 Mystery: November 09, 2010 Issue [#4068] |
  Mystery
This week: Planting the Seeds of Error Edited by: shaara
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This week, I am delighted to be your Mystery Newsletter Editor.
Where I'm going is not peaceful or pleasant,
but if you write mysteries, you'll need to ponder
DEATH and how to cause it.
Because no matter, the excuse you make, the truth is that mystery stories are most often about death.
Someone dies by someone's hand.
MURDER.
But how did it happen?
Sometimes that's part of the mystery.
Today I'm going to investigate:
The Seeds of Error.
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Amazon's Price: $ 19.95
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Planting the Seeds of Error
Writing a mystery story means that one can't just plop down a tale and string it out.
That's my normal method of writing, but for a mystery that just doesn't work - or at least my mind doesn't function like that. I tend to be sequential and lateral. In my novels, one character communicates with or activates another.
In mystery tales, it appears, that one must plot out devious errors - long avenues of thought in which suspicious acts and innuendos are sprinkled about like autumn leaves that sometimes drop right next to the tree, but also scatter about in the winds, hide on the far side of boulders, drift down into a free-flowing creek, or even cling to passing animals which carry them several yards away.
Characters enter and exit - all potentially suspicious - the sister, the wife, the husband, the brother, the best friend. No one is completely trustworthy.
An example of this would be the following spoof:
My main character - let's call him Sprock for old time's sake -- is the detective, although his main job, of course, is as the science officer on the "Starship Enterprised."
Sprock likes to ponder misdeeds. He enjoys analyzing and discerning truths and falsehoods. He is fascinated by his studies of human behaviors, phobias, and emotions, which is why his hobby as space detective takes most of his spare time.
So thus, we have the setting, the main character, and must insert our misdeed:
M U R D E R .
William Chonop - a character we've never met on Star Flek before - handles minor medical problems for Blones, the Enterprised's doctor. One day, while working alone in the medical backroom, Chonop dies.
How? That's part of the mystery. No body punctures. No poison in his system. No signs of medical casuality or normal body malfunction.
Why? Chonop wasn't popular onboard the ship. In fact, he hadn't a friend to his name. No girlfriends either (or boyfriends, for that matter.) No entanglements of any kind.
So why was he murdered? And by whom?
Suspects:
Blones - the head doctor who always complained about Chonop.
Nurse -- Pristine Ample - jealous of Chonop's taking over some of her jobs
Lieutenant Uhlala - assaulted by Chonop earlier in the week
Samor - an alien traveling to Earth, seen eating lunch
with Chonop, although he claimed not to have known the man
Hence the mystery begins. Each suspect is provided with a reason to kill. Each suspect's alibi is inspected for lies.
Sprock raises one eyebrow and contemplates the oddness of humans. Without his notice of it, his fingers form the Volcanic greeting. His left leg twitches, and he rubs it absently.
His thoughts move to Nurse Ample. She handles mysterious alien compounds. One of them is missing. Has it been used for murder?
Traces of the substance are found in Chonop's dead body. After the clean-up team -- all wearing mint green uniforms and matching berets, stitched with the golden threads of the Good Ship Enterprised -- scour secret compartments, the potion's empty bottle turns up hidden in the ship's deep space nine storage shed.
Ample's fingerprints, smudgy, but still recognizable, are found on the lid. The computer verifies them and dates them as to within the week of Chonop's death. Nurse Ample disputes it. "No. I didn't do it. If I were going to kill anyone it would have been that vamp, Psychologist Sashay Susie. She's been eying Blones, even though I told her I had the earlier claim. I'd never have killed Chonop! Sure, he was a creep, but everyone knows creeps are a Trek a dozen."
The readers nod their heads. Nurse Ample did it. Fingerprints prove it.
"Shame on you, Nurse Ample. We knew you were vindictive. Watch out, Psychologist Sashay Susie. You're next."
But there are more chapters to come.
Does that prove it wasn't Nurse Ample? Is she innocent?
Meanwhile, Nurse Ample is shoveled off to the brig, tears leaving wet spots on her shapely and very slinky stretch-knit pink nurse's uniform.
Blones grins evilly.
But what is this?
Blones lied about his whereabouts on the night of the murder? The computer log shows he was actually in sickbay at the exact moment when . . .
Ding.
The computer lights up and displays the results of Lieutenant Uhlala's latest physical.
The beautiful lieutenant is pregnant. DNA analysis provides the paternity; the child is Chonop's.
Sprock's left eyebrow wiggles up and down. His right pointy ear grows taller as the left veers to the right.
What is going on? his vibrating eyebrow seems to ask.
"Nothing is logical," he complains to his captain.
Captain Flim Flam nods, but his eyes are on Uhlala. The captain pats her on the back.
"Don't worry about it," Flim tells her. "You still have nine months before motherhood. Let's go discuss this situation -- privately -- in my cabin."
Sprock shakes his head, sighs and turns his meditation back to Nurse Ample.
When did the nurse stop drooling over him and turn her attention to Blones?
Sprock probes his feelings for two chapters, examining the small part of his left foot that bears his humanness.
Does he feel hurt, rejected, unloved?
Should he feel hurt, rejected, and unloved?
Readers tire after twenty-three pages and cry out: "What about the alien?" Several of the more violent book owners angrily throw their novels at the wall and pound their feet in frustration.
That pulls Sprock from the depths of his contemplation. His forehead wrinkles. He turns his head, and stares off in the direction of the camera. At least it would be the camera's position if this weren't a novel.)
"I believe it is illogical to heave an $18 book at a room partition," Sprock states, assuming that none of the readers have purchased the book on Krimble, which would be far more costly to destroy. (Of course the loud crunch as their reading machine thumped against the wall would give a much more gratifyingly loud crunch when it hit and dropped to the floor.)
Sprock slowly moves his hand forward to position his Volcanic mindlock onto the cover of the book.
"I think I can, I think I can . . ." he mumbles.
Readers turn the page and scramble on, climbing word upon word, skipping over periods and other Terran grammar rules.
"Beware," says the next chapter. . . "Something is fishy on the Enterprised."
Remember the alien? Don't let his face - which rather resembles pepperoni pizza dotted with green peppers and mushrooms - entice you to overlook him. It is possible his claws contain a poison even more death-invoking than what Nurse Ample used - I mean was alleged to have used. . .
Sprock forgets his urge to mindlock. He rushes over to the computer and bends over. His backbone pops, but he ignores it to read on. After a moment he learns that the ship's log has been tampered with. Aghast, Sprock whispers, "Fascinating."
Without pushing up a sleeve or dripping a drop of perspiration (which he never does being from the planet Volcano,) he fixes the altercation. Repaired, the computer whistles Dixie, then spouts new data:
"Fascinating," Sprock mutters aagain s his left eyebrow disappears up into his hairline.
"Nurse Ample dated Chonop at med school?
"Bones' mother once babysat for Chonop?
"Lieutenant Uhura is not really pregnant?"
Sprock's right ear lengthens two centimeters as he tweaks it back and forth.
"Of course," he says after a moment. "Quite logical."
Meanwhile . . .
The seeds of error.
How many should an author scatter before the mystery is allowed to be solved?
Answer: How long does an author wish to make the book?
Live Long and Prosper,
and may your intricate webs be filled
with the many seeds of error.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Featured Items for
the November 10th Mystery Newsletter
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#935554 by Not Available. |
This tale is a detective story in the old tradition. Pretty woman, murder, and a bear - what more could folks want? LOL
She considered his terse words, hesitated, and then began, "It's that bear. You have got to get it for me. You see, I have 850 million dollars riding on that bear."
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#1111441 by Not Available. |
This is an example of a psychological drama. This time it's the scent of Jasmine. Beware readers. Watch your perfume!
A shapely woman with long red hair sat down on the stool beside him. "Are you trying to decide which side to drink from?"
He looked at her and then moved over one stool.
The woman looked surprised. "What's a matter, Sweetie? Don't you like women?"
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. It's your perfume..."
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| | | Invalid Item
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#1706988 by Not Available. |
Read this piece and you'll fall right back into high school! It's great fun and a really good read.
Holly and I walked in silence. Random conversations were going on behind us, but I had my game face on. This was going to be serious. The air was thick with anticipation, or at least I hope that's what that feeling was. I had a bean burrito for breakfast, and sometimes they didn't sit right with me.
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#1581212 by Not Available. |
I liked this one because the ending was so unpredictable. It totally went in a tangent, in fact, from the average detective tale. See if you don't ride the rollercoaster upside down when you read it. LOL
I finally came to the conclusion; this whole thing was a hoax. "Cherchez la femme", look for the woman, that's what I needed to do. "Yeah, the girl was the key", that's where I could find out the truth about Angela Divine. [/i}
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| | | Invalid Item
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#827505 by Not Available. |
I started this novel several years ago. No alien in it so I lost interest. One day, I'll continue it, though. It was really quite fun writing it, and I guess that the only way I'll get to solve the mystery is to get back to writing it.
Dear Ben,
There's been a murder, my darling, a ghastly murder, although I suppose all murders are ghastly, but this one happened here, and that makes it worse - at least to me.
Blood puddled small rivers and lakes on the floor, and the cat had walked through it, so there were little cat pads with claw marks traveling all about the body. And the body was so still, awkwardly still, like it wanted to get up and shout about the unfairness of it all.
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Comments and Questions
From the August 11th Mystery Newsletter
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shubhajeet  asks that you read her story and provide assistance: | | | Invalid Item
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#1715777 by Not Available. |
She writes::
thank you very much. i was inspired to write a mystery based story so i worked out and here it is i hope i will get a clear suggestion.
It's always nice to have someone send me a fresh story. I dropped in and checked it out. I hope others will give you some suggestions - as I did.
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BIG BAD WOLF is Howling  asks that you read: I offered some advice, and I hope other readers will, too.
The author says:
Halloween can just be there subtlely. After all, a story writen at around halloween doesn't seem right, unless there is someone drinking blood in it.
Of course the greatest mystery is the mind, because it can be hard to get into the head of a killer.
I agree about the greatest mystery being the mind. I don't think I want to enter the head of a real killer, but I do enjoy dabbling in writing mysteries. I'm not too crazy about the drinking blood part, either. My vampires all want to become better people or to regain their souls.
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Tick replied:
I'm a great admirer of A. Christie and some more recent writers who manage to keep me guessing right to the end of the story. I cannot recall any using Hallowe'en as a theme. Maybe there's a market for seasonal stories like that. I know Higgins Clark does some Christmas stories. Love the newsletter!
I really, really thank you for your praise and for your comments! It delights a writer to have someone comment about their work. This past issue was so sparsely discussed, I wondered why I'd bothered to write it. Sigh. Then you made my day!
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