This is a page from my son's story I rescued from the recycling bin. He and his friend are writing it together. It is a totally collaborative process. Most of what I've gleaned about the story is from conversations in the car on the way home from school like this:
“So,” Son says, “Clayton is equipment and technology—"
“Wait a minute, Clayton can’t be both equipment and technology. Those are two huge things,” Friend says.
“Okay, then how about Clayton is equipment and Reggie is technology and communications. That’s the same thing, anyway,” Son says.
“Dude, we already said Clayton is technology.” Friend sounds exasperated. “Clayton has to be technology. Reggie can be equipment.”
The story is not for school or any other adult-initiated agenda. It is their thing. For that reason, I have been incredibly restrained about interrupting or asking questions. I have not asked to read it. To protect the fragile nature of a work-in-progress, I purposely made the photo above small so it can't be read. To be honest, I didn't really understand much of the above page, except that it's about some kind of firefight up in the clouds with a pilot named Matt.
I am really fascinated by their writing process, which involves mostly writing separately but also some writing sessions together, with his friend on his computer and my son on his laptop. Sometimes when my son gets home he is so eager to begin writing that he rushes downstairs to begin, without a snack. During our car rides there are a lot of negotiations like the one above, and also about editing, the narrative flow, the narrator's voice, and other meaty topics. I look forward to reading it at some point, if they let me. But now I am enjoying observing the writing of it.