto inferior material is often ego-driven, it shouldn’t matter. Deciding upon what that inferior material is may well lead to a few disagreements, which is why it’s important to ascertain that you and your collaborator will get on. You don’t have to be best friends, or even be that friendly at all, but to share some kind of common ground and goal is essential for a collaboration to work. And while you may lock horns from time to time, respective egos should be kept firmly in check, so that your shared vision doesn’t become distorted.

Ghostwriting is another example of co-writing, for while it’s the ghost’s responsibility to write a manuscript, it’s unlikely to smack of authenticity if unaided by the person with whom they’re collaborating. It’s the ghostwriter’s responsibility to mimic the client’s voice when it comes to memoir, or successfully translate their ideas and instructions onto the page in other genres. Of course, many artists of various backgrounds have great careers by doing their own thing, but if you’re tempted by the prospect of working with ghostwriters who know their stuff, and who’ll respect your vision, only offering improvements when it’s felt that they would enhance your manuscript, then look no further than United Ghostwriters.