excerpt:

I worked with Wes and Owen for the better and worser part of a year, and they were like no writing team I’d ever encountered. First of all, you could never catch them communicating with each other in front of you. Nor could you pressure them into actually expressing an individual reaction on the spot to something you said. Yet they weren’t rude. It was some trick or talent, and it was always there, always. I would pitch some idea or notion about a scene, and there it would end. One of them might jot a note, but that was it. And it’s not as if I didn’t prod them with a “So what do you think?” And it wasn’t silence that came back from such direct assaults, at least not technically, because words were muttered by them. But never words that fit together in anything resembling declarative thought. Our times were pleasant enough; Owen is a great laugher. I never in my life met anyone who laughed more often and still seemed genuinely surprised every time he did.