Collaboration.
The Random House College Dictionary that my father gave me when I began high school defines it as:
1. To work with another or others, esp. as a co-author…
Oh, how that word, that very idea, used to scare me! I likened it to co-parenting with some random weirdo.
“After all, my stories, poems, and songs are like my children,” I would say. I pictured a collaborator as one of the dreaded they. “What if they ruin it? What if they simply don’t get it, or my voice is lost? Or worse, what if they just steal my idea and make it their own? Then what?” It seemed like too great a risk. I held each scrap as precious.
Maybe some of those same thoughts have kept you in fear as they did me. Maybe you sat on a brilliant idea, half fleshed out, going nowhere, and needing a friendly little springboard to banter against. Well, if that is the case, I am here to put your mind at ease via a little tidbit from my own “career.” (I’ve always been a writer, but now I am getting serious about my craft as being more than falling stars and lightning strikes.) Perhaps you can try out the idea of collaboration vicariously.
Years ago, I had a few disappointing experiences when I asked certain people their thoughts on some writing I was working on. One person whose opinion mattered a good deal to me—after reading my rough draft—began to pick it apart. My self-esteem was already low, and I was devastated!
Another time, I shared some lyrics with a musician friend. He added a couple of lines, then outright stole the song and used it on tour.
To me, then, the meaning was more closely defined as:
2. To cooperate, usually willingly, with an enemy nation.
Any suggestion of an edit or—God forbid—elimination of a segment felt like an attack. My pride and my tender little heart wouldn’t allow it!
Fast forward to the last couple of years. I have matured… a little. And I have learned how my neurodivergence shows up in things like this. But the change for me began when I joined a couple of writers' groups that regularly meet online via Zoom. My expectations were low, based on the past, when the critique, if you could call it that, was less than helpful. “Oh, that’s good!”
Well, I knew it was “good,” but I was asking, “Is there any way you think I could make it better?”
So, I tried to hold back and listen in on the first group I entered. The concept was that anyone who wanted could submit a page or two of whatever they were working on and request specific guidance, feedback, and input. I was admittedly apprehensive the first time, but it was wonderful! Everyone was respectful, honest, considerate, and generous in their comments, and it really helped me to flesh out my idea better than I would have on my own! I feel privileged to have found them, to be invited to contribute, and to follow their progress as well. These were serious writers, many of whom had success and experience I had yet to earn.
Still, when it was time to hand over my current work to Amy at Quill Hawk Publishing, I was nervous to say the least. She assigned an editor to my manuscript, which I had been working on for, well, let’s just say, quite a while now.
I literally felt sick to my stomach when my lovely publisher reviewed the first few chapters and emailed me an extensive list of fixes to make it readable! Still, I chose to accept an editor, and while that is not the same as being a co-author, it feels, at first, like letting a stranger into your home to critique the color of the walls, the choice of furnishings, and the arrangements. I pictured Otho, the interior decorator from New York City in the movie, Beetlejuice, coming in with a spray can and putting huge X’s on everything. I couldn’t even look at it for a couple of weeks! Thankfully, though, it was nothing like that!
My editor not only pointed out all the spelling and grammatical errors, which I expected, but also asked the best questions about why I chose this word over that, and pointed out inconsistencies in dates, names, and locations. His knowledge and research prevented me from looking like a fool in some areas, or at least a lazy author. There is no doubt that the good story is much better for all the give-and-take in that process. So, while he didn’t write entire paragraphs or chapters, it was still a collaboration, and one that eased my concerns and helped me to see my story through a reader’s eyes. All in all, the experience was not only painless but also fun!
The bottom line is that if you asked me now if I would collaborate on future stories, you would get a resounding, “Yes!”
Besides, if I don’t, they won’t all get told, and that would be a shame!
Robin Naeger was born in Sedalia, Missouri, where she lived with her parents and younger sister until she graduated from Smith-Cotton High School in 1979. That summer, she met her future husband at the Youth Conservation Corps (YCC), where she and 39 other youths worked for the National Park Service for five weeks. During that year, she also soloed in a Cessna 150. With no other plans, she joined the Marines alongside Scott, hoping they would be stationed together. She had tested into the avionics program and longed to fly, but there were no open seats in the school, so at the urging of her recruiter, she went into open contract and ended up in the motor pool. But that’s another story!
Robin has always had a passion for reading and storytelling. She delighted in reading to her children and later to her grandchildren, often making up stories in the dark to lull them to sleep. In 2015, she published her first book, The Magic Candle, a tale set in a small farm community in the 1930s, following the adventures of a little girl. While she typically focuses on one book at a time, Robin juggles multiple projects: finishing her latest novel, compiling a cookbook, and curating a collection of poetry by her and her grandmother.
About the book "SpiritMart"
In a time of societal upheaval, when the majority seems to prefer a world without religion, one city takes the drastic step of expelling all organized faiths from its boundaries. But who fills the void left behind? Amidst the chaos, a young mother facing a deadly diagnosis must navigate a city devoid of spiritual guidance to find a new community for her and her son. As she delves deeper, she uncovers hidden forces vying for control and discovers that the absence of religion doesn’t mean the absence of belief. SpiritMart poses the provocative question: “Which religion, if any, is right, and how does one choose?”
