A lot of writers feel alone. You can tell by how fast they answer when somebody asks for a writing buddy.
A writer in a creative writing group asked this week whether anyone wanted a writing buddy. She was writing her first psychological thriller, working full time as a mom, and she’d started and stopped the book so many times she’d lost count. She felt alone. She wanted someone to do writing sprints with, or just talk about books with, so they could keep each other going.
The replies came fast. A horror writer working on another first draft. A man writing a dark thriller. Another horror novelist whose book kept stalling. A woman starting her first novel who called it exciting and scary at the same time. An editor who writes magical realism. A writers’ guild that runs online sprints and quarterly cohorts. Within an hour, a dozen people had said yes.
I’m not one of them. I’ve tried writing partners a few times, and it never really worked out. But I understand why so many people want one, and for a lot of writers it’s the difference between a finished first draft and another abandoned one.
What is a writing buddy?
Another writer you check in with regularly to keep each other working. It can mean a lot of different arrangements.
Some buddies do writing sprints together: they meet on a video call or in a chat, agree to write for 25 minutes with no talking, then compare word counts and do it again. Some just check in once a week with a goal and a report. Some trade chapters for feedback. That edges into critique partner territory. Some are mostly moral support, a person who understands why you spent your lunch break rewriting the same paragraph. The writer who asked wanted a little of all of it: sprints, encouragement and someone to talk books with.
Which one is right? None of them, and all of them. They solve different problems.
Does a writing buddy help you finish a book?
For a lot of people, yes. The reason is simple. It’s easy to let yourself down. It’s harder to let somebody else down.
If you’ve started and stopped the same book many times, the problem is usually that nothing makes Tuesday night’s writing session happen when you’re tired and the kids are finally asleep. A buddy who’s expecting a report gives the session a reason to exist. Sprints help too, because twenty-five minutes is short enough to start even when you don’t feel like it, and once you’ve started, you often keep going.
Company matters too. Writing a first novel while working full time is lonely work. Talking to someone in the same spot reminds you that stalling is normal, that every writer has days when the book feels hopeless. The only way out is to keep going.
It’s easy to let yourself down. It’s harder to let somebody else down. That’s the whole case for a writing buddy. – Richard LoweShare on X
Why a writing partner never worked for me
I’ve used a writing partner a few times. It never really worked out. I’m not a person who works well in pairs or groups. I’m deeply introverted, and I like working by myself.
For several years I wrote articles as part of a team for a large corporate client. It was a full collaboration. I’d write something, it would go to another writer, then to an editor, then up to the brand chief, and it would bounce all over the place before it came back to me needing more. Everybody had a say. That’s how big organizations produce content, and the work was good. It was also hard for me, every time, because of all the people and all the hand-offs.
Today my writing day has three blocks: a client in the morning, my own books in the afternoon if I can fit them in, and another client in the evening. Nobody sprints with me. Nobody checks my word count. It works because I know I’ll show up.
The one group arrangement that worked well for me was a critique group, the East Lake Writers’ Workshop that Deanna Bennett ran in Palm Harbor. I spent many hours there critiquing her books and other people’s work. That worked because it had a structure: pages in, honest critique out, a leader who kept it fair. Nobody had to be my friend to make it useful.
How do you find a good writing buddy?
Start by being honest about what you need.
If you need accountability, look for someone who’ll hold you to a schedule and who wants the same from you. If you need company, look for someone in a similar life situation, who’ll understand why you can only write after nine at night. If you need feedback, you’re really looking for a critique partner, and you want someone who reads and writes in or near your genre. If you need encouragement, almost anybody kind will do.
Writing groups, local libraries, writers’ guilds and online communities all have people looking for the same thing. Some organizations run structured sprints and cohorts so you don’t have to arrange it yourself. A local group that meets in person tends to be steadier than a stranger from a Facebook thread. I’ve written about finding a writing group worth sitting in, and why so many online ones go wrong in why writing groups are so hostile.
Try it for a month before you commit to anything long-term. A buddy you don’t click with is worse than none.
What rules make a writing buddy arrangement work?
A few simple ones, agreed up front.
Decide how often you’ll check in and how: a daily message, a weekly call, a standing sprint session. Decide what you’ll report: words, time, scenes, whatever measure makes sense for you. Decide whether you’ll share pages, and if you will, what kind of feedback each of you wants. Some writers want brutal honesty about a first draft. Others need to get it all down before anybody reads a word, and a critique too early can stop a draft cold.
Keep it from turning into a chat club. Talking about writing is pleasant, and it’s easy to spend the whole session doing that and none of it writing. Sprint first, talk after.
And give yourself permission to end it. If your schedules don’t line up, if one of you wants much more than the other, or if it’s become one more obligation that makes you feel guilty, say so and move on. Nobody owes anyone a writing partnership.
What’s the difference between a writing buddy and a critique partner?
A writing buddy helps you write. A critique partner helps you revise.
A buddy is about the process. You check in, you sprint together, you encourage each other, and you may never read a word of each other’s work. A critique partner is about the pages. You trade chapters and tell each other what’s working and what isn’t. Some people do both with the same person. Many shouldn’t.
Mixing them too early is a common mistake. If you’re struggling to finish a first draft, the last thing you need is someone pointing out that chapter three drags. A first draft is supposed to be rough. Get it down with a buddy’s encouragement, and bring in critique once there’s something whole to critique. I’ve covered how critique groups work in writing critique groups.
A good critique partner also needs some distance from you. A buddy can be a friend. A critique partner has to be willing to tell you the truth about your pages, and friendship makes that harder than people expect. Who’s going to tell you your favorite scene doesn’t work? Not someone who’s worried about losing you as a friend.
What if you work better alone?
Then work alone. Plenty of us do.
Accountability can come from a schedule, a deadline, a word count tracker or a promise to yourself. Company can come from reading other writers’ stories about their process. Feedback can come from beta readers, a critique group or a book coach once the draft exists. None of that requires a buddy.
Is the book getting written? That’s the question.
If a buddy gets you there, find one this week. If you’re like me and the idea makes you want to close the laptop, protect your writing time and show up for it anyway. My guide to writer’s block and productivity killers covers more ways to keep going. The writing hub has the rest of the craft pieces, and if you’d like someone to keep you on track through a whole book, my book coaching is built for exactly that. A finished first draft doesn’t care how you got there.
