Write This Book: A Do-It-Yourself Mystery Page 4

  “Wait, you think that’s a message for us?” asked A____.

  A____ and Z____ looked at each other.

  I.B. was in trouble. He wanted their help.

  I’m sure you’re familiar with the term cliffhanger, even if you’ve never hung off a cliff yourself. It refers to a single drip of mucus that is hanging precipitously from a nostril, refusing to drop to the ground. It also refers to a moment in a story, usually a dramatic and exciting moment, when the story’s author stops the action in order to prolong suspense.

  Whenever possible, it is wise to end a chapter on a cliffhanger. It keeps your reader hungry for more. (For more story, not more mucus—don’t be disgusting!) I advise just such a chapter break now.

  DEVELOP AN ITCH ON A HARD-TO-REACH SPOT ON YOUR BACK.

  GO SLOWLY CRAZY TRYING TO SCRATCH IT.

  Plot… Plot… Plot

  Help!

  No, really, I mean it—HELP! I can’t get this chocolate bar unwrapped—my fingernails are too short. Oh, there we go… never mind… hmmghf… not bad…

  Now, where was I? Oh, yes—help. A plea for help often represents a turning point in a story, or more precisely a point of no return. Heroes who refuse the plea live to regret the choice, forever haunted by the repercussions of their cowardice. Heroes who respond to the plea find themselves caught in treacherous situations, seemingly with no way out.

  On that optimistic note, how are your heroes going to react to the plea in I.B.’s notebook? That is to say, how are you going to react as the author of The Case of the Missing Author?

  Sure, the answer might be: your heroes ignore the plea and go home. But that wouldn’t make for a very dramatic story, would it? (Unless, perhaps, you were planning on having them murdered that night in their sleep? A double murder would be very dramatic indeed.) Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that A____ and Z____ are good-hearted young people who are distressed by I.B.’s message. They may also feel some guilt about not having tried to help the imperiled author the night before. For whatever reason, they want to help him now.

  So, my dear reader-turned-writer, what do they do to help I.B.? What happens next?

  Well…?

  I’m waiting.

  Tap… tap… tap…

  I’m sorry, I fell asleep. What did you say?

  Now you want help? If you’re unwrapping a chocolate bar, I would be glad to assist. I know I said my nails were short, but that’s only a minor—

  Oh, you mean help with your book. Again? This is getting ridiculous. I’m beginning to think it might have been easier to write this book myself!

  What can I do that will enable me to wash my hands of The Case of the Missing Author once and for all?

  Let me think. From what I can tell, what you need the most help with is…

  PLOT

  Plot… plot… plot…

  Hear that?

  It is the sound of ink dropping from a pen as a writer struggles to come up with a—you know what comes next—plot.

  Few words are scarier to a writer than the p-word. (Is it an accident that a square of earth where a dead author is buried is called a plot? I think not.*) And yet, like many scary things—monsters under the bed, ghosts in the closet, politicians on TV—plot turns out not to have much substance when you look at it up close.

  See—

  Oh, who am I kidding? The only thing that scares me as much as plot is an outline—which makes an outline of the word plot (see above) the scariest thing of all!

  Put simply, plot is structure. Plot is beginning, middle, and end—and how you get from one to the other to the other. Plot is what happens next. Plot is the hardest part.

  What are the rules for plotting a novel?

  I am tempted to answer that there are none. As a rule, I’m against rules about writing. But I am also against boring writing. Without a good plot your story will not only be shapeless, it will be dull.

  Authors and critics of various stripes have tried for centuries to boil down the elements of a good plot. Some people break up stories into three or four or more “acts” (as in a play). Others describe the five “stages” of a plot or the eight “points” that make a story arc. To convey their theories, they present plot diagrams and timelines. Plot pyramids. Even plot snowflakes (really!).

  My contribution to this plot stew follows. Think of it as a more elaborate mise en place than I offered earlier. A mise en plot, perhaps? No, forget the cooking metaphors. Let’s switch to something more destination-oriented: a plot map. Directions for that crazy road trip you’re taking your reader on. A book, after all, should be like a family vacation, with plenty of sightseeing, together time, and rest—in other words, flat tires, fighting, and unmitigated disaster.

  Well, there you have it: a map to help you plot the course of your writing journey.

  Personally, I have a lot of trouble reading maps. As for directions, I’m one of those infuriating people who refuse, on principle, to ask for them. As a result, I rarely get anywhere. You undoubtedly are much more sensible than I am, and have a much better sense of direction. With any luck, my plot map will lead you straight to your story—plus or minus a few detours, of course.

  In a sense, plot is the discovery of story. Or the story of the discovery of story.

  And what do you call a story about discovering a story? The same thing you call a plot about uncovering a plot.

  A mystery.

  Which takes us right back to The Case of the Missing Author.

  Mysteries: Gumshoes

  Now you have officially departed on your authorial road trip. Your inciting incident is in place: the author is missing and he needs your heroes’ help. It’s time for their quest to begin in earnest. It’s time for them to set about finding him.

  In a classic mystery, a whodunit, a detective has to identify the villain. In other words, he has to figure out who has committed a crime. Which involves figuring out when, where, how, and why the crime was committed. Which is to say, a detective’s job is to figure out the story of the crime.

  How does he do this? He reads the evidence, of course.

  Your book is no different.

  In order to find I.B., your heroes will have to play detective, which means examining evidence, looking for clues, and coming to some sort of hypothesis about what happened. (It can also mean donning a trench coat, sunglasses, and fedora, then knocking on strangers’ doors and demanding a handout—but that’s Halloween, this is a book.)

  Put yourself in their shoes. Or perhaps I should say in their gumshoes.* What is the first step A____ and Z____ would take after the initial shock of seeing the help message? What evidence would they try to read?

  Would they dig around I.B.’s yard for a buried body? Listen to his phone messages? Interrogate his cat?

  My guess is that the evidence A____ and Z____ would first try to read is the most readable evidence at hand: I.B.’s mail. Remember the manila envelope, the one from I.B.’s publishers that landed seemingly by accident in their mailbox? Now they have an excuse to open it, do they not? I.B.’s life may be at stake, Z____ would likely say. This is no time to worry about the morality of opening somebody else’s mail.

  Well, what would you say? More to the point, what would you write? If you think opening I.B.’s mail is so morally reprehensible that you can’t imagine your characters doing it no matter what the circumstances, then I commend you—but you’re the wrong person to write this book.* Put this book down now and go write something else. If, on the other hand, you’re dying to know what’s inside the envelope, turn the page:

  Pseudo-assignment: Get a clue

  Knowing how and where to lay clues is a key skill for any mystery writer (and also for criminals who want to throw their pursuers off the scent). Prove your mystery-writing mettle by matching the clue to the crime:

  CLUE: CRIME:

  POWDERED-SUGAR MUST ACHE BORING WRITING

  BROWN FINGERPRINTS POOR ORAL HYGIENE

  UNREAD BOOK LYING ON
THE FLOOR STOLEN CHOCOLATE BAR

  BROWN TEETH MISSING DOUGHNUT

  The Case of the Missing Author

  Chapter 4

  INSERT CHAPTER TITLE HERE

  In which A____ and Z____ pore through their neighbor’s private mail.

  Z____ dumped the contents of the envelope unceremoniously onto the floor.

  It was fan mail—if you could call a barrage of questions, demands, and conspiracy theories fan mail. Many of the letters adopted I.B.’s notoriously “snarky” tone.* Some were downright hostile.

  One letter stuck out because it wasn’t handwritten or typed like the others; it was composed with letters and pictures cut out of magazines and newspapers. It looked like a ransom note or a flyer for a rock band.

  Hmm. Ominous letter, is it not? As detectives, A____ and Z____ could hardly avoid asking some scary questions about it.

  Their thinking might go something like this:

  The Case of the Missing Author

  Chapter 4 (cont.)

  “See this? It’s like a picture code,” said Z____, holding the last letter. “That’s X-fan, like ex-fan of I.B.’s books. Like he used to be a fan, but he isn’t anymore.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” said A____, looking over her brother’s shoulder. “It’s not that subtle.”

  “He sounds pretty mad.”

  “If it’s a he. Could be a she,” A____ pointed out. “Can’t tell by the handwriting—’cause there isn’t any.”

  “Either way. They’re pretty mad….”

  “I know, but I mean, come on, it’s just a book!” A____ shook her head. “So they didn’t like the ending, so what? I can’t believe they got so upset about it.”

  “I can….” muttered Z____, thinking about his own equally enraging experience reading the end of the Series of Secrets. “Hey, what if this guy came in here and saw the same thing we saw?”

  “What? All the ______ wrappers?”

  “No, the empty notebook.”

  “And then they got even madder because there was no sixth book?”

  Z____ nodded.

  “Right. And then…” A____ trailed off.

  They stared at each other, both contemplating the horrible possibilities.

  Could the X-fan have kidnapped I.B.? Or worse?

  OK, author, it seems A____ and Z____ now have their first suspect: the X-fan. What do they do next?

  I expect any detectives worth their salt would inspect the suspect’s letter for clues about its writer. Where might this prospective villain be? What exactly is he or she trying to say? Who is the X-fan? Perhaps A____ and Z____ try to determine which magazines or newspapers were cut up to make the letter?

  WRITE THIS:

  Take a stab at writing this moment of epistolary sleuthing. You can start however you like, but you should end this section by having your heroes discover a hidden message in the letter. Don’t worry, there is a hidden message for them to find. (I should know—I left it there.) Of course, you must find it first in order to write about it. Hint: what they fear most is that a capital crime has occurred.

  Here’s the letter again for your reference:

  The Case of the Missing Author

  Chapter 4 (cont.)

  In which the young detectives discover a hidden message in the X-fan’s letter.

  How did that go? Did you—or rather did your heroes—discover the hidden message? Together, the capital letters in the X-fan’s letter spell OTHER SIDE, correct?

  You better write another book or else I’ll send you to you know where.

  Does you know where mean the Other Side? Very likely. After discovering the hidden message, A____ and Z____ must fear that the author of the letter—the X-fan—has sent I.B. to the Other Side.

  But what is the Other Side?

  Often, the phrase the other side refers to the afterlife, the side of the dead. And your heroes will have to consider the grisly possibility that I.B. has been killed. But does the phrase remind you of anything else?

  I’m guessing that it will remind A____ and Z____ of something very specific. As readers of I.B.’s books, they will almost certainly remember that the Other Side is where the old magician Italo disappeared to at the end of I.B.’s last book.

  The Case of the Missing Author

  Chapter 4 (cont.)

  “OK, let’s say I.B. has been kidnapped and is being held on the Other Side,” said A____. “The question is, other side of what?”

  “I think you mean what Other Side,” said Z____. “It’s not necessarily the other side of anything. On the other hand, maybe it’s the other side of everything.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Remember the end of I.B.’s last book? The Other Side is where Italo disappeared to.”

  A____ stared. “So are you saying that the Other Side is real? It’s a place? I find that very hard to believe.”

  “I do, too, but I know this much—if the Other Side is real, it’s where we’re going to find I.B.”

  A____ nodded slowly. The Other Side was the only clue they had. They might as well try to find it.

  This, then, is your heroes’ mission: to find the Other Side and rescue the missing author.

  Your mission? The very same.

  DEPARTMENT OF PITFALLS: THE MURKY MIDDLE

  No matter how prepared I think I am, I always get stuck near the middle of a book. Usually, it’s because I have no idea where my book is going. Even if I know how the book is supposed to end, I don’t know how to get there. I spend weeks and weeks, sometimes months and months, flailing around, trying to see my way out of the murky middle. You’d think that after writing five books, I might have developed a technique for avoiding this terrible fate. And, guess what, I have. I’m throwing you into the murk instead. Ready?

  No, of course you aren’t. See next page.

  TAKE THREE MONTHS OFF.

  TELL EVERYONE YOU NEED TO “RECHARGE.”

  CREATIVITY REQUIRES REST.

  Genre as Pizza

  Next up: how will your heroes find the Other Side?

  I’ll admit, the Other Side appears to be a somewhat open-ended idea.* Almost as open-ended as fiction itself. There are countless other sides. The other side of the road, of course, but also the other side of the tracks. The other side of the wall. The other side of the coin. The other side of the moon. The other side of a record album. (Also called the B-side; ask your grandparents.) The other side in an argument about the meaning of the other side. The other side of a story.

  Each of these other sides could be the basis of a story of its own.

  Other other sides:

  But what is the other side in your book? The Other Side. No other other-side matters now. I suppose the Other Side could be the other side of your book. As in the back cover. Or even the other side of this page. But I’m guessing you’ll want the Other Side to be a place—a place where your heroes can look for the missing author and where they can find… well, that’s up to you.

  Here’s the good news: you get to decide what the Other Side is.

  Here’s the bad news: you have to decide what the Other Side is.

  Writing fiction is like that. The best thing about it is that you get to make it up. The worst thing about it is that YOU HAVE TO.

  So how do you go about deciding what your Other Side is going to be? Or what it is going to be the other side of—if indeed it is the other side of something.

  Perhaps you have a wholly original concept of the Other Side in your head. If not, here’s another side from which to look at the question of the Other Side….

  GENRE

  In French, genre means “kind or sort or type.” As in, what kind or sort or type of other side would you like your Other Side to be?

  As a literary term, the word has a more particular meaning: a genre is a category of literary works—often but not always novels—defined by form, style, or subject matter. If that sounds vague, well, that’s because it is vague (and also because the dictionary on
my desk isn’t very good). Nevertheless, every genre has its own rules and conventions; and while I would never insist that you follow them, I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s best to know the rules before you break them. Otherwise, you don’t get the satisfaction of knowing you’ve done something wrong.

  Think of a literary genre as a type of food. Pizza can be prepared in a myriad of ways, but it’s usually round and cheesy and tomato-y and eaten in slices, right? Yes, there are square pizzas and cheeseless pizzas and white pizzas, but those are the exceptions. At a certain point—say, when they start putting barbeque chicken and pineapple on top—a pizza ceases to be a pizza.

  (Pineapple pizza is your favorite? Then, please, take my slice.)

  Which genre does your book belong to? Well, that’s no mystery; as we’ve already established, it belongs to the mystery genre. But let’s muddy the genre waters a little bit. (As if the murky middle weren’t murky enough!) Yes, this book is a mystery, but it is not only a mystery. Not every book fits comfortably into a single genre; many books combine several genres or don’t seem to fit into any at all. I consider my own books to be a unique combination of the true-crime and self-help genres. (They certainly don’t help you!) Before A____ and Z____ start hunting for additional clues, I want you to choose a secondary genre for your book. The genre you choose will help determine what your Other Side is like and will influence the way you write the rest of your book.