June 2017 – Page 2 – Ladies of Mystery

by Janis Patterson

I’ll admit I get a little put out when people (including some writers) say “Oh, I could never write a mystery – how do you think of all those clues and where to put them?” Usually, when I’m wearing my romance-writer hat (yes, I write both, along with several other genres), these are the same people who say “Oh, I could churn out one of those stories if I ever had the time.”

Grrrr.

To me that is as stupid as someone saying they can cook a roast but could never cook hamburgers. Or vice-versa. Writing is a learned craft, and the basic tools are the same whether you write confession stories or blockbuster action-adventures or small town cozy mysteries with a bakery shop (sometimes a needlework store) and a romance.

Yes, I am the first to admit that there is an element of magic in writing, of taking twenty-six simple symbols and turning them into a story that will touch and enthrall the reader, but magic – like luck – really does seem to prefer the prepared who have worked like the devil to learn their skills.

But magic aside, writing is a craft. Sometimes when I start a mystery I have a hazy idea of who and why, and that often changes, sometimes several times, but as I write along I leave a strong story behind me. If I may steal Deborah (Debra?) Dixon’s mantra of ‘goal, motivation and conflict’ I’ve found that following that guideline for almost every scene (excluding a very few, very short ones used mainly for transition from one arena of action to another) as well as for the entire book makes it much easier. In real life we sit around, we dawdle, we have purposeless (though sometimes pleasant) conversations, we sit in traffic, we… whatever, but in a book we don’t have that luxury. Every word, every action has to count and either explain why our characters/events are the way they are and/or bring us closer to the climax/resolution.

I’ve told this story before, but in my mystery THE HOLLOW HOUSE for the first two thirds of the book I was absolutely positive I knew who the killer was. Then – boom! All of a sudden I realized that wouldn’t work. Well, it would have worked because I’m the author and what I say goes – sort-of, but dramatically it was a bust. Rather than start over again or back up and throw out great chunks of wonderful, deathless prose <grin> I kept on writing and within a few pages I knew who the murderer really was. Except – another chapter, and the whole thing started over again. He couldn’t be the murderer. Gritting my teeth I forged on.

To make a long story short, if it’s not too late, this process repeated itself five times during the last third of the book. I was getting alarmed, as I was running out of potential villains, and will never subscribe to the ancient trope of a convenient homicidal maniac wandering around who just happened by and had never been mentioned before. Grimly I went on, and in the next to the last chapter suddenly all was revealed to me. I will admit that by this time I had ceased to feel like a writer and more like a scribe, just taking down what I couldn’t control.

But the final solution was perfect. Things could not have worked out better. The only thing that made me sigh with apprehension was that now I would have to go back through the entire manuscript and put in clues. I was as astonished as anyone could be when on rereading I found that they were already there. Who knew? Magic? Anyway, I think I put in two or three more, just so I would have the illusion of being in charge…

So perhaps I should restate my premise – writing is work, writing is a skill is available to just about anybody who will study and practice. And the magic? I think it comes creeping in on little cat feet (sorry, Mr. Sandburg) under the cover of study and practice just waiting to jump out when you expect it the least. And it doesn’t make any difference whether you write mystery or romance or horror or action-adventure or any of millions of other kinds of stories – the building blocks are the same. But you do have to learn how to use them.

by Sally Carpenter

Even the best writers don’t always get it right.

Last year I purchased the complete “Columbo” DVD set—every episode from the 1968 pilot through the final case in 2003.

The quality of the writing was superb, with its logical plots, clever clues and the wonderful interplay between the rumpled detective and the overconfident murderer.

But in re-watching the shows in order (just finished season three), I’ve seen a few lapses and continuity goofs. That’s understandable, as TV shows are rushed into production with tight deadlines.

Here’s what I’ve seen so far:

In “Any Port in a Storm,” Columbo says his wife is home with a sick child. During “Mind Over Mayhem” he makes a reference to their children. But in another episode (I’m not certain which one) he says he and the missus never had children.

In “Dead Weight,” the killer hides the body in a secret compartment behind the bar in his house. Why does his house have such a space? Most houses don’t come ready made with hidden rooms just the right size for corpses.

In “Lady in Waiting,” Columbo’s case rest on Peter Hamilton’s “photographic memory” and his statement, several days after the murder, that he heard the gunshots before the burglar alarm sounded. Yet immediately after the killing, Hamilton tells the police he heard the alarm first.

A bigger problem is with the killer, Beth Chadwick. She bumps off her brother because he runs her life and wants her to stop dating Hamlin. So why doesn’t she move in or elope with her lover, or at least get her own apartment? She isn’t a minor, so her brother can’t legally stop her from moving out of the house.

“The Most Crucial Game” is the weakest of the episodes. Very little makes sense. Paul Hanlon, general manger of a sports empire, detests the playboy business owner, Eric Wagner, but the show doesn’t give him a clear motive for killing him. Hanlon tells Wagner he needs his signature so he can purchase another team, and then murders him hours later. How does he plan to get the team without Wagner?

In the event of Wagner’s death, ownership of the company shifts to his wife. Yet nothing in the show indicates that the wife would let Hanlon take control of the operation. Why kill Wagner before gaining the wife’s support?

Columbo is puzzled by fresh water on the deck of the pool (Hanover washed away his footprints). But the fresh water could be from a gardener watering the greenery or someone cleaning the deck after the previous night’s party.

To establish an alibi, Hanlon disguises himself as an ice cream vendor, leaves his private suite at the top of the L.A. Coliseum, walks through the rows of seats full of fans, and exits the stadium while the National Anthem is played. Not one person sees him leave.

The script jumps the shark with a private investigator straight out of a 1940s B-serial who plants bugs in Wagner’s house with the help of a prostitute. Why is the PI using a hooker for his investigative work?

In the end, Columbo has no reason to suspect Hanlon, no motive, no weapon and only one clue that the manager was not in his suite during the killing—but Hanlon could have been in another part of the stadium at that time.

“Double Exposure” is a terrific script that Stephen Cannell wrote on spec during a writers’ strike. But the elephant in the script is that the murder occurs inside a secure building. All cars entering the institute must drive past a security guard. Kepple tries to frame the victim’s wife, but if she had done it, the gate guard would have seen her drive in, which she didn’t.

Security cameras are set up inside the building. Although the killer disables the camera monitor aimed at the scene of the crime, the other cameras would have picked up strangers entering or leaving the facility.

This same flub appears in “Sex and the Married Detective.” The manager of a sex clinic lures the victim into her offices after hours to shoot him. She locks the office door on her way out. So the killer could only be someone who could lock up, which limited the suspects to those who had keys to the clinic.

In “Mind Over Mayhem,” a vital clue is that the victim smokes a pipe. But when we see him with the pipe in his mouth, the pipe is not lit.

The goal of mystery writers is to tie up lose ends and make sure all plot points and clues are reasonable and believable. Keeping track of continuity is important. Something out of whack can kick a reader out of the story.

One more thing . . . in “A Friend in Deed,” a character gives the address of the crime scene as 1278 Fairfax Drive. Later when Colombo is standing in front of the house, the (real life) house number painted on the curb is 400. I guess the camera crew couldn’t shoot in the 1200 block that day.