Watching Hollywood A-listers promote their films, performing for the viral clips, eating the medically unwise hot chicken wings for the YouTube video, putting forward the most sparkling chemistry imaginable with their co-stars, I’m often reminded of a quote commonly attributed to George Clooney in which he quips that he acts for free but gets paid to publicise his movies. I may not have Clooney’s chocolate Labrador eyes or holiday home at Lake Como, but after two weeks of intense book publicity I can relate to the sentiment. The interviews, appearances, Q&As, social clips, planes, trains and automobiles have made writing the novel seem like a walk in the park. It’s even done the unthinkable. It’s made me sick to the back teeth of my co-author Sarah Breen. She won’t even get thick if she reads this, because I’d say the feeling is mutual. The question we get asked the most as two women who write books together – our latest, Our Deadly Summer, is our sixth and a departure from our Complete Aisling series – is: “You must fight all the time?” We never fight. We couldn’t be arsed, quite frankly. Our priorities lie in getting the work done efficiently and maintaining the friendship above all else. How have we done it? Here are our secrets: We keep each other grounded: A true friend is one who could watch you become president, cure cancer, walk on the moon, but still remember and continuously remind you of the time you called an air steward “Mammy” on a packed plane. Not that this has ever happened to either of us. A real friend will also let you know if your sartorial gauge is off. I once wore an immensely sturdy and utilitarian pair of sandals on a trip abroad, calling them my “holiday sandals”. Without missing a beat, Sarah asked: “Are they on holiday from style?” Brutal, but necessary. We share the wealth: Back in the noughties as students and in the early years of our careers we observed a sort of “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours” approach to financing our deep love for multiple nights out a week. If one of us was going through a lean month, the other would pay, knowing the favour and the funds would come back around. It helped that our drink order was identical: a double vodka and Red Bull each, a beverage we fondly referred to as “drinkie plus” and wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot pole these days.[ Aisling series authors: ‘It’s jarring to see the clothes I wore in my early twenties referred to as ‘vintage’’Opens in new window ]But never act the scab: However, it’s vitally important not to take the mickey when it comes to a friend’s generosity. Spotting each other on a night out is one thing, but we never let it get to the point where there was an outstanding and unaddressed debt. We split all of the income from joint writing work evenly down the middle. When we first got an agent in 2018 she suggested drawing up a business agreement, in case the friendship and partnership ever went south. We still haven’t got around to it. We have the same impeccable taste: There isn’t a mid-2000s reality TV show that we haven’t watched together multiple times. The 1987 Diane Keaton film Baby Boom is our joint favourite. We can both quote the entire Mighty Boosh Live 2006 DVD from memory. When Oasis reformed in 2025, we were by each other’s sides for the entire Croke Park weekend, and despite living in each other’s pockets for the past few weeks we’ll be together again this weekend for our sixth CMAT gig. I’m the fun aunt: Sarah has three children, and is an only child herself. I adore my role as surrogate aunt to the kids, who I’ve known since infancy; they have enriched my life in so many ways. One of my most treasured memories is a time when one of the children did an exercise in school about “safe” people they know they can trust. On the list (after the obvious parents and grandparents) was “Emer”, in the gorgeous hodgepodge handwriting of a seven-year-old. [ Friendship is something we ‘do’ – it does not just magically happen or keep itself aliveOpens in new window ]She’s my emergency contact: When I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital in 2020, Sarah was my “in case of emergency contact”, and when I was discharged right into Ireland’s first Covid lockdown, Sarah insisted that I form a bubble and move in with her family (worth noting that Sarah’s husband is patience personified). We’re always laughing: We’ve been hooting together for 23 years, and I’ve lost track of the annoying inside jokes and lore that cause us to assume the position (cross-legged and crouching. We are in our 40s, after all).