Category: The Ramble (page 312 of 462)

Apropos that it is 4AM on Holy-Crap-I-Don’t-Even-Knowsday, where I am wide awake and besieged by the vampire known as “jet lag.” As such, seems high time for my Australia recap!

*wibbles*

The Flights

Understand now that getting to the Island from Lost Australia is no easy feat. Going to the country required, for me, one 16-hour flight, and coming back featured a 13-hour-flight — which is obviously shorter but you have the added punishment of coming through LAX, which, translated, is actually: “the added punishment of flying into and through the Devil’s panopticon-shaped demon sphincter.” And once in LAX, you have to get off the plane, go through customs, get your bags, go through the agricultural check, then exit the goddamn airport, walk 451 miles to a connecting terminal only to give them your bags again and re-enter the Sisyphean drain-swirl that is security. It’s really efficient.

Anyway, point is: if you’re flying to Australia, have something to do. I brought a lot of pornography and a couple cross-stitch samplers. Entertainment for days.

Australia Itself

It’s awesome.

You should go.

End of story.

Okay, For Realsies

Listen, I like to keep my expectations in check. I got off the plane and talked to my wife and she was like, “So, is it worth it? The long flight through eternal darkness to get there?” And my first response was, “FLABBA JABBA MUZZA WUZZA,” because I had just been on a 16-hour flight through eternal darkness. But translated, I wasn’t sure. Brisbane seemed nice enough, I guess?

Then I had a flat white.

The flat white is kind of a nuanced latte — espresso, yes, but less milk, definitely less foam, all of it kind of incorporated together in a very perfect way, and it fast became my favorite coffee drink that you don’t really get in many other places (definitely not here). And I sat there with New Pal Emily Craven (what a great name!), drinking my coffee and eating poached eggs at 6:30 in the morning and it was sunny and birds were chirping and then there was a beach right in the middle of the city and I could smell flowers and I settled right into it. There came a click like I was a bone settling into its socket — and suddenly all was right in the world.

Here, then, are some things I noticed in Brisbane:

• Everybody is really fucking friendly. Warm, hospitable, laden with humor. Generous in a way that surprised me constantly.

• When you get to the country and go through customs you have to fight an increasing series of Australian animals. First, a koala. Then a kangaroo. Then an emu, cassowary, great white shark, and finally, Rupert Murdoch riding a giant redback spider. I was informed that the secret is always to let Rupert win. He is a very sore loser, that guy.

• The dollar is favorable there. But shit is occasionally ‘spensive.

• Sometimes I felt like I had entered a weird off-kilter version of the world I knew because you see these brands you recognize but with products you don’t — the Mitsubishi Pajero! The Toyota Aurion! The 7-11 Fruit Salad slurpee! Honeycomb Kit-Kats! Target-brand raisin bran flavored with TAIPAN VENOM. Everyone drives on the left! The liberal party are the conservatives! I felt like I was with the ka-tet in King’s Dark Tower series slipping into a strange mirror world.

• Bears repeating: THE FLAT WHITE.

• Brisbane is its own creature but if you really need the American comparison, it’s like if you took a nice Floridian city and drop-kicked it to Hawaii. I got vibes of both places while there. Which is not a bad combo, really, if you’re looking for good subtropical fun-times.

• Sydney and Melbourne are at odds with one another. The people of these given cities are the Champion Avatars of each, and they do battle in front of unwitting Americans. Seriously, this is a conversation I had every 20 minutes while in Australia: “I’m from Melbourne, it is the best city ever. It contains the coolest people. Unlike those uppity shitbirds from Sydney.” Then, later: “I’m from Sydney, it is the best city ever. It contains the coolest people. Unlike those soggy hipsters from Melbourne.” Then you pit them together and watch the fun. Note: nobody ever includes Brisbane in this fight, which is potentially unfair: it’s a really cool little city, and damnit if I don’t like underdogs. (But if I had to guess: I’m a Melbourne dude.)

• Actually, I think folks view Brisbane as a kind of backwater rednecksburg — Queensland being the Australian version of Texas or, again, Florida? Cattle country, cowboys, conservatives. Or so goes the feeling I got.

• I actually saw no spiders save one while there. It was a cute little jumping spider. IT WAS THE SIZE OF A PONY. No, not really. It was itty-bitty, and did not deign to fuck with me or mine. (Joke’s on me: my head will suddenly crack open and spill out funnel web spiders.)

• Australia has a sweets-loving culture. I saw more dessert cafes in a single radius than I ever have anywhere else — hell, nearby the hotel was a CHOCOLATE CHURRO PLACE. Let me just say that again. CHOCOLATE. CHURROS. *jaw loosens, drool emerges*

• Also has a strong coffee culture — but not drip coffee, as noted. Everything is espresso based. (Though I’m told they often use the espresso pull with various roasts, not just the espresso roast.) They actually pretty much kicked out Starbucks — that snooty mermaid showed up and Aussies were like, “Nope, we have great coffee already, thanks,” and then punted her back into the ocean so she could swim back to Seattle.

• I was routinely mocked for my mispronunciations of Australian things. Kookaburra is pronounced “KUCK-a-burra,” I guess? Emu is “ee-MYOO.” Australia is “STRAH-lya.” Tony Abbott is pronounced “the Devil incarnate who has manifested to set back society 100 years and also he hates women and gays and I’m pretty sure he kicks infants, that shitty motherfucker.”

• Australian politics are weird. (Says the guy whose government shut down.) They have 100+ parties? And some of them are political parties based in part on… hobbies? Like, there’s a racing party? A fishing party? A sex party? Wait, why don’t we have a sex party? Goddamn Puritans.

GenreCon 2013

Okay, onto the reason I was actually there.

Genrecon.

GenreCon is one of my top two writing conferences ever — the second and equal being Crossroads, which takes place in Macon, Georgia every year.

Here’s why I like both of these conferences:

First, they are genre-inclusive. They love writing in general, and are agnostic to the type of writing you do. No judgment. Nobody makes frowny faces when you tell them you write romance, or sci-fi, or pornographic Jurassic Park fan-fic.

Second, they’re small and lean and provide short, sharp, intensive programming.

Third, the love and energy is palpable. BOOKLOVE, BABY.

Fourth, I experience more people asking about writing than publishing. This is a problem with a lot of conferences where folks want to know how they get published before they care about how they actually write a good book. Not to say publishing shouldn’t be discussed or on the agenda — but the horse needs to be firmly thrust in front of the cart on this one, and for many, it ain’t. But at these two conferences I feel that the priority is just right.

Fifth, each is just well put together. Feels casual but professional. Loose, but capable.

GenreCon was really very amazing. It took place at the Queensland State Library, which is amazeballs — wait, the kids aren’t saying that anymore, are they? What are they saying, now? Majesti-testes? Fine. That works. It was majesti-testes. Truly beautiful library, unlike any I’ve seen in the ol’ US-of-A.

Oh, also? People knew me! How exciting that they were excited to meet me. That felt really good. (And really weird — it’s like, what’s wrong with you people? I have to live with me all the time, this should not be an exciting moment for anybody.)

At the “juggling act” panel, we got to discuss how to juggle several writing projects with the vigors and burdens of Real Life.

At the “antagonists” panel, we got to discuss what makes a kick-ass antagonist (and Pam Newton and I got to fanwank over The Wire because, how can you not?).

At the banquet, they actually let me get up twice and speak — once to offer up a presentation of 25 Reasons Genre Fiction Fucking Rocks, another to answer a 25-Question interview put forth by the intrepid Kate Cuthbert, who asked some hilarious questions. (My favorite involved her starting a question about “writing tools” before ending the question by asking, “So who are some of the biggest tools in the writing industry?”) Oh, and yes, I will be posting the 25 Reasons here at the blog in the next day or two (slightly edited to make it more bloggy and less speechy).

Bonus: a workshop on story structure — presented by Rebekah Turner and Charlotte Nash using 80s/90s action movies to detail narrative architecture (Die Hard, Terminator, Speed, Predator, Aliens, The Matrix). Aw, yiss.

It was just a great conference. I knew it was great because when I was done I was all frowny-faced and maudlin over it being over. I wanted to pout and punch things and demand MORE GENRECON PLEASE NOW THANK YOU BYE.

High-five to the many Genrecon Ninjas who welcomed me and a host of writerly types — Meg Vann, Peter Ball, Emily, Sophie, Aimee, Stacey, Simon, and more.

The Peeps

(Images of the GenreCon folks here, photos by the wunderbar Cat Sparx.)

Upon arriving, Emily Craven picked me up, gave me TimTams, took me for coffee and breakfast.

Then at the venue I got to meet Lois Spangler, a transmedia acolyte who was immediately like, “We are going to go to have chocolate churros and strawberries now with my friend Kevin,” and I was like, YES OKAY HELLO. She’s one of those people who, like Emily and so many others there, I can legitimately point to and say, “YAY NEW FRIEND.”

We did indeed get chocolate churros and strawberries with voiceover guru Kevin Powe, and while there I discovered that I had inadvertently stepped into the nexus of a weird Venn diagram of People I Already Knew. Lois knew Christy Dena, who I know from Cool Transmedia Stuff. Kevin was rooming with Patrick and Nicole O’Duffy — Patrick I’ve known for over fifteen years when we both did work for White Wolf way back when. Then Kevin talked about me to his friend Colin, who is partners with Kelly, one of my Flickr contacts also from way back when. Later other connections would manifest: Aaron Rosenberg, Nick Fortugno, and more.

At the reception I got to meet a whole host of awesome humans, including two of my favorite people in the whole world, Emma Osbourne and Eliza Rose. Both talented authors. Emma with her first pro sale. Eliza a student of Clarion West. Sometimes you just click with people — and these are my people. Trust me when I say you’ll be reading the stories of these two in the years to come. They will own your ass before you know it.

Kate Cuthbert is smart and funny and Canadian, and did a kick-ass job at the banquet — she’s so awesome I hope America can import her, shhh. *steals her*

Margaret Atwood said, “Go and meet my friend Cat Sparx,” and lo, I did, and it was good. Cat is rad people. (Doing a PhD in climate change themes found in YA fiction.) Cat’s the one who schooled me on the weirdnesses of Aussie politics.

Crime gurus John Connolly and Kathryn Fox: great energy, epic talent, easy conversationalists.

Clewdd (pronounced “Cleweth” or, also, “Lord Thornoflox Spangdiggler”) knows what he did.

I got to meet Imelda Evans! She brought me TimTams!

Ingrid Jonach was there! A new Strange Chemistry author, woo hoo!

And yes, I did indeed meet the mighty motherfucker known as Patrick O’ Duffy. He is a tall, magnificent specimen of Ron Perlmannishness, and he turns in a throaty, disturbing karaoke performance of Total Eclipse of the Heart. In fact, that’s actually how I met him — the first night of the event, a bunch of people said, “We are now going to karaoke,” and I’d never done karaoke before, and so after drinks at the bar (aka karaoke lubrication) they wrangled me into a taxi and suddenly I was in this dark brothel-esque room with half-drunk Australians performing karaoke — and suddenly the door opens and light floods in, framing the O’Duffy shape in the door. And he came in and sang and then there was more drinking and I did a horrible mumbly-mouthed version of “Thrift Shop” with Emma Osbourne and LIFE WAS GOOD. And drunk. And good. Point is: Patrick is fine people, and his wife Nicole is doubly awesome, if only for being able to keep him in line — a task of great peril, I do believe.

And I finally got to meet Christy Dena! Holy crap. She’s a storyteller on the edge, man.

Smarter than all of us.

Who else?

So many folks. Joel Naoum! Kim Wilkins! Alex Adsett! Anne Gracie! Dean Peterson! Angela Slatter! Alicia Burke! Dave Versace! J. Michael Melican! PM Newton! Lisa Hannet! Jodi Cleghorn! Narrelle Harris! Rosie from Fangbooks! Cathryn Hein! Gemma Smith! And others I’m forgetting because I have a brain like a moth-chewed cardigan! I swoon with jet lag!

Goddamn Jet Lag

Jet lag is some real shit, man.

See, I got duped. I went to Australia, and did everything you weren’t supposed to do — I had a beer at the airport, a gin on the plane, I got there and had coffee, took a nap on the first day, then the first night of the conference (Friday) I got liquored up and did late-night karaoke.

And for the most part, I didn’t really get hit by any lag. I slept pretty well. Got up at normal times. My sleep pattern snapped right into place.

Then I came home.

I got cocky.

And I got throat-punched.

The first day was mostly just tired, but now I’m in that weird state where I feel like I’m on a boat and the world is moving beneath my feet and I don’t have insomnia so much as I lay down to sleep and vacillate wildly between DEEP SLEEP WITH VIVID DREAMS and PERIODS OF TOTAL ALERTNESS, and I do this for the entire night, creating a kind of swimmy fever-dream state where I never really know if I’m awake or dreaming?

It’s very bizarre.

I assume this is going to take a few days to escape.

But jet lag, man: it’s some sinister business.

TimTams

TimTams bear a mention.

I’d heard about TimTams — a cookie, or “biscuit” where two wafers surround a chocolate filling and are themselves dipped in chocolate — and I was intrigued but expecting little. I mean, it’s not like we don’t have cookies here in the States. We have a whole slave circuit of Keebler elves churning sweet treats out of their little tree factories. And we have Twinkies, too. So I was like, sure, okay, I’ll try your TimTams, and I’ll smile and nod and be underwhelmed.

I WAS WRONG.

I’ll admit that now. I have to admit it, because my face is smeared with chocolate.

TimTams are an amazing little cookie. Addictive in the way that I’m pretty sure they are Blue Meth sandwiches. The first morning there Emily gave me a sleeve and I ate half that sleeve before 10AM and I already knew that I had a very real problem that only MORE TIMTAMS COULD CURE GOBBLE GOBBLE RAAAH

Aussies are enablers in this. They made it rain TimTams upon me. I came home with an armload of these things, and now my family is hooked, too.

They’re trouble. Stay away.

*eats TimTam, cries*

The Rest Of The Trip

The days following GenreCon passed in a blur. I moved hotels. I ate emu and alligator and lilly-pillies and was forced to do the TimTam slam on video and then I took a cruise up the Brisbane river and tried to get a selfie with a kangaroo and dicked around with koalas (no koala chlamydia, relax) and had an owl touch my hair (no, really) and drank a wine called Squid’s Fist and drank a gin cocktail that was so sweet I now have a brand new Type of Diabetes (Type VII, aka “Diabeedus Rex”) and hung out with Clwedd and ate Moreton Bay bugs (think Facehugger xenomorphs) and saw Gravity (holy fuck) and ate Mexican food (I’d call them “tacos” but yeah no not really) and ate a chocolate waffle concoction that gave me another new Type of Diabetes (“Diabeedus X: The Diabeedus That Destroyed Manhattan”) and and and —

I probably did some other shit, too.

But I don’t even know what day it is.

So I’m going to go ride my wombat mount and go find a flat white.

In my dreams.

*eats another TimTam, cries more*

*dies from jet lag*

Last week’s challenge: “Horror in Three Sentences.”

This week’s challenge:

Pretty easy.

Pull a random song from — well, wherever it is you like to grab random songs. iTunes! Spotify! Pandora! Some old man on the corner who randomly spouts song titles! Whatever. Get a random song title. That is now the the title of your flash fiction story this week, which should top out at ~1000 words.

Due by Oct 25th, noon, EST.

Post at your online space.

Link back here.

Now get writing, word-herders.

I met Aimee at this year’s WorldCon, and she struck me as someone who had a professional foot forward when it came to self-publishing her work — and so here she is to talk about the results of that with her book, Eye of the Storm. 

TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF: WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?

I’m an introvert with an extremely varied background. I’ve got training in acting and electrical engineering, I work as a technical writer, and I write speculative fiction. I train in a Filipino martial art called eskrima, which involves a lot of hitting people with sticks. This is very therapeutic.

GIVE US THE 140-CHARACTER STORY PITCH:

The god of War possesses the body of a female lieutenant at West Point, and the two make an uneasy truce while fighting War’s sworn enemy.

WHERE DOES THIS STORY COME FROM?

The book started out as a project for NaNoWriMo. After a particularly bad day at work, I sat down and dumped my frustration at stupid people into a notebook. That eventually became the first chapter of Eye of the Storm, and set War’s voice.

HOW IS THIS A STORY ONLY YOU COULD’VE WRITTEN?

I really wanted diversity and a fresh take on old material. I’m fascinated by myths, Greek gods or folktales, but I wanted it to be a story firmly set in the modern world, and that requires multicultural characters and backgrounds. I worked really hard to keep whitewashing out of my writing. For example, I asked Anthony Palumbo, the amazing cover artist, to work from pictures of Middle Eastern men. One of the benefits of calling the shots!

WHAT WAS THE HARDEST THING ABOUT WRITING Eye of the Storm?

I hit a major plot flaw after the book was finished and in editing. It was really frustrating to realize that an important plot point needed so much rework. Thankfully, I had a lot of beta readers and a great editor, Michelle Graber.

WHAT DID YOU LEARN WRITING Eye of the Storm?

I honestly don’t even know where to start! Since I’m doing some of the grunt work of publishing and marketing myself, I’m learning a lot about the publishing industry and what is required to get a book out to readers. However, my biggest eye-opener was the research I did on women in the military. Those people go through more than I realized in order to be able to serve our country. Some of it is horrifying, some of it is exhilarating. It’s all humbling.

WHAT DO YOU LOVE ABOUT Eye of the Storm?

I love my characters, and I love messing with them. I think of them almost as a flock of birds, from ravens to hawks to parrots. They’re all different and distinct to me, and I love putting myself into their shoes. I especially enjoy writing dialog, as a former actor.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO DIFFERENTLY NEXT TIME?

I would start with an editor sooner – and I already have for the next novel! Feedback is so essential, since it’s easy to miss the forest for the grubs on the trees. The sooner I have a plot hole pointed out to me, the sooner it gets plugged or removed entirely.

GIVE US YOUR FAVORITE PARAGRAPH FROM THE STORY:

“I closed my eyes, and for the first time in millennia, I shed my material form and slid into Sykes’ bloodstream like a hit of heroin. Her nerves sparked with commands that I silenced as I passed them. I took quick possession of one pathway after another as I made my way to her brain. Camilla flailed at me, the shock and confusion of my attack not enough to paralyze her, but I batted her away as she might have swatted at a fly and settled into the command center of her nervous system, testing filaments and reaction time. To my surprise, Sykes came in again for a more organized attack. She slammed into me with the mental equivalent of a haymaker, rebounding off my hastily erected shield and circling for a different angle.”

WHAT’S NEXT FOR YOU AS A STORYTELLER?

I’m working on the sequel to Eye of the Storm, called To Break My Enemies. This book will focus on the second of the Four Horsemen, Conquest. The first chapter of the new book is included at the end of this edition of Eye of the Storm.

Aimee Kuzenski: Website / Twitter

Eye of the Storm: Amazon / B&N

 

Mystery novels work a lot like any other genre, except that mystery writers murder their imaginary friends. To paraphrase the Hoover campaign promise, a mystery novel will deliver “a corpse in every pot.” (Mystery authors are twisted. We might as well get that straight from the outset.)

Mystery offers plenty of room for variation, too. Murder is universal—it can happen in any setting and any time. A sleuth can be a professional, an amateur, or a NINJA (though I’ve already done that last one), and your victim and method can vary just as widely. One warning, however: killing your imaginary friends is a lot like eating potato chips. Nobody I know can stop with one.

Sound like fun? Awesome. Let’s get going:

1. DEATH: IT’S WHAT’S FOR DINNER

Occasionally, a mystery succeeds with a central crime other than murder, but generally speaking purloined papers, missing mutts, and the seizure of family jewels doesn’t get you very far in the mystery world. (However, properly handled, the family jewels have great potential in other genres.)

On the positive side, if your imaginary friends are at all like mine, they’re better off dead.

2. PUT THE HATCHET DOWN AND FIND A SLEUTH

It’s easy to rush prematurely into the process of fitting imaginary friends for cement waders. When real killers rush the process, they end up in jail (or dead). The best way to keep your novel (and your career) off the writers’ version of death row? Plan it thoroughly. Plan it well. And plan to start with an interesting sleuth. Readers don’t turn the pages because they care about fictitious corpses. Readers want to help the cool kids solve a crime.

3. KNEE THE DICK IN THE GROIN

What’s better than an intriguing sleuth? A BROKEN ONE! Hooray! Is your detective emotionally damaged? Physically impaired? Addicted to Hostess Fruit Pies? Excellent: good times lie ahead.

If not, stop now and take a hammer to your sleuth’s emotional kneecaps. Bust those suckers good—and be creative. Divorces, tragic accidents, and dead relatives are dime-a-dozen. You can do better. Make your detective allergic to coffee, or phobic of houseplants. Squash her beloved iguana beneath a Zamboni and then force her to solve a murder at an ice rink.

You get the idea.

3. MUMBLE, MUMBLE, BACKSTORY … OR, EVERY ZAMBONI-HATING SOCIOPATH HAS A MOTHER

Your detective needs a reason to solve the crime you’re about to commit. Faced with a choice between tracking a killer and going out for Mexican food, every normal human picks the churro. Something (aside from your need to MAKE A MILLION DOLLARS PUBLISHING, YO) makes your detective select “hunt killer” over “Tuesday Tacos,” and you have to know the reason before you write. Maybe the story prompts it. Maybe it’s something in the detective’s past. Best case scenario, past and story fuse in a giant quesadilla of motivation. Mmmm…cheesy goodness….

4.  THE FIRST RULE OF THE BACKSTORY IS DO NOT WRITE BACKSTORY

No, seriously. Don’t. Not directly, anyway. Backstory is the cayenne pepper of the writer’s literary spice drawer. A little, added at the proper time, enhances the novel and gives it zing. Use too much and readers dump the entire thing in the garbage bin.

5. EVERY BODY NEEDS A COFFIN – BUILD YOUR WORLD

But I thought this was about killing people! Patience, young Padawan. We’ll get there. First things first.

Your sleuth and your supporting cast live in a specific time and place. Construct and memorize that landscape. Novels set in the “real” world need just as much attention as the ones that live on fantasy and science fiction shelves. Maybe your victim lives alone in a fifteenth-story apartment carpeted with empty Reese’s wrappers. Maybe the sleuth uses only one-ply toilet paper. I don’t know, but you have to, and you need to know before you write page one.

6. MURDER: IT’S DYING, WITH STYLE!

In real life, people get run over with cars, shot with pistols, and decapitated with ancient swords. (THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!!) In fiction, anything is fair game if you can explain it. Take down your victim with all the creativity you can muster. Pufferfish poison? Absolutely. Shuriken to the face? You’ll see it in one of my novels. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours!

One note: In my world, the method comes before the victim, but this is a chicken-and-egg kind of problem. Do it the other way ‘round if it works for you. Which brings us to:

7. SPIN THE WHEEL OF VICTIMS!

As with the sleuth, choose wisely—and by “wisely” I mean with all the wicked, sadistic power within your twisted soul. You can kill ANYONE YOU WANT TO. Or more than one! The world’s your oyster…shiv—er, shuck—that baby and find some pearls.

8. WHODUNIT, WHY-HE-DUN-IT, DUN DUN DUN

You know that big “reveal scene” where the sleuth explains who killed the victim and why? Surprise! The author had that plotted out 300 pages earlier. (My first novel has 288 pages. Do the math.) Figure out the killer’s method, opportunity and motives before you start writing. Mystery readers will burn you in effigy (and barbecue your book in reviews) if these elements fall flat.

9. ROUND UP THE (UN)USUAL SUSPECTS …

You’ll need at least three suspects (I prefer four), each of whom falls into one of two categories: people who wanted the victim dead and people who might have killed him. Sometimes they overlap. Sometimes they don’t. Also? At least one should come from “outside the box” – the victim’s kindergarten teacher, for example. Don’t stretch belief, but don’t just fill your story with expected variations on the theme.

10. … AND LISTEN TO THEM LIE ABOUT KEYSER SÖZE.

All suspects are liars. Let me repeat for emphasis: Every one of your suspects is a liar. The issue is that only one is lying about this murder. The rest don’t want the sleuth finding out they were dressing in drag, having sex with a prostitute dressed as a purple dinosaur, or fertilizing the marijuana grove at the time of the killing. Figuring out what your suspects are hiding is just as important as figuring out “who-done-it” … and sometimes, a lot more fun.

11. OUTLINE, OUTLINE, OUTLINE

Some writers pants their way through a novel, but how they do is a mystery to me. My novels start with an outline, and that outline starts with the murder—even when the killing happens before the start of the book. The outline doesn’t need huge detail, but it should include every major scene (and major clue) in the novel. It gives you a road map and helps you keep your sleuth on course when everyone starts lying.

12. BUT WAIT! THERE’S ANOTHER OUTLINE!

A secret outline, for your eyes alone. This one tracks the offstage action—what those lying suspects were really doing, and when, and why. The “secret outline” lets you know which clues to plant, and where, and keeps the lies from jamming up the story’s moving parts. Mmm….jam….Back in a minute, I need some toast.

13. GET A CLUE. IN FACT, TAKE TWO, THEY’RE SMALL

Mysteries have three kinds of clues. “Genuine clues” point to the killer and help the detective solve the crime. “Fake clues,” (also called “red herrings”) point to someone other than the killer. They serve to distract the reader (and, often, the detective too). “Pivotal clues” are the lynchpins upon which the solution turns—they give the final piece (or pieces) to the puzzle and, ultimately, solve the crime. You need all three types of clues, and you must insert them in a way that keeps the reader guessing which is which.

14. WAITER! THERE’S A DEAD GUY ON PAGE ONE!

Mystery readers are like the crowds in the Roman Coliseum—they came for blood, and they want it NOW. Readers will not wait a hundred pages for a corpse. They want death by page 50 … if not, your book may well become the victim.

15. HERO, MEET QUEST

Remember back around #3 where I made a big deal about the detective’s backstory? Without violating the First Rule of Fight Club Backstory, your mission—should you choose to accept it—is to persuade the reader that “hunting down a serial killer who wants to eat your eyeballs” is a viable alternative to churros and beer in your detective’s world. Extra points if you do this without internal monologues, flashbacks, dreams, or the Ghosts of Dead Ancestors.

And yes, the detective novel is the Momomyth (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monomyth) in murderous form. However, the writer’s quest is to keep formula from becoming formulaic.

16. STEP 1: STEAL UNDERPANTS. STEP 2: ????

Between Act One (the choice between death and churros) and the midpoint-ish AHA!, lies a quagmire where unwary authors get lost in the process. Write the early stages of the investigation quickly. Take the suspects out for a test drive. See what they have to say. Plan to fill in the details once you get a grip on what’s happening in the endgame.

17. AHA! THE FIRST SOLUTION!

Your detective must identify the killer by the midpoint of the book. The investigation then shifts to proving how and why (s)he did it. Except that…

18. THE FIRST SOLUTION WAS WRONG

At some point, your sleuth will discover that everything he knew was wrong, the killer is NOT the female Elvis impersonator from the planet Diva-9, and OMG WE ARE ALL HOPELESSLY SCREWED.

Welcome to the long, dark, potty break of the soul—and every detective has to hit bottom (or at least wipe out) before he or she can find the killer. Let your detective dig a hole and fall through into a cesspool … and then collapse the ceiling on her head. Force her to dig her way out with a broken chopstick.

19. AHA, AGAIN, THIS TIME FOR REALS!

The second time ‘round, your detective is stronger and more motivated (digging out of a cesspool with a chopstick can have that effect). The answer doesn’t come easily, but this time, when the sleuth reveals the killer, it’s the right one. Which leads to:

20. BOTTOM OF THE NINTH, TWO OUTS, AND BASES LOADED: TIME FOR A GRAND SLAM!

This is the BIG REVEAL SCENE, in which the sleuth unmasks the killer, explains the motive, and gives free puppies to everyone. Hooray! The reveal is one of the two most important scenes in a mystery novel (the other being discovery of the corpse), and it has dual goals. The first is to explain (or explain away) every major clue and to expose the murderer’s identity. The second is more important: it can’t be boring. This is why your reader stuck with you for all those pages. Strike out here, and all the free puppies die.

21. HOORAY! YOU WROTE A NOVEL! CELEBRATE!

Surprise – this is an actual step in the process. The hardest part of writing a novel starts after you type “the end” on that stinky cheese you call Draft One. But reaching the end of that draft deserves celebration.

I recommend beer and churros, or lemon cupcakes, or port and honey-barbecue Fritos. Whatever form of celebratory debauchery fits your style.

22.  FEAR IS THE MINDKILLER, BUT REVISION KILLS EVERYTHING ELSE

Revision doesn’t mean “polish out a few passive cases and send that baby off to win worldwide praise.” Revising a novel is like killing a hydra with a safety razor. When you’re deep in the process, you swear it will NEVER END, but no good comes of short-circuiting the work.

Not only must you fill the rotting, swampy holes you left in the early pages, you have to tighten the pacing, fix the plot, and make sure the clues hold up. The characters may need tweaking so they don’t all sound like Grandpa from The Muensters, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg where the edits are concerned.

Remember that celebratory bourbon? Keep some around, you’re going to need it here.

23. AND NOW, A LESSON FROM BILL AND TED: IT’S NOT A CRIME TO GO BACK AND HIDE THE KEYS

(Yes, I’m about to quote Keanu Reeves for writing advice. Shut up or I’ll cut you with this safety razor.) Near the end of Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, the guys are stuck outside the San Dimas jail with a real problem: they must free the imprisoned historical figures or fail their presentation and flunk out of school. They have to engineer a jailbreak NOW. So Ted turns to Bill and says, “When this is over, remind me to go back and hide the keys.” Moments later, Ted slips behind a bush and returns with the jail keys in his hand.

The lesson? When you have a time machine, getting the details right is not a problem.

Hey, writer? You have a time machine. Go back during the editing phase and drop the keys where you need them. Just, please, find a better explanation for how they got there.

24. WIRE CRITIQUE PARTNERS IN SERIES, NOT IN PARALLEL

Readers get only one virgin pass at a mystery (heh… I said “virgin”…). If all your critique partners read at once, you won’t have anyone left to tell you if your edits and adjustments wreck the story or ruin the surprise.

I run my novels through three sets of eyes: my alpha reader, peer editors, and my critique group, making edits and adjustments after each. You don’t necessarily need that many, but you need good ones and you should space them out.

25. PUT A SHIV THROUGH THE HEART OF ANY ADVICE THAT DOESN’T WORK FOR YOU

What I’ve just shared is my method. (There are many like it, but this one is mine.) Some authors pants their way through a mystery, fueled by the tortured screams of their imaginary friends. Some of us find solace in chocolate waffles and naked shuffleboard. (Don’t judge…) The most important advice I can give is FIND WHAT WORKS FOR YOU AND DO IT EVERY DAY.

Whatever you’re writing, write it until it’s finished. Then revise. Then write something else. And something else again, until you run out of imaginary friends … and then create some new ones and kill them too.

About the Author

Susan Spann is a transactional attorney and author of the Shinobi Mystery series featuring ninja detective Hiro Hattori. The first book, CLAWS OF THE CAT, released in July 2013 from Minotaur Books. In addition to murdering her imaginary friends, Susan’s hobbies include archery, martial arts, horseback riding, and raising seahorses and rare corals in her marine aquarium. You can find her online at http://www.susanspann.com, or on Twitter @SusanSpann.

First, you did see the “horror in three sentences“ contest, right?

Second, you also saw the pumpkin-carving contest, right?

OKAY GOOD.

Today, not a contest, but a question in theme with the ghoulish delights that the month of October seems to bring with it —

We’ve all had freaky things happen to us.

Ghost stories. Strange sightings. Inexplicable happenings.

Glitches in the Matrix, perhaps.

I’d like to hear about them. Hop down into the comments and let ’em fly. True stories! As true as you can recall them. And while not specifically a contest, I will choose three random commenters to receive a copy of my short story collection, Irregular Creatures, in e-book format.

Last week’s challenge: Roll For Your Title

This week’s challenge is easy to describe, but hard to execute:

Write a scary story in three sentences.

That’s it.

Remember: a proper story has a beginning, middle and an end.

It is not merely a vignette.

And, no, really — make it scary.

You will write these stories in the comments below, not at your websites or blog spaces.

I’ll pick my top three favorites to get the whole suite of my writing-related e-books (not including the newest, The Kick-Ass Writer, which will soon be published by Writer’s Digest, nudge nudge).

You’ve got one week.

Due by Friday the 18th, noon EST. One entry only.