Timing and the Big Reveal

 Last week, Sybil posted about the importance of pulling the various threads and subplots of the book together at the same time at the end of the book, and it made me smile because I think this is one of the most challenging and stressful aspects of writing a mystery. Perhaps more than in any other type of fiction, a mystery has to pull together in exactly the right way at the right moment. The climax, the big reveal. This is no time to wander off on some sidetrack or whimsical flashback, or to introduce a random new subplot. In the classic mystery, at least, no matter whether it's amateur sleuth or detective, cosy or edgy, the writer is playing a game with the reader of guess it if you can, drawing the reader through the mystery to try to solve it along with the protagonist. The quest to be solved can be whodunit, whodunit, or even howdunit, but there is usually some puzzle that the detective and the reader is trying to solve.

It's an element of story building that I really enjoy but also find the most challenging. I am not a plotter, so I don't know ahead of time whodunit it and how the sleuth will solve it. The story evolves as I write and introduce a variety of suspects with credible motives. Since it's a guessing game for me until quite near the end, I figure it will be one for the reader as well. But there comes a time in the story that I realize who makes the most exciting and meaningful perpetrator and then I have to figure out how the detective solves it. Gone are the days when the detective gathered everyone together in the library and accused them one after another. I like a more dramatic climax with suspense and danger. 

But there are some rules that mystery readers expect, or they may well throw the book against the wall in frustration. First of all, I have to answer the central  questions of the story– who, how, and why. I don't have to spell everything out and tie it all up with a neat bow, but, I must give enough of a hint that the reader can  figure out the answers and feel a sense of satisfaction as they close the book. I like a book that leaves me slightly bewildered and thinking about the story long after I've closed it, but I don't like feeling cheated or frustrated.

Secondly, I have to play fair with the readers who're engaged in the guessing game along with the sleuth. None of this "butler did it" or some previously unknown twin who's parachuted in at the last minute. The "villain" has to be fleshed out and participate in at least part of the story. There have to be clues, cleverly slipped in, that an alert reader can piece together. There have to be red herrings that lead readers astray, because that too is part of the enjoyment and suspense.

For me, anyway, the detective has to be as much in the dark about the villain as the reader is, which means that they can't figure it out until the climax either. I know it's not uncommon for writers to cheat a little and have the detective learn some crucial piece of information that he doesn't share with the reader before he goes off to confront the suspect. This is a device that gives the writer an easy out but I have never done that. I've always kept my detective in the dark until the big reveal, often suspecting the wrong person or not knowing which of two possible suspects it is. It puts the sleuth in added danger and ratchets up the suspense.

It also adds an extra challenge to the writing. How to keep everyone guessing until the crucial big scene, how to reveal just enough but not too much, but also how to avoid the sleuth looking like an idiot for not figuring it out earlier. 

But I've always loved a challenge. None of this is solved in the first draft. That's what rewrites are for. That's the time when clues are planted, removed, or better disguised; when characters' motives and actions are enriched and massaged to fit the story; and when subplots or scenes are inserted to clarify or distract.

Messy middles and beyond

 I have enjoyed both Charlotte's and Donis's posts this week, and boy, can I identify. Every comment and experience they related made me smile. I too am a "mostly" pantser, who never outlines at the beginning because that would be a boring way to write a novel and the outline would just get thrown away anyway. Not only do I like the surprises that my imagination comes up with along the way, but the richness, depth and direction of the novel comes to me during the writing. If I were following a pre-conceived outline, all that would be lost. It would feel like "paint by number" writing.

I do, however, sometimes have to lift my head above the parapet to see where I'm going. As new ideas come to me for upcoming scenes, I scribble them down so I won't forget them, and they act as an outline of sorts for the next few scenes. Sometimes I have to brainstorm or change direction to get myself out of a dead end (or more likely a tangle).

The "messy middle" is where I have to brainstorm the hardest. Sometimes it's the halfway point, but more often it's the two-thirds mark. The first half of the book is devoted to throwing balls up in the air – piling up the complications, challenges, and question marks. By the middle I usually have quite a few balls swirling in the air, and not only do I have to remember them all, but I also have to start thinking about how to tie them together and catch them all in the right order. My messy middle is not so much a dearth of things going on as too many. Not so much stagnant as overwhelmed. How on earth do I get from here to the end? In less than 200,000 words!

I love Charlotte's very helpful suggestions about techniques to spice up a sagging middle. I've used several of them. When I'm feeling overwhelmed and bewildered, one of my techniques is to list all the balls I can think of – the things that need to to revealed, the questions that need to be answered, the loose ends that need to be explained by the end of the book (bearing in mind I don't know what that end is). And then I brainstorm ideas, jotting the ideas as they come to me, exploring what would happen if?, and if this then that... Keeping in mind the basics of our genre. Avoid exposition, build from small to big, keep the action on the page, etc.

As I brainstorm, I'm also guided by a few questions that help to make the story authentic and alive. 1. What would logically happen next, or what would this character do next? Note: I sometimes do the opposite, just for spice. 2. What the worst thing that could happen? 

I have now made it through to the end of my current first draft and have done some tidying of loose ends (those balls that would otherwise land on my head), checked for major plot holes, and made sure the whole thing makes sense. I'm now at the stage of hating the book. I suspect every author goes through this stage at some point. I'm tired of it and can't see the forest for the trees. It holds no surprises or excitement for me, and so I am afraid it won't for the readers either. If a writer is on a deadline, as I am, we don't have the luxury of shelving it for a few months to get some distance from it. Now is the time to let trusted beta readers look at it with fresh eyes and tell me if it's as bad as I think it is. If so, hopefully they'll have some ideas for rescuing it.

A question worth answering

I am having a difficult time motivating myself to write this blog. Actually to write anything. I suspect most of us are distracted and unfocused, flitting from one worry to another. This pandemic thing is very new, and information changes minute by minute. Images flit across the screen of struggles around the world, and the fateful numbers pile up at home. Turn off the news or social media for a few hours, and you return to astonishing changes.

On the firm advice of doctors, as a person over 70 with a couple of chronic health conditions (which I've always considered no big deal), I am mostly staying in my home. Even this has been a reality check. Since when did I become a "vulnerable" person who needed protection? I am not happy to have my adventurous wings clipped, but I accept it for my health and that of others.

Initially I thought okay, I'll have lots of time to write my work-in-progress. Not happening. The yellow pad of paper sits on my coffee table, open to the same scene as last week. I can't marshall the sustained concentration to create. I force myself to write a few sentences, but then come upon something that requires a quick internet fact-check, so I open my laptop, and I'm down the rabbit hole for half an hour.

My forlorn manuscript lost amid tax records

However, I have almost finished my taxes, so some good has come of this! And I am hoping that once I get into the rhythm of this self-isolation, my writing muse will come back. On my last blog, I said that over my next four blogs, I was going to discuss the four elements I consider key to successful stories. The first one was a character worth caring about. All this seems very distant now, but in the interests of trying to reestablish some normalcy in our lives, I'm going to take a stab at the second one. In my current brain-rambling state, I may not truly do it justice, so feel free to comment on the idea, and I may revisit it on the next blog in two weeks.

The second element is a question worth answering. This is basic Writing 101. Every story poses a question at the beginning, and that question sets the hero on their quest. The driving force of the story is the hero's pursuit of the answer. Will the guy get the girl? Will the climber reach the summit? And in the case of last week's dog photo, presented here again - Will someone let the poor things in?

Please let us in!

There can be, and indeed should be, smaller questions, both in each scene and in each subplot, and the challenge is to  layer them and knit them together to make a complex, compelling story. But the story as a whole rests on the power of that primary question.

Like the character worth caring about, the question has to be a worthy one. It has to contain enough meat and meaning to engage the reader's interest. The reader has to care about what the answer is, and care that the hero gets there. Shallow, silly, superficial questions leave readers thinking "so what?" And that will not keep them up at night. What gives a question meaning? An important struggle people can relate to. I believe this is one reason crime fiction is so successful. It is about human relationships and conflict, and our question involves literally life and death. Whodunit, howdunit, whydunit, or willhedoit? Whether it's a serial killer or a genteel tea party murder, the deliberate killing of one person by another is arguably the most primal thing one human being can do to another. It is intimate, it is raw, and it is extreme. People want to know what happened, and how and why it happened. We walk in the shoes of the hero, of the victim, and in the case of good writers, of the villain too.

But even within the mystery genre, not all questions have equal power. The murder may seem almost irrelevant, lost in a blaze of car chases and explosions, or trivial, lost in the clever chatter of the characters. It's still possible for the reader to think "so what?", especially if the victim is faceless. So a large part of making the question worthy lies not just in keeping the focus on the murder rather than the distractions, but also on creating characters who are genuine, believable and personally affected by the murder. In my opinion, if all characters, including victim and villain, are real and well rounded so that people can relate to them, the reader will care about what happens. So back to Element #1, a character worth caring about. If the writer has created a character you care about, then chances are you'll care about their struggle to achieve their quest.

A small note about the last word in that phrase, a question worth answering. I chose the word answering rather than asking because the momentum of a story lies not in the asking but in the answering. The answer is the goal at the end.

I'll sign off here and invite anyone to comment, improve, and add. Stay safe and sane, everyone.

In search of a name

It's two weeks since I wrote my post 'Ready, set go!' about putting my pen to paper and getting started on the first draft of my new, no-name Inspector Green novel. At that time I had about 10 pages written. I am now proud to announce that I have 73 pages! Mind you, it's 73 handwritten pages and half the paragraphs are crossed out, but still, it's progress! Moreover, while I was doing that, the proofs of my novel THE ANCIENT DEAD arrived from the publisher and I have been wading through those too. And I had to prepare a talk to give to the local editors' association.

As an aside, that group is impressive! It was a regular monthly meeting but almost all the seats were filled. Not only did they laugh at my jokes but they listened for nearly an hour and then asked questions for another half hour, despite a snowstorm brewing outside. One tip I learned for any association struggling with poor attendance: serve excellent snacks (croissants, cheese, strawberries, among other things), and in addition to coffee and tea, serve alcohol! I noticed several members pouring Baileys on their ice cream.

I also updated my website, did some social media fiddling, and spent hours researching on the internet. And by the end of two weeks, I had 73 pages and two problems. First of all, no body. There was lots of mystery and intrigue, but I was writing and writing and writing without ever reaching that crucial point in a detective novel: the appearance of a body. It arrives on p. 74, but it remains to be seen, once I get this handwritten scribble down on the computer where I can examine it, whether that's soon enough. I don't think I've ever put off murder for so long before,

The second problem is, no-name doesn't cut it as a title. A title is like the cherry on the top of a sundae, the perfect touch that ties the whole creation together. Sometimes it comes to me easily, even before I've started the book. Sometimes it jumps out at me from a phrase I've written. Other times I play with words, comb through Internet quotations and generally tear out my hair before I hit upon the perfect title that captures the essence of the story.

No-name is about domestic violence, so I toyed with variations on the wedding vows. 'For better or for worse' and 'Till death do us part' have both been done to death. To have and to hold... Meh. I combed through Shakespearean quotes online. Nobody does death quite like Shakespeare. But so far, I've struck out.

So the search continues. I hope that by the summer I will have found my answer. Stay tuned!

Plotting, Plotting

By Vicki Delany

I hate plotting. But I do it.

I used to be a ‘pantser’: a writer who doesn’t know where the story is going. Writes by the seat of her pants.

Vicki Writing (not exactly as shown)

This is different from a plotter: a writer who prepares a detailed outline ahead of time and thus knows where the book is going.

I’m not a total plotter. I usually write a good section of the book before I start plotting. I like to get the characters in my head, and an idea of what the story is going to be about. The only way I do that is by writing it. But then, when I’m maybe 10,000 words in, it’s time to start figuring the rest of it out.

Today was plotting day for Sherlock #6. I’ve started the story. I wrote the inciting incident. I’ve introduced (to myself as much as to anyone else) the guest characters. The murder in this book comes quite close to the beginning, so I know who died and how and what led up to it. I also know who dunit and why they dunit. Now, it’s time to get an outline for the remaining 70,000 or so words down on paper.

And I hate it.

So, why then do I do it you ask? I changed from a pantser to a plotter when I was signed by publishing houses that required an outline before giving a contract. I wrote the outline reluctantly and then found that it helped me write the book an enormous amount. Get the hard part out of the way, I found, and the rest is easy(er).

For a case in point, see Barbara’s recent post on shitty first drafts and the mushy middle (https://typem4murder.blogspot.com/2019/01/ahah-moments.html)

One of my publishers doesn’t strictly require an outline, but I send it to them anyway. If there is anything they don’t like, I’d rather know about it now than when I’ve fished the book and incorporated that sticky point into the final product. As an example the outline for Body on Baker Street had Gemma and Jayne breaking into the police station in search of clues. UH, no, said my editor, that’s going too far.

So instead Gemma is thinking about breaking into the police station, when Detective Ryan guesses what she’s up to and puts a stop to it.  She manages to find out what she needs to know another (less illegal) way.

Today I plotted.  That involved a lot of pacing around the house. It helps that it’s -13 degrees today, without wind-chill, so I wasn’t temped to venture outside except to get more firewood from the garage. I paced, I thought, I cursed. I made notes. I tried to turn those notes into sentences.

By 2:00 I had a fairly good idea of what I want to do.  I still have a lot of ???? in the outline, but I’ll ponder those for the rest of the day and then try to finish the outline tomorrow.

It won’t be perfect, and things can change. But I’ll have a good solid road map that I can follow, and hopefully, not get bogged down in the soggy middle.

Teasing loose the logjams

Barbara here. These are the lazy, hazy days of summer, when I can be found lounging on the dock at the lake, sipping that evening drink, and waiting for the barbecue to work its magic without dirtying a single pot or bowl. The light lingers, the final rays of sun stay warm...

The TV is rarely turned on. The news is followed but at a distance. In Canada at least, it seems like a sacrilege to waste time indoors in front of the babble box when the all-too-precious days of summer are calling.

It would be nice to take a break from all work, to do nothing but read, eat, sleep, and hang out with friends. But writing is a full-time, 24/7 job. Deadlines beckon, and in the writing business, there is no one but ourselves to snap the whip. My novels usually take about a year to complete, and during that year the publisher and editor sit quietly, trusting that the completed work will land in their inbox by the contracted deadline. So it's up to me to set the mini-deadlines. It's easy to let a day slip by without writing, saying "oh, I'll make it up tomorrow". Easier still to let the second day go by, and pretty soon, I've forgotten where I was going in the book, I've lost the momentum, and the whole project feels like one giant millstone. I don't know how many times in the past few weeks I have said "I hate this book, I don't know where it's going but I'm afraid it's nowhere."

People often ask me if I write every day. I say yes, I write in some fashion. It's the only way the book will get written. But sometimes the "writing" is really thinking. Pondering the next step, untangling a mess, trying to figure out where it should go next. This thinking is essential, because in my modified "pantser" style of writing, I often don't know what ought to come next. So even though I may barely put pen to paper, by thinking, I may dislodge an entire logjam of ideas to move the story forward another few chapters.

For me, one of the worst logjams occurs when I am nearing the end of a book, before I have figured out how it will end. Before I have figured out how the main character will solve the mess or who the villain will prove to be. I am at that point in my current WIP, the third Amanda Doucette mystery, Prisoners of Hope. I have half a dozen story threads on the go, a few suspects, and a bubbling cauldron of problems. Amanda is on the move, chasing down one of the suspects. But will that suspect be THE one? Or will there be more twists?

One of the elements I love and hate most about writing mysteries is this climax, where everything has to come together simultaneously. The main character must figure it out at the last minute, just ahead of the reader, and the whole solution must be revealed in a dramatic, exciting finish. Drawing room discussions of guilt or innocence, a la Hercule Poirot, or courtroom accusations like Perry Mason are now a cliche, and todays' readers expect more. Moreover, twenty-page epilogues to tie up all the loose ends are an anti-climax. As much as possible, loose ends should be explained in the main climax.

All this – the big reveal, the dramatic finish, the maintenance of suspense, and the tying up of loose ends – is no easy feat. No wonder I get exhausted just thinking about it, and am currently circling around and around the ending. I poke away at the logjam as I drive the car, walk the dogs, wash the dishes, and even as I sit on the dock with my glass of wine, letting the evening haze settle over me. I know the answer will probably not come in a single stroke of brilliance but in a series of small "what ifs" that nudge the logjam from the edges, teasing possibilities free until something shifts and the way forward is revealed.

I know it will happen. I have learned, after fourteen books, to trust that I will eventually figure it out. But it always feels as if this time, I may crash and burn.

Hopefully not.