I started a work project with a friend a few years ago – a TV project that we planned to co-write. It was the perfect set-up – this friend makes me laugh like a drain; we share a sense of the absurd and just diverse enough political views to not be a total ‘Prosecco chamber’ when we’re out drinking. Amber is a lot Scouse, a bit Wicca, and 100% badass feminist. She’s worked as a counsellor, managed refuge schemes in the UK for women escaping horrific situations, and helped rewrite policy on the treatment of rape victims in various countries.
My respect for her goes through the stratosphere. We met almost 20 years ago at a party at her house. She had a Breton top and a glossy bob. I was a wannabe bluestocking who drew my eyebrows on too dark. That night, I stole a hat – sheer devilment – but also to get her attention. Our friendship has withstood the fact that she lives overseas (first Thailand, then Dubai) – something that made the prospect of working together even more exciting.
But I was nervous. It’s never happened that way around for me before. The professional connection has usually predated the friendship. What about when the friendship had come first? How could I start having candid financial chats with someone I was more used to discussing my sex life with? And did that mean, if things went tits up, she’d have some dangerous leverage?
But I was forgetting something. Trust. Yes, that beautiful thing that good relationships are based on in the first place. After all, if you could trust someone with the worst ins and outs of your sex life, money should be a doozy. But was it? I trusted Amber but, when a production company got interested in our project, I knew we were going to have to have awkward conversations about credits, division of labour and that good old relationship boner-wilter: money.
Working well with someone means defining your boundaries.
Yes, cold hard cash can rock too many love boats, friendships included. My cousin lent her friend thousands when he said his home was at risk, only to then have said friend buy a motorbike and go on luxury holidays without paying her back – which, unsurprisingly, broke the friendship (and six years on, that ‘friend’ has only just paid her back). But my cousin remains philosophical, saying she’s over it, because ‘if there’s anything more miserable than being tight, it’s being resentful’. Amen!
As for me and Amber, we had to promise to just keep talking. About everything. All our concerns. All our crazies. If you make a deal where you say: our friendship comes first and any time that is threatened, the project is over – you’ll survive.
Other times, just as crucially, you have to stop talking. Working well with someone means defining your boundaries. I’ll talk to Amber about any of the creative decisions, and I’ll tell her roughly what I think is fair, and she’ll do the same – but then we’ll let our agents sort the finer points. Just because you’re used to discussing everything to the nth degree, doesn’t mean you should in this context.
Keep focused on the aspects of the job you want to do together, and remember why you wanted to work together in the first place. But expect it to be tense sometimes. Expect calls where you feel a bit sick at broaching something to do with money, or you feel you’ve done too much work, or they’ve not done enough, etc. Getting the skills to talk straight about that stuff is as important as any other skills.
Finally, it’s important to sanctify chats where you don’t talk about work. Which is tough, if work is the most exciting thing, but don’t let it define your relationship. The first thing I’ll do when we get a script commission? Buy Amber a hat.
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