Write This Book: A Do-It-Yourself Mystery (The Secret Series) Read online

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  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

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  DEDICATION PAGE*

  Circle all that apply.

  This book is dedicated to:

  a) everyone who said I would never write a book

  b) my future fans

  c) my language arts teacher (can’t hurt, right?)

  d) the highest bidder

  e) me, because who am I really writing this book for, after all?

  ALTERNATIVE TITLE PAGE

  If you don’t like Write This Book—and, really, what kind of title is that?—then please write your own title here.*

  Written by

  Choose your pseudonym or, as I prefer to call it, your nom de plume. Or really confuse everybody and use your real name!**

  EPIGRAPH*

  Choose one or more:

  The birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the Author.

  —Roland Barthes

  The index of a book should always be written by the author, even though the book itself should be the work of another hand.

  —Mark Twain

  O CHILD LEARN YOUR ABZ’S AND MEMORIZE THEM WELL AND YOU SHALL LEARN TO TALK AND THINK AND READ AND WRITE AND SPEL.

  —Shel Silverstein

  *

  IMAGINE YOU’RE READING A BOOK.

  It’s a far-fetched idea, I realize, but indulge me for a moment.

  What’s that? You want to know what you are reading?

  You’re reading a book. Like this one. You know, with sentences. And paragraphs. That sort of thing.

  Where are you reading? Oh, on a plane?

  On a train?

  Hanging upside down?

  Wherever you want.

  So, as I was saying, you’re reading this book and—

  Why are you reading? Aaargh. Who’s the writer here, anyway? (Well, actually, that’s the question I’m getting to, but be patient.) Maybe you’re reading for school. Or maybe you’re reading because your parent is paying you. (Now, there’s a good reason to read a book.) Or maybe you’re reading for fun. Because you like to read. It is possible.**

  Now, please, don’t interrupt again.

  Imagine you’re reading a book. Whatever book. In whatever location. For whatever reason.

  Somehow you manage to get through the first few sentences without falling asleep. You’re even a little bit intrigued. A little bit. Mildly.

  Before you know it, you’ve read a whole page. Then two pages. The book is starting to grab you because it’s funny or scary or mysterious. Or because the main character reminds you of somebody you know. Or because it’s about your favorite subject—chocolate. (Well, my favorite, anyway.) Or maybe you don’t know why you like the book. It doesn’t matter—you’re on a reading roll! You consider bragging online about it, or rewarding yourself with a snack, or ascending to the next level on the video game you were playing a moment before. But you decide to stick with it a moment longer. After all, your parent is paying you, right? (I knew that was it!) You’ll read another page or two before calling it a night.

  So you turn the page, you read another sentence, and then… nothing. The words just drop off.

  Like this

  (Well, you get the idea.)

  Frantically, you flip pages.

  Almost the entire book is blank.

  What is going on? What happened to the story? What kind of book is this?

  You start to feel angry. You want your money back. (So what if you checked out the book from the library—the library had to pay for it, right?) Let’s see, what did this book cost? What else could you have bought with that princely sum? How many movie tickets? How many candy bars? All that for the price of one so-called book without any writing in it? What a rip!

  Well, I have bad news to share with you: something like that happens in this book. Not just once. Over and over again. A certain author, whom I won’t name (okay, me), has abandoned his book and has left his readers hanging out to dry. This is a crime, I admit, almost on a par with abandoning your child. Or even your lunch. But there it is. Most of this book, well, I just haven’t written it. And I’m not going to, either.

  Why? Oh, I have my reasons. Big. Grown-up. Author. Reasons. Unfortunately, I can’t reveal them yet. Let’s just say a life is at stake (mine) and leave it at that.

  I know, you’re steaming mad, and you have every right to be, but before you toss this book in the trash, consider my message to you:

  No, silly. Not DIE. (I want you alive, but, please, no kicking.) D—I—Y. Do it yourself. I’m offering you the opportunity to write this book yourself.

  That’s right, you. You, the poor person unlucky enough to pick up this useless pile of words. I’m sorry, I mean you, the clever person lucky enough to pick up this delightful piece of prose!

  You, the reader of this book, shall be the author of this book.

  Think about what that means: an entire world under your control. Heroes and heroines, action and adventure, laughter and tears—all yours for the taking… or, rather, for the making. There might be dragons or unicorns or ninjas or zombies or cockroaches. And those are just the people you know. Wait until you get to invent new stuff! This could be fun. It should be fun. In my experience, the more fun you have writing, the more fun your reader will have reading.

  What do you say?

  Haven’t you ever wanted to write a book? I can’t tell you how many letters I get from readers asking for advice about writing. Where do you get your ideas? What makes a good story? How do I get published? Well, here it is—a book written by you that’s already published.

  Just think: it’s your book. With your name on it. You can even put your picture on the back.

  I’ll tell you what: to sweeten the deal, I will give you a few helpful hints. I might even write a chapter or two for you. Three, I’ll write three chapters. This won’t be hard—well, not very hard, I promise. And who knows? You might even learn something about writing while you’re at it.

  So, my dear reader and (I hope) writer, can I assume you’re in?

  What’s that? You want to know what the book’s about before you commit to writing it?

  Hmm. Normally, I wouldn’t tell you about a book before you read it. That’s what’s called spoiling the plot, and in my world it’s a capital offense. However, if you’re going to write this book, I suppose it’s only fair that I give you an idea.

  The book is a mystery about a missing author, I.B. Anonymous—a writer of mysteries for young readers who abandons a manuscript before it’s finished. Sound familiar?*

  Where has this mysterious author gone? Ah, that I cannot tell you. Is I.B. dead or alive? Is he on the run from the law? Is he in a witness protection program? Was he kidnapped? Abducted by aliens?

  As the new author of this book, you have to figure out what happened to the old author. Without you, he will never be found. The story will never be told, and the book will never be finished.

  Think of it this way: this book is a mystery novel—but this time the mystery is the novel itself. It’s an inside-out mystery. Call it The Case of the Missing Author.

  Your job
is to solve it.

  Good luck.

  —P.B.

  *

  Your chance to add a few words before we begin:

  Beginnings: The Blank Page

  Enough with the epigraphs and dedications! It’s time to start writing this book in earnest. Ready?

  One…

  Two…

  Three…

  What happened? You’re sure not writing very fast.

  Scary, isn’t it? A blank page staring you in the face.

  Luckily, that’s just a drawing. Pages don’t really stare at you; you stare at them. It follows that a blank page should be scared of you, not the other way around. Feel better?

  Good. Now get to it—

  What? Still having trouble?

  Oh, I forgot. Here are some lines to help guide your handwriting:

  Don’t tell me, you want straight lines. So fussy!

  It’s not the lines? You don’t know what to write?

  I hope you’re not just procrastinating.*

  OK, OK, I’ll write the first chapter. But please, dear reader, don’t get used to it. You are going to have to take the wheel soon—even if you don’t have a driver’s license. In fact, let’s not call it a chapter; let’s call it a prologue. That way I won’t feel like I’m doing so much work.*

  At the beginning of a book, many writers, especially lazy writers like me, try to grab their readers with a quick action-oriented teaser, like you might see on a crime show on TV. This is hack writing of the highest order. And it’s exactly what I’m going to attempt here.

  Now pay attention. This is the beginning of your very own book.

  The Case of the Missing Author

  Prologue

  It all began with a laugh, a cry, and a thud. The laugh was so loud it—

  What, you’re stopping me already? Oh, you think It all began with is a dull way to begin, do you?

  At least you’ll admit that the laugh-cry-thud combo creates a compelling sense of mystery….

  No? The only mystery is why I’m such a bad writer that it makes you want to laugh and cry at once?

  You’re a hoot. Where did you get that joke from—my genius rabbit? I’ll tell you what, smarty-pants, why don’t we keep my first sentence—temporarily—as a placeholder, then you can insert your vastly better sentence at a later time. Fair enough?

  Now, with your permission, I will begin again. Read closely—this is your chance to see a master writer at work! And yes, by master writer I am referring to myself.

  Pseudo-intelligence: First sentence or death sentence?

  Let’s face it: most readers will never get past your first sentence. You may as well make it a good one. But how? Many writers slave over their opening sentences, trying to come up with something profound. (Happy twelve-year-olds are all alike; every unhappy twelve-year-old is unhappy in his own way.) Other writers make desperate attempts to create a compelling, er, sense of mystery. (Like, say, It all began with a laugh, a cry, and a thud.) Still others try to make their first sentences look exactly like all their other sentences; in other words, they try very hard to make it look like they didn’t try very hard. (For instance… actually, it’s hard to think of one of those because, well, they sound just like other sentences.) As for your first sentence, my advice is to come up with a few, then choose which one you like best. Chances are you’ll be able to use all of them eventually. If you can’t think of a decent first sentence, write your second sentence. Or third. Or last. Don’t let your first sentence turn into a death sentence.*

  The Case of the Missing Author

  Prologue

  It all began with a laugh, a cry, and a thud.

  The laugh was so loud it made Z____ sit up in bed. It came from across the street and it sounded like the laugh of a madman. It gave him the creeps.

  Before Z____ could lie back down, the laugh was replaced by a desperate, piercing cry. The cry of a wounded animal. Or of a man reduced to the state of an animal.

  The cry was followed by a thud so heavy it could have been a boulder falling to the floor.

  Or a dead body.

  Z____ ran into his sister’s room. A drastic measure reserved strictly for emergencies.

  “A____, wake up.”

  “Go away.” A____ tried to bury her head in her pillow, but Z____ gave her a hard sh—

  “Go away.” A____ tried to bury her head in her pillow, but Z____ gave her a hard shake.

  “It’s important.”

  “What is?”

  He told her what he’d heard.

  She cocked her head, listening. All was silent now. “And you’re sure it was him?” She gestured in the direction of the house across the street.

  “Uh-huh. C’mon—we have to do something!”

  Grumpily, A____ followed Z____ downstairs.

  Hearts beating fast, they cracked open the front door and peeked out. There was a full moon and they could see as clearly as if it were daytime. And yet there was nothing to see. The house across the street looked completely peaceful.

  A____ stared at it, more curious than she’d let on. Their new neighbor had moved in two months earlier. They knew next to nothing about him, only that he was supposed to be some kind of author—a profession that might be suspicious in the eyes of some but that intrigued her greatly.

  There. Now you know their neighbor is an author. (Did you guess that this author is I.B. himself? Then you’re one step ahead.) You see how I’m weaving in crucial information without interrupting the flow of the story?

  “Maybe he was reading one of his books out loud,” A____ suggested. “I heard writers do that.”*

  “It wasn’t words; it was a laugh, and then a scream, and then—”

  “So what do you want to do? Knock on his door?”

  Z____ shrugged unhappily. He didn’t know what he wanted to do.

  “He won’t let anyone in during the daytime,” A____ continued. “Can you imagine how mad he would be if somebody barged in on him in the middle of the night?”

  “He won’t be mad if he’s dead.”

  A____ rolled her eyes. “Maybe he was watching a sitcom and that was the laugh you heard. Then he switched to a horror movie—”

  “And then what—he knocked the TV over?”

  “Why not? Aren’t all writers supposed to be crazy?”

  Z____ laughed, his mind turning to the mystery series he was reading: A Series of Secrets by I.B. Anonymous. If their neighbor’s books were anything like I.B.’s, then their neighbor must be completely nuts.

  His sister was right, thought Z____: in a writer’s house, sounds didn’t necessarily mean what you thought they did.

  Remembering all the twists and turns and zany reveals in I.B.’s secret stories, Z____ allowed A____ to lead him back upstairs.

  Shortly afterward, the door of their neighbor’s house opened, and a pair of eyes peered out into the night. Satisfied that he/she/it wasn’t being watched, the owner of those eyes crept out of the house.

  A moment later, he/she/it had vanished.

  Out of the distance came the sound of a dog—or was it a wolf?—howling at the moon.

  Department of Pitfalls: His and Hers

  A moment later, he/she/it had vanished.

  He/she/it? Did I really write that awkward conjunction of pronouns? You should definitely change it when you revise this book.

  There are few problems more perplexing than how to refer to somebody whose gender is unknown. In the case above, I didn’t want to give up anything about the identity of the creature exiting the author’s house—that’s why I wrote what I wrote. But often vagueness is not a matter of choice.

  Is my reader a girl or a boy? I don’t know. Despite what I may pretend, I can’t see you.

  He/she, s/he, it, they, them—we well-meaning authors will try everything and anything so as not to exclude anybody. Often, I confess, I give up and simply write he or him or his when what I mean is: he or she or him or her or his or hers. I do this because I am la
zy and my wellmeaning-ness only goes so far. I do not recommend that you follow my example; undoubtedly, it is unfair to my female readers. Indeed, you should feel free to cross out all my hes and hims and his’s, or at least to add a few shes and hers and hers’s.

  SPEND TEN MINUTES IMAGINING WHAT YOU WILL WEAR WHEN YOU’RE A FAMOUS WRITER.*

  DECIDE IT’S ALL WRONG.

  THINK OF SOMETHING ELSE TO WEAR.

  DECIDE IT’S ALL WRONG, TOO.

  Writing Materials: The mise en place

  Well, did you like the beginning of your book? Think you can do better?

  Good. You can prove it by answering the following:

  What happens next?

  (Almost all fiction writing boils down to that essential question.)

  What—you’re not a fortune-teller? You can’t see the future?

  Very funny. I meant, what happens next in your story—not what happens next in your life. You may not be able to see the future, but as the author of this book you can write it.

  You still don’t know what happens next?

  I don’t mean to insult you, but I’m not surprised. It’s very difficult to make something from nothing.

  Creative freedom is all well and good, but in my opinion, writing requires a degree of preparation. I feel the same way about dinner. Making dinner, that is. (Eating dinner I’m happy to do quite spontaneously.) Whenever I cook, I try to assemble my ingredients beforehand. I don’t want to get halfway through my chocolate chip cookie dough only to discover I’ve already eaten all the chocolate chips.