Writing Mystery vs. Fiction...Preference or Passion?

I've always loved a good mystery. In reading, I prefer a good whodunit to almost anything else. Whether it's the witty charm of a Kinsey Millhone or the brazen determination of a Stephanie Plum, I would never choose to read straight fiction over a mystery novel. I think this is why, when I started writing my own books, that I chose to write a mystery series. Although I had little experience with writing this genre, I was compelled to try my hand at putting together storylines that sort of drag the reader into a big mess. Was I successful? Who knows? That, in and of itself, is a mystery.

I was once told by a famous author that I should never have tried to journey into the intricacies of writing mystery without first having tried my hand at mainstream fiction. Her exact words were, "I advise novice writers to conquer the basics of characterization, plotting, tone and narrative in straight fiction before launching into the mechanics of the mystery." Not bad advice, but certainly a little discouraging for the aspiring mystery writer. If I had no desire to read straight fiction, how would I go about writing it? My plot ideas always come out the same way, someone gets killed or wronged in some other way, my main character tries to figure out who is responsible for it, and everyone eventually finds out who, what, when, where, why and how. I like to throw in some awkward situations for entertainment value and occasionally, my characters have substantial epiphanies that keep them motivated to figure out what has happened. I'm not sure I could comfortably write straight fiction. I couldn't stay interested enough in what I was writing.

Before I wrote the first two books in my Rona Shively mystery series, I checked out nearly every mystery writing book in our local library and looked at hundreds of websites on how to write, plot and develop your voice. I wanted to make sure that I was doing the right things and that my writing technique followed whatever patterns a good mystery writer should follow. After all, my qualifications for writing a mystery were pretty much made up of my tendency to read three mysteries at any given time, watch shows like Law & Order, CSI, and reruns of The Rockford Files, Charlie's Angels, and Starsky and Hutch. I have an inquisitive mind, what can I say?

I have thought about branching out into other genres and have even gone so far as to write a short horror story. In my mind, it still played out much like a mystery, only scarier than normal. The reason I write this post today is because I am at a point where I'm considering taking my mystery series in a new direction. In thinking about where I've been and where I would like to go with my writing, I know that I still want to be a mystery writer. I only hope that my series gets better and better with each intallment. In spite of my lack of professional experience, I want to be able to put together stories that are as compelling and entertaining as those I enjoy reading. My favorites, Janet Evanovich, Lisa Scottoline, Sarah Strohmeyer, and even Sue Grafton have inspired me to continue writing and trying to make my characters as intriguing and engaging as those they present.

For writers, do you have a preference of genre? If so, which ones? And what led you to that preference? I am wondering if any others out there feel that it is important to be an avid reader of your genre in order to effectively write within it. Readers, feel free to add your two cents. Just a conversation starter on this dreary Tuesday morning.

Until next time...

BB's Mini-Mystery #3

Dead Weight
By Rebecca Benston

Darnell Wooten worked at a local fitness center. He was a personal trainer and was fairly well-liked by his co-workers and clients. Maybe, a little too well-liked by some. He had plans to get a degree in Physical Therapy and go to work for a rehabilitation center. He was just three classes away from graduation when he was found dead in the gym’s weight room.

Three months prior, Darnell’s clients included a doctor, a college football player, assorted college cheerleaders and the occasional housewife. The nearby university sent plenty of business his way. It had been rumored that Darnell played the field and that he often became romantically involved with his clients. Although he was generally discreet, he’d had his share of confrontations with angry boyfriends and even husbands.

He had been dating a local cheerleader named Betsy Jantzen for the past six months. Before that, he had spent some quality time with the wife of a local attorney. Before that, he had befriended a shy, young art student, Beverly Whitford and a waitress, Darla Hughes, who frequented the gym. Both of whom he dumped without explanation and both of whom were devastated by the breakups.

On one evening, his girlfriend Betsy stopped by to see if he would like to meet her for dinner later. She just happened to see him locked in an embrace with a fellow trainer, Tandi Gershwin. She walked over to him, tapped him on the shoulder and then stood there until he turned around. He broke free from Tandi and when he turned around, he said, “Betsy, hey, what are you doing here?”

“The better question is what the hell are you doing here?” she snapped. Tandi backed up a step and turned to lean against the counter.

Darnell grabbed Betsy’s hand and walked her away from where they had been standing. “Hey, Tandi’s grandmother passed away, I was just consoling her. She’s upset.” He was smooth and he had a million excuses ready to use at any time. He just hoped that she hadn’t been there a few minutes before the hug when he had been flirting and snapping at the straps on Tandi’s leotard.

She thought for a moment and then seemed to be okay with what he had said. She asked him about their dinner plans and then went on her merry way, turning to wave at Tandi on her way out. When Betsy had left the parking lot, Darnell went back to Tandi and told her that Betsy was under a lot of stress and that she had just overreacted. Tandi didn’t really care because she had a boyfriend and considered this to be just harmless flirtation. Nonetheless, she agreed to meet with Darnell later that evening after he had dinner with his family.

This is how Darnell got through the days. He juggled relationships and made sure everyone thought he was the good guy. In reality, he was a cheater, a liar and a hopeless jerk. Darnell eventually met his match in a woman named Sally Metzger. She was an attractive, albeit overweight, mother of two who came into the gym to work on losing the extra pounds she had gained after her second child was born. She worked with Darnell for close to three months and had made great progress, losing a whopping thirty pounds. By the time she was ready to tell Darnell she no longer needed his services, he had started to notice that she was looking pretty good. The prospect of a new conquest loomed large in his mind. He decided to make his move.

On their regular rotation, Sally was to do a variety of floor exercises and follow it up with nautilus. She was just getting up from doing a series of push ups when Darnell gave her a pat on the rear end. She looked around at him and said, “What was that?” She wasn’t angry; in fact, she had been smiling when she said it.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, “I’m sorry, my hand must have slipped.”

They exchanged a few comments and then agreed that he should come and have a drink with her later. She wasn’t married and she had a babysitter for the evening. The met as planned and from there, the affair began. She was, by far, the most intriguing woman Darnell had ever pursued. She was smart and now, after losing the weight, he found her to be amazingly attractive. After a couple of weeks, he decided that he was going to go ahead and dump his girlfriend Betsy. He had only been stringing her along in case things didn’t go well with Sally. He decided to call her and tell her on a Thursday evening.

Betsy picked up the phone on the third ring and said, “Hello.”

“Betsy, hey, it’s me,” he said.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today,” she said, sounding pleasantly surprised.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to call and talk to you,” he said, “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“About what?” she asked, puzzled at the serious tone in his voice.

“Well, I’ve been thinking that this just isn’t working out, you know,” he said.

“What isn’t working out?” she asked.

“Us, dating, it’s not been going the way I wanted it to,” he said, “and I really don’t want to drag it out any longer.”

“Drag it out!” she shrieked.

“That’s what I mean, you’re too moody for me and I just don’t feel like we’ll ever get past it,” he said, still maintaining a calm demeanor, “I just want to call it quits and move on. I do wish you the best.”

“Now wait a minute…” she was saying and then she heard the dial tone. He had hung up on her. He had broken up with her over the telephone and then topped it all off by hanging up on her before she could respond. She was furious. She hung up the phone and then grabbed her coat and purse from the wall hook on her way out the door. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this. When she got into her car, she drove straight over to the gym. He had called her from work, so she knew he would still be there. It was almost closing time and there were only a few cars in the parking lot, none of them familiar to her.

She slipped into the gym unnoticed. No one was at the counter and it appeared that the place was nearly empty. She could hear the sound of weights clanging in the weight room so she decided to head in that direction. He was probably back there trying to impress Tandi with his bench pressing. When she got to the doorway of the weight room, she looked inside and started to say, “Don’t bother trying to impress her…”

Before she could get the words out, she gasped at the sight before her. Darnell was lying on the weight bench with a heavy barbell resting on his neck. He wasn’t moving and when she went over to try and lift it off of him; she couldn’t even move the thing. She ran out to the counter to find help, but there was no one around. The lights had been turned off and it looked like someone had shut the place down at the same moment she had discovered Darnell. She picked up the phone on the counter and dialed 9-1-1. When the paramedics arrived, they pronounced Darnell dead at the scene. Betsy was taken into custody by the police and an investigation ensued…

Who killed Darnell? Why? Think you can figure it all out? Send your guess to me by Friday at 5 p.m. EST. I’ll announce the winner on Friday night!

Good luck!

BB's Mini-Mystery #2 Winner?

Here’s what happened:

Standing behind the gun was Regina, Westmiller’s wife. She had long suspected Westmiller was having an affair with someone, but she wasn’t sure who. He spent many nights out without so much as a phone call. He talked incessantly about his friend Art and seemed way too interested in what he was doing every evening. She had followed him on several occasions and found him leaving board meetings only to visit Art at his home. She knew that Art was single and that he was a little on the eccentric side, though she had never pegged him as a homosexual. She had changed her mind about this when she intercepted an e-mail message that Art had sent to her husband earlier in the week. The message had said, “I’ve got something for you and I think you’re going to like it.” Mistaking this cryptic message for something flirtatious instead of what it had actually been, a message about the money the two were embezzling, she began planning her revenge.

First, she had paid a homeless man to call the house and threaten her husband. She figured she might be able to scare him into spending less time with his friend by making him think that he was suspected of impropriety. She hadn’t actually known that he was trying to take money; it was just something she had made up. When that didn’t seem to work, she had sent him the package with the dead snake hoping that he would be so creeped out that he would confide in her. He hadn’t. Instead, he hadn’t even mentioned it when he had called her that day. He had called her after his board meeting to say that he wouldn’t be home until late. He had some things to take care of at the office.

She was overcome by rage and decided that she would go to Art’s house and confront him. She expected to find her husband there, but when she arrived, she found Art dead on the floor. She had hurried out of the house and back to her car, driving away quickly to avoid being spotted. On the way out back to her house, she passed Thornton. He was headed toward Art’s house. She had been right about the two of them, she thought to herself as she turned around and headed right back to Art’s house. She pulled the dainty little gun she kept for self-defense out of her glove box and headed into the house. She saw Thorn standing over Art’s computer, phone in hand. She didn’t even give him a chance to explain. She shot him…three times…in the heart.

When the police came, Regina was standing in the hallway. The gun had dropped to her feet after she’d fired the shots. The police quickly handcuffed her and hauled her away. Upon closer investigation, they found that she was only responsible for one of the murders. Coughley had been killed by someone else entirely. Further investigation and an eye witness produced a suspect almost immediately. Mr. Chandler, the Mayfield Family Shelter director had been so enraged by Westmiller’s report that the estate money from Mr. Thompson wasn’t going to be what they expected that he had gone directly to Coughley’s home after the meeting and the two of them had exchanged words. Things had gotten heated and Mr. Chandler had stabbed him, killing him instantly.

Not exactly a professional exchange, but money has a strange effect on some people. Standing there in Coughley’s opulent home, Chandler thought about his humble apartment and his measly $30,000 per year salary as shelter director. He looked around at all of the fine things that Coughley had afforded by shuffling money around and his jealousy overtook him. Before he knew it, the knife was in Coughley’s chest and he had blood on his hands. He took off, hoping that he hadn’t been seen. Unfortunately for Chandler, a homeless man had been hanging around the neighborhood checking the trash cans for things he could resell. He saw everyone that came and went that night and he went straight to the police.

*****

Well, folks, this one must have been tough. Though she didn't guess both killers, this week's winner Angela Robinson, did guess that Westmiller's wife had killed him. That'll do! Congratulations to Angela! Your $10 gift card will be in the mail asap! And the names of all those who sent in a guess will be entered into the drawing for the Grand Prize in week five!

Keep watching for next week’s Mini-Mystery! It’ll be posted on Monday, January 21st.