Writing The Modern Mystery

From private eye, police procedural, professional Amateur, John  and Jane Q Public, Heists, Capers, Kidnapping, Romantic Suspense the genres and sub-genres are endless when it comes to what constitutes a mystery.  Correction, a Modern Mystery.

Let's begin with a definition of mystery - it comes from the old Greek mysterion - to keep silence (myein- to be closed as with eyes or lips sealed.)  Keeping a secret is the idea behind it all. The modern mystery finds its roots in morality plays. The felonious assault against neighbors and crimes against entire populaces, though the crimes may remain the same the intensity, the horrificness of those crimes has increased. It seems the stakes are higher, the punishment harsher in the modern day mystery.

Some modern mystery writers prefer their imagination to reality, creating their own criminal milieu. Whether or not they use modern technology to solve the crimes is their choice. They ring out, draw-out, and leverage their creative powers until they squeeze the last thrill out of the whodunit and give the reader a full measure of satisfaction.

"It is characterized by its own rules and is judged by those rules." According to Barbara Norville, in Writing the Modern Mystery.  This book was published in 1986 but the information is as true as if it were written today.

Supposedly there is no such thing as a simple linear plot in a mystery. A mystery thought when a writer begins s/he better have a plot outline in place so s/he does not run amuck. Painting him or her into the proverbial, unsolvable corner is not an option. Even though it may not appear that the mystery is as orderly as a plot outline on the page, it must be thoroughly thought through to keep you on target so that you reach your perceived goal at the end.

There is no room for irrelevant material or loose ends. Absolutely no room to change course midstream, unless you want to see the reader toss your book in to the circular file and cross you off their "to be read" list.

Characters, fully developed characters, are always consistent in their attitudes and actions. Usually who they are isn't as important as what they do. Hero/heroines solve the problems or promises made at the beginning of the story. Antagonists disrupt, thwart and create chaos that tears a hole in the fabric of known society. Theme choice of the crime and authors attitude toward the crime are also key factors.

The many subgenres help define what type of story the mystery reader can expect. Detective, romantic suspense or true crime. Characters and plot define, and genre rules, ultimately, illuminate the category or subgenre for the reader. Create a world you are comfortable with, people it with characters, a crime, a world you are contented with and want to write about-choose your subgenre, and write.

Your sleuth can have any career you can think of. Billie A Williams has used a single mother waitress, hobby candle making; an antique store owner, a bed and Breakfast owner, a town chairwoman, book store owner, investigative reporter, teacher, archeology professor, peace corps worker, a homeless woman, CAN at a nursing home-all accidental sleuths who solve the crimes in their own style. The modern mystery has many options for the writer, depending on the crime and author experience or imagination as mentioned above.

Many times in real life, crimes, cold case crimes, as in Patricia Cornwell's Jack-the-Ripper solved, or others unsolved, but begging all sleuths to render their version of whodunit, a solution -they become mystery novels.

The modern mystery is not shackled by earlier conventions; locked rooms are passé, but could still be used with a twist and your unique take on it. Your imagination, your comfort zone and your skill are the only limitations you must obey. 

Make your reading time absorbing. Pit your wits against the accidental sleuth, who may be in a job like yours. Subscribe to my free e-zine Mystery Readers and Working Writers, the free e-zine for mystery lovers. Get a free e-booklet " A Nice Quiet Family" a very short/flash mystery. http://www.billiewilliams.com

For those of you who are not new subscribers, if you want the above booklet just send me an email and I'll send it off to you.  Thanks!

Billie

Ahead of him, farther up the path, Skye saw a brightly colored arch. He had walked a long way and his paws were tired. He was sorry he wouldn't see his Mom again for a while, but his tummy had stopped hurting all the time. He sat down to rest and groom his soft white fur. Then he noticed something. His fat tummy was gone. A bright yellow butterfly sailed past his face, teasing him. Skye lay in the sun thinking of his Mom. He hoped she knew that he had loved her. He tried to show her. And she never pushed him away when he went to sleep with his head on her shoulder. Probably that little black cat would take his place. That made him sad. He knew that cat, and the funny one with a lot of colors, needed a home. But did it have to be his home?

            He remembered when he had come to live with her. He remembered where he lived before. That lady was good to him, but there were so many kittens there. They all lived in a box with their Mama Cat. Leslie told him it was time to move on and she had found a nice home for him. But he had to go alone. The lady who was taking him only wanted one cat. That was hard; he missed his brothers and sisters. And his tummy hurt even then, but no one knew why he cried so much. Finally his new Mom said that he had to go to a vet. Well, he didn't know what that was and didn't think he would like it at all. He sure didn't like getting in a carrier and riding in the car. Even howling all the way didn't save him. They went to the vet's house. It was full of other kittens and big cats and bigger things that he found out were called dogs. It was quite a day, but in the end he went home again and after a day or two he felt better. The vet person gave him something different to eat and he got better.

            Sometimes Mom would go away for a long time then Bob came to take care of him. That was all right, but he didn't especially like cats. Not like Mom's friend, Sherrill, who started taking care of him. She knew what cats liked and he loved her too. It was like having two Moms.

            We had a good life but then Mom started helping the cats that didn't have homes. It wasn't so bad when they only came around to eat because I had my own good food and ate in the house. But then it was cold and snowing and two little kittens were there. One of them got so sick it couldn't even walk and good ol' Mom brought them in our house. Well, that was the end of my peace and quiet. Mom still loved me more and didn't let them get on the bed with us at night, but they were there! I kept them in line though. The one with all colored fur was afraid of me and I liked that. All I had to do was lay down where she wanted to walk and she wouldn't come near me. They wanted to play with the toys in my basket. I sure put a stop to that. But then Mom gave them some of their own. It was just a lot better before they moved into our house. When I got sick, Mom did everything she could for me and we went to see my vet. Her name was Tracy and she was nice to me but she couldn't help me feel better. Mom told me one morning how bad she felt for me and didn't want me to go away, but that I wasn't getting any better. Well, I knew that. What did she think? Sherrill and her friend came and they put me in that carrier that I didn't like. We went in the other lady's car to Tracy. Mom cried and Tracy cried. Sherrill wouldn't look at me, but I could tell she was crying too. I remember going with Mom and Tracy and a boy then the next thing I knew I was walking up this path and there was a beautiful rainbow bridge ahead of me. I know that Mom will come one of these days. Until then, I'll just hang around in the sun.

                                                            *     *     *

            I wrote this last summer after my 25 pound baby passed on. Like many other people who read this newsletter, I have a soft spot for animals, mine being cats. Last year wasn't a good year for my kitties. Skye died in June and in December, poor little Callie got so sick there was no choice. So, she made her journey to the Rainbow Bridge. I really hope that Skye is kinder to her there than he was when they lived with me. He never hurt her. Intimidation was his game and he was a master at it.

            Almost two weeks ago, the remaining house kitty nearly went to join his friends. Little Blackie was attacked by two large and very mean dogs. They drug him right off our patio and out into the snow, where they proceeded to maul him. I heard the racket, ran outside, and saw the situation. The only weapon at hand was my plastic snow shovel. I'm here to tell all of you that we are protected in times of need. I waded into the fray, swinging my shovel and screaming. It might be that the air was a bit blue. I know I was breathing fire. I beat both dogs around the heads and faces and two young boys came along and began yelling. Between us, we distracted them and they ran off. I wasn't sure if Blackie was even alive when I picket him up. My personal angel, Judy, came rushing over and we took the little fellow to our veterinarian. He had lost every toenail (claw) on both hind feet; part of the ones on his front paws, two teeth, and has a broken rib. But he fought valiantly and will be okay. Tracy, our vet, assures me that the toenails (her term) will grow back. So he is recuperating, and bemoaning the fact that he isn't allowed outside. Maybe when he has his claws back. We will see. The dogs are either kept inside or have been taken away. I don't know yet what the owner has done with them. It is all in the hands of our local Animal Control and I can't say enough good about those dedicated souls. The owner has been ticketed and will be appearing in court for letting these dogs run at large. With the large number of small children in my neighborhood, this is an issue that I'm not prepared to drop just yet. And the snow shovel is handy right outside my door.

Okay, time to get off my soap box. See you next month.

"A Little Birdie Told Me"

Birdie told me something tonight that scared the h...out of me. Ha! Ha! I bet you thought I was saying a curse word. Not so. It's only "heck." So there. That has nothing to do with anything.

Anyway...on a more serious note, my hubby has been diagnosed with diabetes type 2. It's not so bad that he was put on medication; the diabetes  can be controlled with healthy eating. That's not what scared me though. A quote that Birdie gave me almost sent me to my early grave.

First, let me tell you, hubby and I went to diabetes classes given by our hospital here in Ocala. Bless Pete if I didn't get more information, books, articles, papers, guidelines, recipes, you name it, than Wicapedia offers. So I started my crusade, changing all our eating habits, making new recipes and just having a good ole time. Then Birdie gave me this quote that Mark Twain made a hundred years ago.

Well...it just about did me in. Ole` Mark said, quote.

 "Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint."

 Jeezzzz! Can you believe that? And that's all I've been doing; reading and studying health books. Now, if I die, I'll have only myself to blame.

Well, that's no reason to give Birdie "a bird in the mouth." He's only the messenger. But I'd like to have Mark Twain here. I wonder what he looks like. I'll go see and be back in a minute.

               Hmmm...I've always loved a man with a mustache and a pipe and a captain's hat and a bow tie. Right nice looking` fellow, I'd say. Most of all, I love his humor. The man is hot.

Well, ya'all, I'm going to leave you now with this thought in mind. Wear your raincoat even if the sun's out. Never can tell when it might start raining. Better safe than sorry.

Take care and see you next time. Don't take no wooden Indians.

Pee Wee Hamilton

S.K. Hamilton

www.willow-walk.webs.com Check out my web and learn about my books.

peewee2234488@yahoo.com