The Elements of Mystery Fiction: Writing the Modern Whodunit (17 page)

Writing is a non-stop learning process. Write regularly and write often. Practice your craft. The more you write, the better you’ll become. And when you hold that first copy of your own book in your hand, you’ll know that it’s been worth every agonizing moment.

Chapter 12

Writing the Mystery Series

Philip R. Craig

I published my first novel (
G
ate of Ivory, Gate of Horn
) in 1969, when I was 35. Then, for 18 years, I wrote novels no one wanted to buy. In 1987 I decided to write one that would sell. You’d think I’d have tried that earlier, but I hadn’t; instead I wrote books that I (but no one else) thought were interesting. Hearing of my new plan, my daughter gave me the names of two famous novelists (who will not be identified here) and said,

“
Dad, these people make millions of dollars. Do what they do.”

Spurred on by her advice, I went to a yard sale and bought two books by each of the writers she recommended. My wife and I each read one.

We didn’t like them. My wife hoped we wouldn’t have to read another one, but I said, “We’re not doing this for fun. It’s research. Besides, I’ve always heard that every writer writes at least one bad book. Maybe, as fate would have it, we just happened to read their bad ones.”

So we read the other two books. We didn’t like them, either.

The problem was that both writers over-wrote by explaining things that didn’t need explaining. For instance, instead of just saying the villain narrowed his eyes as he faced the hero in the showdown, or describing how the femme fatale lowered her eyelids as she faced the hero in the boudoir, both authors gave us a whole paragraph explaining what those expressions meant. They presumed their readers were idiots who couldn’t figure it out for themselves.

I didn’t plan to copy that technique, but I did notice something I thought might be useful: In both writers’ books there was a recurring pattern of events and characters—a formula, you might say. Here it is: [1] The hero is ruggedly handsome, in his thirties, and worldly and competent enough to survive attacks and solve crimes; [2] The heroine is beautiful, bright, in her twenties, and not quite as worldly as the hero; [3] The story is set in an exotic locale such as Cannes, or Istanbul, or up the Amazon River—someplace where, unlike your home town, interesting events might actually happen; [4] There are two plots—the love plot involving the hero and heroine, and the crime plot that might be as simple as murder or as complex as a cartel seizing the oil resources of the Middle East and demanding all the gold in Fort Knox as ransom; [5] There is big money involved, apparently because Americans, in spite of their voiced interest in the poor and underprivileged, are really more interested in reading about the rich and famous; [6] The two plots become entwined and justice and righteousness triumph in the end; and, [7] There is at least one steamy sex scene involving the hero and the heroine.

I told myself that I could do all that, and I did. I made my hero (J.W. Jackson) an ex-cop so he could solve crimes; I created a beautiful woman (Zee); I set the tale on Martha’s Vineyard, a place I knew well and which is considered by many to be an exotic locale; I used murder as the crime, since it’s never really out of fashion; I threw in a background story about drugs to take care of the Big Money requirement; I tied the love plot and the crime plot together and had justice and righteousness triumph; and, I wrote (badly) a semi-steamy sex scene.

I then found an agent who was willing to look at my manuscript, and to my considerable surprise (remember, I’d spent two decades writing novels that no one wanted to publish), she said she thought she could sell it.

Sure enough, Scribner’s bought the book and it hit the bookstores in 1989.
A Beautiful Place to Die
, my second published novel, appeared exactly 20 years after my first one. I was then 55 years old, and I remember joking with my wife: Wouldn’t it be great if it was the first book in a series.

I had absolutely no reason to think that would happen, of course. But when I got my first copy of the book, I read this phrase on the cover right under the title: “A Martha’s Vineyard Mystery Introducing Jeff Jackson.”

A Martha’s Vineyard Mystery? Introducing Jeff Jackson? Those words implied more books to come…although no one had told ME about it. That was the first of many times that I have been the last to learn something important about the future of my books.

As it turned out,
A Beautiful Place to Die
was, indeed, the first in a series of novels that have become known as The Martha’s Vineyard Mysteries. Scribner’s has published the hardcovers, and Avon has published the paperback editions. My agent, Jane Otte, and my editor, Susanne Kirk, have guided and sustained me through the production of a new book every June, so that now, all these years after the publication of
A Beautiful Place to Die
, I may actually be qualified to comment on some aspects of writing series fiction.

To do that I’ll refer to my own books and describe how I’ve dealt with some of the issues I’ve encountered.

First, a generalization: The author of series fiction must write each successive story in such a fashion that it will be interesting to both first-time readers and those who have read previous entries in the series. The writer must give the new reader enough background information about the characters and setting of the story without boring past readers by repeating too much of what they already know.

Now for some concrete examples of issues:

1. Chronology.
You can build the passage of time into your stories, or you can pretty much ignore it. All of Sue Grafton’s stories take place about the same time, but Robert Parker’s hero, Spenser, grows older with each novel. In my books, time passes, although not as fast as in my life. Whichever way you decide to address the passage of time, be careful to use proper chronology. Don’t make your character 25 years old in one book and 45 in another that takes place the next year. If she gets shot in an early book, she should carry the scar—and the memory—in later ones.

2. Essential information about characters and their circumstances.
When you write a series of stories featuring recurring characters, you must give new readers essential information about those characters, but you don’t have to tell them everything. In my novels, a cast of regulars has evolved, and when one of them appears, I have to introduce him or her to readers who haven’t read earlier books in the series. I do this as briefly and indirectly as possible, and usually only if it makes a difference in the current book.

I make it clear for readers that J.W. Jackson, the narrator of my series, is an ex-cop who retired to the Vineyard to escape police work by having someone—usually someone who wants his help—mention it in conversation.

In earlier books I gave so little information about J.W.’s background that my editor suggested that I provide more. I didn’t want to do that all in one book, so I’ve scattered pieces of his personal history here and there throughout many books. He’s a Vietnam veteran who was wounded on his first patrol; he was raised in Somerville, Massachusetts, by his widowed father, who was a fireman killed by a collapsing wall; he has a sister who lives in Santa Fe, etc.

Much of this information appears in the form of internal monologues, since J.W. is the narrator of the books and all of each story takes place in his mind.

He’s never been physically described. All we know about him is that he’s tall (because he looks down into his wife’s eyes); he has big hands (because he puts them on her shoulders); he has big feet (because in one book he was suspected of a crime but was cleared because the perp left tracks and J.W.’s feet were much bigger); and, he’s clean shaven (because occasionally he’s looked into a mirror and considered growing a beard, although he’s always decided not to). We don’t know the shape of his face or body or the color of his hair or eyes or skin.

J.W.’s friend John Skye is a university professor of Old and Middle English who is married to a woman with twin daughters by a previous marriage. That information generally comes out indirectly through dialogue or through J.W.’s stream of consciousness.

Zee, J.W.’s wife, was shot in a violent encounter with two gangsters, one of whom she killed. I don’t mention that in later books unless it affects the story. The fact that Zee is opposed to guns and violence, yet paradoxically is a marvel with a target pistol, is revealed more often, usually by dialogue (“Say, J.W., how’d Zee do at that pistol competition last week?”), or perhaps by a mention of the trophies she has stacked in a closet.

The point is, you don’t have to tell everything all over again in every book. You only have to tell what’s important in the current book, and it’s best to do it indirectly and minimally.

3. Romance.
When I discovered that I was writing a series of books instead of just one, I realized I had a problem: How to handle the love relationship between the hero and narrator, J.W. Jackson, and the beautiful woman, Zee. When I wrote
A Beautiful Place to Die
, I assumed that their sexual union was a one-night stand. But as the series evolved, things changed, and I had to decide what to do with the lovers.

It is conventional for the protagonists in crime novels to be single, so as to be available to new romantic opportunities. James Bond, for instance, has a new girl or three in every story. He was once married but his wife was immediately killed, leaving him once again single and available. Joe Leaphorn, who appears in Tony Hillerman’s wonderful novels, is a widower; Bill Tapply’s Brady Coyne is divorced; Kinsey Millhone, Sue Grafton’s tough West Coast private eye, is twice divorced.

This convention notwithstanding, I realized I liked Zee, so I made a decision: J.W. would continue to pursue her, eventually with marriage in mind. Her reluctance to re-marry (she’d been dumped by her first husband) lasted for four books.

When Zee said Yes in the last line of that fourth book, I began to get letters split about 50-50 between readers who thought marriage was a great idea and those who thought it would ruin everything.

Figuring that I was going to lose half my readers no matter what I did, I hedged my bet for two more books, during which J.W. and Zee were engaged. Finally I made up my mind and married them in the first line of the seventh book in the series. Since then, to further violate convention, they’ve had two children and stayed married.

I try to keep their romance brewing by the way I characterize them. They love each other, but neither is blind to the other’s flaws and foibles, and both are sometimes attracted to others. Since their hormones can act up at inconvenient times, there is a psycho-sexual tension between them that forbids them to take each other for granted.

This tension is increased by J.W.’s refusal to play the role of dominant male—even when Zee wishes he would. Instead, because he holds her happiness higher than his own, he insists that she is always free to conduct her life as she, not he, sees fit. He will not try to keep her to himself; he will only stand between her and other men if she’s in danger from them.

Both J.W. and Zee are independent, loyal, loving people, but, as is often the case, their strengths are also their weaknesses. This fact keeps their relationship from being dull, and it ensures that it will remain romantic.

4. Locale.
My books all take place on Martha’s Vineyard, and the island is so central to my stories that it has almost become a recurring character. It is a paradise with serpents under its rocks, an Eden with trees bearing poisonous fruits. The contrast between its image and its reality is reflected in each story and provides background for the crimes that are the principal focus of the books.

Although I’m careful not to write Vineyard travelogues, I try to describe the island so accurately that both Vineyarders and readers who have never been to the island can see it in their memories and imaginations. I tell islanders of places they may never have seen, and I describe places they know intimately. If I do this well, people who have never visited the Vineyard can see those places, too.

Both sorts of descriptions strengthen the story by giving it verisimilitude. Because my descriptions can be trusted, my story is more believable. Familiar sites, such as the Giant Pagoda Tree on South Water Street in Edgartown, and even the totally fictitious Fireside Bar in Oak Bluffs, give readers the sense that they know the territory. This knowledge pleases them and makes them want to read more.

It is an interesting fact that of the hundreds of letters I get from readers, virtually none of them speaks about the crimes or J.W.’s heroics as a detective. Rather, my readers are interested in J.W. and his family and in my descriptions of the island. They worry and give me advice about the Jacksons. J.W. has been drinking too much beer, they way. It’s bad for his health. Or, J.W. shouldn’t take his young children with him when he’s detecting. It’s dangerous. Or, they worry that Zee may be tempted to accept that offer to go to Hollywood. They remind me that I shouldn’t have the children stand up on the back seat of the car to give their parents hugs. They should be sitting down with their seatbelts fastened.

Readers also tell me that my descriptions of the Vineyard make them eager to return or to make their first visits. The owner of a local bed-and-breakfast tells me that she gives copies of my books to her new guests so they can find their way around the island. At least a half dozen people have told me they moved to the island after reading one of my books.