I guess the cowriting thing has to be talked about.
I have a few wonderful, crackerjack, masochistic cowriters whom I work with regularly. Every new book of mine starts with an outline. I write the outline—from fifty to eighty pages. The outline is specific about what each scene should be, and it’s always about scenes. The outline lays out the core of the story, the plot, and often the tone of voice.
Next, I ask the cowriter to help. A lot. I do this for two selfish reasons. I want their smart thinking, but I also want them emotionally involved in the story. That’s crucial for the book’s success.
Generally, I ask for pages to be sent to me every two to three weeks. (This is the exact opposite of how it works at most publishing houses.) If the story is going the wrong way or is losing energy, I’ll say things like “Hold on, let’s talk this out. The story is starting to march in place.” Or “I think we’ve lost track of what should be driving us ahead.” Or “I’m losing interest in our narrator. That’s probably the fault of my outline.” Or “The story’s voice is gone.”
Then I make some very specific suggestions on how to improve things quickly, seamlessly, hopefully painlessly.
More often what I say is “Hooray. You’re the best. Keep it up. I can’t wait to read more pages.” It seems to work fairly well.
I asked a few of the coconspirators—the ones smart enough to keep it civil—to share a few of their thoughts on whatever it is that we do together.
Peter de Jonge was my first collaborator and is a fine writer on his own. He’s done several lengthy pieces in the New York Times Magazine. Impressive, right? You can see why Peter is my favorite cowriter.
One of the best things about working with Jim, and this may be the key to why he is a publishing juggernaut, is that he is almost pathologically open-minded. If an idea adds stakes or drama or weight or in any helpful way propels the story forward, he’s game. As he told me once, you can tell any story you want, but it has to be a story.
David Ellis and I have worked together on several books, including The Black Book—which is probably my favorite thriller. The main character, Billy Harney, is right up there with Alex Cross. David wrote this about our experience working together. (He was just trying to butter me up.) By the way, Dave is my favorite cowriter.
I always felt like Jim was doing more than collaborating with me. He was trying to teach me. And it was always about respecting the reader. The only question is, how will the reader respond? If it heightens the drama for the reader—because it makes you love the protagonist or hate the villain…because it tears at your heart; because it turns your expectations upside down—then it belongs in the book.
Jim Born used to do research for Elmore Leonard. He’s an ex-DEA agent out of Miami. If there’s such a thing as a quiet wild man, that’s Born. No wonder Jim is my favorite cowriter.
After a career in police work, followed by the solitary life of a writer, I didn’t know what to expect when I started working with Jim. The most important way it changed my approach to writing is in Jim’s use of an outline. I had never written from an outline before. Now, eleven books later, I will never write another book without an outline. Jim reminds me of some of my bosses in police work: To the point, efficient, blunt, and empowering. And funny. He can lay down burns as well as any cop I’ve ever met.
Mark Sullivan went to Hamilton College in upstate New York, just like my dad and my pal Tim Malloy. All that terrific education and Mark ends up writing suspense novels, like his huge bestseller Beneath a Scarlet Sky. No wonder Mark is my favorite cowriter.
Jim is always in favor of changes if the changes make the tale more terrific. He also forced me to constantly be aware of our characters and their private lives and the dramatic forces and emotional stakes in every scene. Jim can be withering in his criticism and effusive in his praise. He’s generous to a fault and you can’t get better understanding or advice about the publishing business. Most of all, Jim’s made me a better storyteller and writer. What could be better than that?
Maxine Paetro keeps the Women’s Murder Club on a very tight leash. She’s so damn logical. And smart. We are huge telephone pals and I adore her. And of course, Max is my favorite cowriter.
I was snug on my couch, my head in San Francisco as I steamed toward the finish line of the new Women’s Murder Club thriller I was writing with Jim. The phone rang. It was Jim.
“Max. I have a book for us. It’s called Woman of God.”
Jim told me about his character, Brigid Fitzgerald, a young Catholic doctor who takes a job in a displaced-persons settlement in South Sudan. Brigid is twenty-six years old and will become one of six doctors in a community of 80,000 people barely surviving in dire conditions.
Jim had an idea that in the future, Brigid might become pope. A woman pope. It was a huge idea, but for me?
I said, “Jim, I can’t help you write this one. I’m not Catholic. I’m not even a Christian.”
He said, “Every time you think Catholic woman, think strong woman. You’re a strong woman, Max. Write that. This will be your favorite book.”
I was doubtful. But after reading and rereading Jim’s deeply plotted outline, I researched the Church and the poverty, disease, and massacres in South Sudan. I thought, Maybe I can do this.
In the end, Jim was right. (He’s irritating that way.) Woman of God is my favorite book.
Brendan DuBois was hiding out in New Hampshire (I suspect he’s part of the Witness Protection Program) when I read a couple of his award-winning short stories. I gave him a phone call. He made the mistake of answering. And now he’s my favorite cowriter.
One quickly learns Jim’s terms. “These pages are great” is the highest praise one can receive. But “I’m just not buying it” means back to the keyboard. But Jim is a true collaborator, rarely telling you how to fix something, usually leaving it up to you to figure it out.
Richard DiLallo was one of my fellow Mad Men who discovered there was life after advertising. I’ve also worked with his brilliant wife, Susan, and one of his sons, Max. Richard and Susan are keeping their triplets away from me. With so much in common, Richard is my favorite cowriter.
A really good thing about writing with Jim is that you feel he believes in you. He thinks you’re good. That kind of respect is very empowering. You’re free to be inventive, creative, surprising. He may not always agree with you, but you do feel that he was happy you went on the journey.
Chris Grabenstein is one of the funniest people I know. He’s also a total sweetheart in every way. No wonder Chris is my favorite cowriter.
I was lucky enough to first meet Jim back when I was a junior copywriter and he was the executive creative director at J. Walter Thompson. I can still remember our very first “writing lesson.” I was in the ad agency’s Professional Development Program. Jim was giving a lunchtime lecture to all us trainees in a very posh Madison Avenue conference room.
Back in those days, Jim had a very bushy beard.
Anyway, he stood behind the lectern at the front of the conference room as we trainees sat eagerly in our seats ready to take notes and learn from the master.
“This afternoon, I will teach you how to make a million dollars a year writing advertising,” he started. “The secret is—”
Before he could say another word, some knucklehead came charging into the conference room with a banana cream pie and slammed it into Jim’s face. Whipped cream and graham cracker crumb crust and oozing yellow pie filling dribbled down and clung to his beard. The pie-thrower was long gone but I know what all the trainees in that room were thinking: That guy is so fired! He pied James Patterson!
Jim cleaned himself up a little, wiped away the whipped cream, clasped the sides of the lectern, and said, “Okay. I just showed you how to make a million dollars a year writing advertising. Throw a pie in their face and, once you have their attention, say something smart.”
That was my first lesson from Jim and one I never forgot. It’s also why everything we write together starts with a bang and lots of action. We’re still throwing pies in our readers’ faces.
Of course, I have other coconspirators, but I don’t completely trust them to say really, really nice things about me. But even though I don’t trust them, each and every one is my favorite cowriter.