The Elements of Mystery Fiction: Writing the Modern Whodunit

by Tapply, William G.

  Plot and Pace—With standalone novels, think about a ticking clock.

  Is a definite time limit (racing to stop the bomb from exploding, finding the child before she’s lost forever) a tried and true device that borders on the cliché? Yes. But it also works. The ticking clock works because it’s in the very nature of a thriller. At the most simplistic level, the difference between a mystery and suspense novels is: In a mystery, you want to know who did it. In a suspense novel, you might know whodunit from the first page, but you want to know what happens next.

  For the reader to care about what happens next, speed and hard-driving momentum are vital elements of the story. With a good mystery, if your protagonist is engaging, the pace can be more leisurely. But with a suspense novel, if you’re not reluctant to put the book down, if you aren’t burning to see what happens next, something isn’t working.

  Think about what’s at stake. Think about a short deadline. Think what would happen if even with all the best efforts of the protagonist, that deadline kept growing shorter. Think about making your reader feel anxious. Think about making him give up a night’s sleep to finish your book. That’s your job.

  Endings—With a series, when one story comes to a close readers are comfortable. They know that another will be coming. Better still, they will keep learning about your characters in each new book. So the ending of a series novel is often a matter of tying up the loose ends of the puzzle you’ve created, restoring order out of chaos, and establishing a sense of continuity with the characters. The pressures and joys your characters encountered in this current story will shape them in the next one. Whatever pains they’ve incurred and changes they’ve experienced, they will be available to take on another assignment—in your next book.

  In a standalone, the ending is the end of that cast of characters. They are left there forever. You can (and probably should) have them looking toward their future. But since your readers will never see it, you have an opportunity to show your characters as changed forever, if that seems right. In some stories, characters may have lost so much they should be changed forever. I have a pet peeve with all the books I’ve read where entirely horrible things have happened to people and the loved ones around them, and yet they’re cheerful at the very end. The dog comes in the kitchen and barks and everyone laughs, as if nothing really happened.

  In my sixth novel, One Bad Thing, my protagonist has suffered terribly with the loss of his daughter. But he’s also taken the law into his own hands more than once, including killing even when he had another choice. I just couldn’t think of any plausible reason why he wouldn’t go to jail. If he were a series character, I’d think twice. I’d figure something out so I didn’t have to send my character off to jail for six years.

  But with a standalone novel like One Bad Thing, it worked. We see him getting off the bus after he’s finally made parole. He’s suffered, but there is a faint light at the end of the tunnel, and that’s all I wanted. This isn’t to say series characters don’t suffer. They do, sometimes mightily. But you’ve got to think ahead and leave them with enough to be ready for the next book.

  Movies, marketing, and bookshelf space

  Take what I have to say with a grain of salt. To the good, three of my seven books have been optioned for movies. I’ve seen my books in several different languages, and I’ve talked about my books on a hundred radio interviews, half a dozen television appearances, and about a dozen feature articles. I’ve seen a few bad reviews, but all in all, I’ve received mostly good-to-excellent reviews. All of which is very gratifying.

  But I’m also miles away from the bestseller list. None of my books has been actually made into a movie so far. I’m a “mid-list” writer, meaning that my books rank at the middle (or end) of the publisher’s sales list.

  That said, here are a few things I’ve picked up along the way about the differences between standalone novels and series books when it comes to movies and marketing.

  Movies: Generally speaking, the folks in Hollywood are looking for an idea that has that certain “it” quality which seems fresh…yet familiar. They want a “high concept” idea that is visual in nature. Most of the time we see movies from several different perspectives, even if we’re primarily following the action of one protagonist. So more often than not, a standalone novel that is told from multiple third-person viewpoints is more easily translatable to the screen than a series novel told from a single first-person viewpoint.

  Character is extremely important to the movie business as well. They are looking for roles that can showcase actors well, so fully developed, appealing characters are vital. Great characters can be found in both standalones and series novels. However, are you willing to sell the rights to your series character based on the sale of one novel to one producer? That’s usually what they want. Elmore Leonard says that he’s often written about similar characters, but he just changed the names so it wouldn’t harm the movie sales. An exaggeration, maybe, but something to think about.

  Marketing: There’s a notable difference between the marketing of series novels and standalones. With series books, you’re looking for continuity. You may or may not benefit from a “honeymoon” in the review press that gives some attention to the introduction of a new series. You may be more likely to get attention in the mystery magazines and more orders from mystery bookstores. With a mystery series, you often start off with the expectation of a “slow sell.” This means that the value of your series will be judged by how well your first three books build a following. That’s the theory, anyhow. The reality must take into account the computerized inventory systems in the big chain stores that determine your success with that first book—and how many of your subsequent books the chains will buy. So if you sell 3,000 hardcovers of the first book, they’ll order 3,200, if you’re lucky, the second time. But don’t get me started.

  The same limitations apply to standalones, except “hitting it big” right out of the box is more important. Why? Because since you are a standalone writer, your next book will have no connection to this one. Both will be judged entirely upon their own merits. The good news is that if you have a truly high-concept idea and a well-realized story, your chances of securing a bigger advance and more publicity are greater than with a series novel.

  My fourth novel, Adrenaline, was the story of an adrenaline junkie who turned to murder for his thrills. This was back when bungee jumping was big and Nike was running their “No Fear” campaign. I was looking at my own interest in riding motorcycles too fast and thinking how ultimately stupid that was compared with my father’s generation, who were sent off to World War II. This was in the mid-nineties when the economy was booming, years before 9/11.

  So I worked with my publisher to develop a press release about America’s then-current fascination with high risk, and as luck would have it, Time magazine did a cover article about the very topic just as my book was coming out in mass market. Even though Adrenaline wasn’t featured in the Time article, we sent the story out along with my press release, and over thirty radio stations across the country signed me up for interviews. We had similar success with my next two books: Frames Per Second, about the how digital imaging is changing the credibility of photojournalism, and One Bad Thing, about the ten-year anniversary of the largest art theft in the world at Boston’s Gardner Museum.

  While it’s possible that such a nonfiction “hook” can work with a series novel, in a standalone novel it’s far more likely to be noticed by the media, which tend to regard mystery series as character-rich whodunits. A standalone novel is more often associated with “the big idea.” It will either enjoy a big hit of publicity…or just fade away.

  Bookshelf Space: If you ever have the choice between movie options, big publicity, or bookshelf space, pick bookshelf space. You can live without the movies and enjoy a long and successful career, but you must have your books on the shelves, along with publicity and in-store push, for them to sell.

  If your standalone h
its it big, then you might enjoy an enormous distribution in hardcover and mass market with your first book in a volume that few series mysteries ever enjoy until several books down the road. On the other hand, those mass-market books often remain on the shelf for an appallingly short time (30 to 90 days). Then your name disappears until your next book.

  In theory, a series book that is well supported by the publisher and the bookstores will maintain your early books (called backlist) on the shelf as each new one comes out. That’s great. When readers come into the store, ideally they’ll find your first three books facing out next to your new one. This helps grow your name by the sheer shelf space it occupies, and it encourages people to go back and read your earlier stories. It helps build you over time, which is the primary benefit of a series.

  I’ve got enough series-writer friends to know that theory is not necessarily reality. But the concept is valid. It is one of the most compelling reasons from a business standpoint to write a series novel instead of a standalone.

  Making a decision

  There are many other differences between standalone and series stories:

  The sheer numbers game. I’m referring to the number of times a character can be shot at, kill someone, and lose loved ones without going insane or being thrown in prison. I admire John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee series immensely. That series is one of the reasons I started writing novels in the first place. But poor McGee lost a woman in almost every novel. They’d die some horrible death and he’d avenge them, and I couldn’t help thinking that in real life, if you’ve had about twenty girlfriends die violently, you’d probably feel wary about starting a new relationship.

  My point is that over a number of books, you may feel your own credulity strained as you put your series characters through so many paces in one lifetime.

  Your familiarity with your characters and setting. This is a big consideration. When I start a new novel with all new characters and setting, I have to spend a lot of time figuring out who the characters are, what they care about, how they’ll react to situations, their tone, dialogue style, personal histories…everything. Having started my second in a series, I can see that it’s a huge advantage to know the primary characters and setting in advance. This kind of head start can be a limitation, but it has major benefits for the writer.

  999

  Think about the stories you like to read. Think about how you like to write. Think about whether you want to try to hit it big with a standalone or build more slowly, and perhaps more surely, with a series.

  Then…do what you want to do. You’re the author, after all.

  Chapter 14

  Seeing Double:

  Making Collaboration Work

  Hallie Ephron

  So you want to collaborate on a mystery novel? You’re following a fine tradition. Most famously, there was Ellery Queen, the pen name of first cousins Fred Dannay and Manny Lee, who practiced the art of the classic detective novel from 1929 until Lee’s death more than forty years later. Dannay did most of the plotting and Lee did most of the writing. Then there’s Per Wahloo and Maj Sjowall, the Swedish husband-and-wife team who wrote the Martin Beck police novels. Supposedly they’d put the kids to bed and write alternate chapters. Today we have “Perri O’Shaughnessy”—sisters Pam and Mary O’Shaughnessy—who often collaborate across an ocean, swapping the lead every other book as they write their series of legal thrillers featuring attorney Nina Reilly.

  Cousins, spouses, sisters. Sounds like you have to be related to make it work, but that’s not the case. My co-author is my longtime friend, forensic neuropsychologist Donald Davidoff.

  It all began in 1996 over the dinner and several bottles of wine that my husband and I shared with Don and his wife. Don, a neuropsychologist, was telling us about a murder case on which he’d consulted as an expert witness. We were fascinated as he told us how he was evaluating an eyewitness, working with defense counsel, and testifying in court. Eyewitnesses, he told us, were notoriously fallible.

  “Wouldn’t it be neat,” one of us said, though I can’t remember who, “to write a mystery that hinges on the fallibility of eye-witness testimony.”

  We started what-iffing, sketching out a plot and characters. By the end of the evening, Don and I had agreed to get together the following Sunday and give it a go. Neither of us had the slightest idea what we were getting ourselves into.

  Collaboration styles

  Now, with four books under our belts and a fifth one in the works, we’re often asked: “Do you both write?” Heaven forbid! True, we share the pseudonym, G. H. Ephron. But when we started working together, my biggest fear was that Don was going to want to write. A few months later, he confessed to me that his biggest fear had been that I was going to make him write. The collaboration works precisely because we have virtually no overlapping skills. I usually say: “I write. Don does.”

  In fact, he does most of the things our protagonist, Dr. Peter Zak, does. He’s a neuropsychologist who runs a unit at a psychiatric hospital affiliated with Harvard; he evaluates defendants in criminal cases and testifies in court; he lives in Cambridge, rows on the Charles River, runs along Memorial Drive, appreciates good wine, and knows all about Mission furniture.

  For us, writing together is an iterative and interactive process. We get together once a week to scope out scenes; then I go off and write them. I email pages to Don and he prepares a critique. Then we meet again and move on. Don’s insight into psychology, his knowledge of the inner workings of psychiatric hospitals and the criminal justice system, his experiences with ordinary people and those accused of serious crimes—all that makes the books altogether different from anything I could write on my own.

  After talking to many writers with successful collaborations, I’m convinced that there are almost as many different ways of working together as there are partnerships. Here are just a few.

  You go/I go. Writing alternating chapters and lobbing the manuscript back and forth like a tennis ball, that’s how William G. Tapply and R. Philip Craig wrote First Light, their first “J.W. Jackson/Brady Coyne Mystery,” bringing together their fictional protagonists. They figured out the plot as they went along.

  Beginning/End. In this scenario, one partner writes the first half of the book and the second writer takes it to the finish line. That’s how Warren Murphy and Richard B. Sapir collaborated on more than forty action-adventure novels, including the legendary Destroyer series. Warren tells it this way: “We’d think up some vague story, and Dick would write the first half of the book and send it to me. No outline, no suggestions, just wonderful characters doing strange things. I wrote the second half of the book, and then, without his knowledge, I rewrote the whole book so it was seamless. Dick never called me on it.”

  Writing/Rewriting. One partner takes the lead on the first draft, the other revises—this is how Pam and Mary O’Shaughnessy work. They trade the lead, book to book. In the end, Mary says, “It’s hard to say who wrote what because we totally rewrite each other’s draft. We’re both extremely critical of our own work and each other’s.”

  Plotting/Writing. Or, as Paul Kemprecos describes his partnership with Clive Cussler, “He’s the storyteller and I’m the writer.” The two were mere acquaintances when Cussler invited Kemprecos to collaborate with him on the NUMA Files series.

  Togetherness. Some teams do what the rest of us deem impossible: they do it together. Husband and wife team John and Cathie Celestri (Cathie John), authors of two mystery series, actually write each sentence together, though John spends more time at the front end, structuring and outlining the novel, and Cathie does more editing at the back end. Another husband-and-wife team is Mary Reed and Eric Mayer, who write the John the Eunuch mysteries: “It’s less like two people each writing half a book and more like the same book being written twice by two people. We tend to allocate scenes according to what we feel are our individual strengths. E’s the dab hand at descriptions, for example, while M may write more of the
dialogue.”

  Making it work

  Collaborating isn’t easy, and more partnerships founder than succeed. “For her it was a hobby that she did in her spare time; for me it was a passion,” says a writer whose attempt at a collaboration ended in disaster. “To save myself from getting aggravated because he wasn’t working, I wouldn’t work,” says another author who ended up marooned with a half-finished manuscript.

  No matter how the partnership divides the work, there are some constants in those that succeed:

  Mutual respect. Each writer has to bring something to the table that the other one values. The ideal writing partner has strengths that fill in the gaps created by the weaknesses in the other’s work and vice versa.

  Commitment. Writing a novel and getting it published takes a long time. Working with a partner who’s in it for the long haul is essential.

  Discipline. Collaborate with someone who’s going to make the meeting, make the deadline, and do the edit she said she was going to do.

  Leave your ego at the door. If you’re going to get emotionally attached to your own commas and semicolons, not to mention your words and ideas, then forget about collaborating. It’s hard enough to write a good book without your partner having to worry about your hurt feelings.

  Keep your sense of humor. Get yourself a writing partner who laughs at your jokes. Humor will get you through the many rough patches.

  Hard or easy sell?

  Are collaborations any harder or easier to sell? Literary agent Gail Hochman, who represents crime fiction luminaries such as Scott Turow (and G. H. Ephron), says, “If it’s a mystery, no one cares how many people wrote it, but rather if it reads well.”

  She says a collaboration doesn’t deter her from considering a work. It’s the promise of longevity that counts.