My Writing Partner

My writing partner’s laugh bursts out of her like a fizzy soda. When she’s really cracking up, she’ll grab your thigh and give you a look through teary eyes as the laughter bubbles up.

“I have the idea for our first episode!!!” she texts me at 12:45pm on Sunday. “Let’s talk about James Clear’s tips for starting and keeping a writing habit.”

She shares a document with the tips already outlined.

My writing partner is always prepared.

I scroll down to the second page and see the list of episode ideas we wrote down on another Sunday: October 1st, 2023. I went over that night for dinner, wine, a reader’s workshop planning session (no judging), and to discuss our dreams of a podcast.

It kind of started as a joke, but my writing partner bought microphones the first time the idea came up. See? I told you she’s always prepared.

We never met again to record anything, except the Thursday before spring break. We gathered in my classroom to give a mini-lesson on generating slice ideas with our colleagues who were participating in the SOL challenge. Those who weren’t able to make it begged us to record, so my writing partner started a voice memo, recorded the 17-minute conversation, and sent it to the WhatsApp group afterwards.

“I felt like I was listening to a podcast,” one of the teachers wrote.

And so the spark was rekindled.

“Are we starting tomorrow??” I text my writing partner back at 2:17pm.

“Let’s do it!!!” she replies.

At 8:47pm she asks what I have planned while my students are in PE.

I tell her nothing, but that it is our only break that day, so I’m not sure where my head will be or what unexpected to-do’s will pop up.

But by the time 2 o’clock rolls around on Monday, I have nothing to prep and no desire to sit in my classroom, where I’ve been all day.

“I’m going to see if Ana’s in her office,” I tell Kim, and I head off in search of my writing partner.

I find her with Male, discussing schedules for next year.

“So? Are we doing it?”

“Well, I might have a meeting with Sophie at 2 because we never confirmed, but let me go check with her,” she says, heading off towards the first grade classroom.

Male and I share stories of our break, talk triathlons and mile-long ocean swims, the new physical therapy I’m beginning to help tackle the recurring aches in my neck and shoulders.

My writing partner swings the door open: “She doesn’t need to meet, let’s do it!”

Male laughs as we head into my writing partner’s office just next door.

My writing partner opens her computer to the list she shared with me the day before: “I figure we’ll just sort of read each one, and discuss a bit.”

“I’ll set a timer,” I say, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “Ten minutes?”

I turn to my writing partner. Her cheeks are red.

“Are you nervous?” I ask.

“A little,” she admits, giggling as she swipes through her phone to get to the voice memos app.

We both laugh.

“No laughing!”

My writing partner’s finger is poised over the record button. My thumb hovers over the start timer button.

We breathe in, and breathe out.

Click.

“Okay, so—” my writing partner begins, before we both let out the inevitable laugh. “We’re gonna try not to laugh or giggle too much.”

And then she just launches in.

Because my writing partner knows how to lead a damn good mini-lesson.

And then I join in, because my writing partner makes it so easy.

And we laugh, but at the right times.

The conversation flows. We go through the points. We discuss.

And then the timer goes off, and our first official podcast episode is complete.

With a squeal, we send it to our SOL group chat, and then laugh and hug each other.

How lucky I am to have a writing partner like her.

Find us on Spotify or Apple Podcasts. Eek!