LIN ANDERSON: THE STRUCTURE OF STORY PART III

Today, I'm excited to re-introduce Lin Anderson for Part 3 of her 3-part series on The Structure of Story. Lin has a lot of writing experience, having published eight novels, which feature forensic expert Dr Rhona MacLeod. Her books have been translated into several langauages and are in development for TV. Her short stories have appeared in a number of collections, most recently Dead Close was chosen for the Best of British Crime 2011. Also a screenwriter, her film River Child won a BAFTA and the Celtic Film Festival best fiction award. Lin's website is: http://www.lin-anderson.com/ 

In this essay, Lin talks about the importance of the ending and how it relates to all that has come before it. To illustrate her thoughts, Lin has included one of her short stories, One Good Turn.

Part 3: The Resolution

Before you write your resolution I'd like you to consider one thing. What image/thought/emotion do you want your reader to have in their heads when they reach the last word, because that's what will stay with them. That finale image or impression should in some way reflect the beginning. A resolution does not necessarily mean that everything is resolved. What you thought your protagonist wanted may not be what they really needed by the resolution. The tone of your story will help dictate the ending. In true noir, a story ends as desperately as it began. A comedy crime begins and ends on humour. A dramatic piece has a resolution usually based on a form of justice, or morality. The best ending is one your reader didn't expect but when faced with it, realises it's the right one. The sting in the tail.

A short story conceals many stories beneath. We drop into a life, stay a short while and re-emerge, while your character's lives continue. We will always wonder at what might happen next.

To illustrate some of the points raised I'd like you to consider a short story which was commissioned by Victim Support Scotland for a book called Shattered.

One Good Turn

The night bus emerged from Princes Street and turned into Lothian Road. Ben watched it pull up at the previous stop and wished once again he’d walked in that direction. At this time of night the buses filled up quickly. He was first in the queue but that might not be enough.

He stole a glance at the people behind him in the bus shelter. A girl then two guys. The girl looked frozen, her outfit more suited to a dance club than a February night in Edinburgh. Pretty in a cold, pinched sort of way, she was huddled against the glass as far from the two men as possible, as though she didn’t want them to notice her. Difficult in an outfit and heels like that. Ben had already heard their not so discreet comments.

The bus was lumbering up the hill giving Ben the sinking feeling that it was bursting at the seams. He checked his pocket for change, wishing he’d kept enough cash for a taxi. If he had he would be home by now, curled up in his warm bed, with the promise of a long lie tomorrow.

The bus slowed as it approached the stop and Ben allowed his hopes to rise. It wouldn’t stop if it was full. He stepped out of the shelter and stuck out his hand. Already the others were shuffling forward, eager like him to get on board. The bus ground to a halt and the door folded open, blasting them with welcome heat.

‘Sorry, one only.’

A chorus of anger erupted behind Ben as the message sank in.

‘Fuck you,’ the taller of the two guys shouted.

As Ben made to get on, he caught a glimpse of the lassie’s frozen face. He thought of his wee sister Catriona wearing shoes she couldn’t walk in, ignoring his mum’s advice about putting on a coat. He might be frozen but at least he could walk.

‘You go.’ He stood back to let the girl past.      

She hesitated, uncertain how to react. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’ll get the next one.’

The door closed behind her taking the heat with it. Ben saw the girl grip the pole, stumbling as the bus pulled sharply away.

‘Fucking good Samaritan,’ he cursed himself as he watched the tail end of the bus creep up Lothian Road.

The other two guys had given up and started walking. Ben decided to do the same. God knows when the next bus would arrive, and it too would likely be full. He stuck his hands in his pockets and dipped his head into the biting wind.

Stephanie was so intent on finding something to hold onto that she failed to smile her thanks as the bus pulled away. She felt sorry for the nice guy who’d given her his place, but was grateful for it.

As the bus accelerated she widened her stance in an effort to balance on the ridiculous heels, inwardly cursing herself for wearing the silly shoes. The shoes had been a mistake, the outfit had been a mistake, the entire night had been a mistake. Dark despair swept over her. Now that she didn’t have to concentrate on the cold, the horror that had been her evening came crashing back. She should have listened to her friends. She shouldn’t have gone with Gary. Stephanie clutched the pole tighter, her knuckles white.

The bus had pulled up at the traffic lights on the corner of Bread Street. From the right hand window she spotted her good Samaritan following them, walking with long swift strides. The sight made her feel a little better. He glanced in, catching her eye and smiling. The bus took off again, moving towards the right hand lane, heading for Bruntsfield. The guy, already across Bread Street suddenly broke into a run. Stephanie wanted to cheer him on as he chased the bus to the next traffic light. If it was red, he would catch them up.

Stephanie manoeuvred herself into a position where she could watch his progress from the back window.

The bus wasn’t that far ahead. If it met another red at Melville Drive he would catch up easily. The run had warmed him. He was out of breath but not by much and this was much better than standing at the bus stop. As if in answer to his prayer the bus slowed. The light was changing. Ben put on an extra spurt.

The two guys appeared from nowhere slamming hard into him. Ben staggered, his interrupted momentum resounding through his chest.

‘Bastard!’

Ben registered the shout and the fact that the two men from the bus stop were circling him, but he had no idea why. He drew himself up, gasping for breath.

‘Sorry,’ he said, not sure why he should apologise.

‘Aye, you fucking will be!’

Ben felt the sharp point of an elbow bury itself in his ribs. The little air that was left in his lungs escaped with a hiss. A sudden and acute sense of danger told him to get the hell out of there. Never argue. Always run. Before he could obey his own instructions the two guys were away, whooping and hollering, darting across the road, heading down the lane towards Fountainbridge.

Ben attempted to straighten up. The bus was still at the lights. If he could get his breath back he could catch it. Somehow that seemed even more important now than before. He drew air painfully into his lungs and set off again. Shit!  The bus was beginning to move off. He spotted the girl watching him from the rear window and upped his effort.

He was only yards from the bus when his legs suddenly gave way beneath him. He staggered, reaching out to break his fall as the pavement rose abruptly to meet him.

Stephanie tried to peer out of the steamed up windows. Something had happened. He was on his own then there were three of them. Had he caught up with the other two guys from the bus stop?

Now he was on his own again, only yards behind the bus, but something was wrong.

‘Stop!’ she screamed and held her finger on the bell.

Ben wondered where he was and why he was lying down. Then he remembered – he always felt like this after donating blood. Calm and contented, as though seven pints were all he really needed to survive.

He licked his lips, tasting metal. Salty liquid bubbled up his throat and into his mouth to dribble down his chin. He felt no pain just a strange burning sensation in his side where the guy had elbowed him. He knew he should get up but had no idea where he would find the strength. He heard the rapid click of heels on the pavement and watched as the shoes ran towards him. Ben found himself wondering again how she could walk on those heels, let alone run.

She dropped onto bare knees beside him.

‘Are you alright?’ The face that stared down was frightened and Ben felt the need to reassure her, but couldn’t find his voice. Now she was speaking rapidly into her mobile saying something about a stabbing and an ambulance.

Confusion and fear began to devour Ben’s sense of calm.

‘It’s okay.’ She reached for his hand and took it in her own. Ben was surprised how warm her hand felt against his cold one. He looked up at her. Her eyes were a midnight blue. He thought she looked great in spite of the layers of makeup and the daft shoes and wanted to tell her so.

‘You’re going to be alright,’ she said, her voice soft and trembling.

It was good to hear her say it, even though Ben knew in that moment it wasn’t true.

She moved his head onto her knee. Somewhere in the distance Stephanie heard the searing sound of a siren. He was staring at her, his lips moving, but no sound came out. She gently wiped away the red bubble that had formed at the corner of his mouth.

‘It’s okay, they’re coming. Can you hear them?’

Her knees felt warm and she realised it was because she was kneeling in his blood.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to turn the clock back. She wanted to be standing in the freezing wind watching the bus pull away with him inside.

JANE ISAAC: THE DEVIL IS IN THE DETAILS

Today, I'm excited to introduce fellow mystery writer and guest blogger Jane Isaac. Jane is the author of the psychological thriller, An Unfamiliar Murder.

Jane lives in rural Northamptonshire, UK. She studied creative writing, and later specialist fiction with the London School of Journalism. Jane is not only a mystery writer, she is also an avid reader, a mum, a dog lover and a traveler. Recently, she has had two short stories accepted for crime anthologies, so please listen up – she knows what she’s talking about.

Here is her fact-filled essay:

The Devil is in the Detail

No matter what genre you write, every book carries some element of research and, for crime fiction, the weight is a heavy one.

There’s not only police procedure, plotlines, areas and events to study, but also people. What’s the secret formula behind the great characters in fiction? Research. Investment into creating and layering our characters gives them the depth to become ‘real’.

As writers we are great people watchers. Aside from interviewing people in our chosen genre, we observe the world around us and pick up little traits: the man in the cafe with the six o’clock shadow, the perfectly manicured mum at the school gates, the child with the tuft of hair that sticks up around his crown – all quirks that help us to build the characters in our fiction.

 

I’ve always been a great fan of studying, a perennial student in many respects, undertaking courses in a plethora of different subjects over the years including law, pottery, even sign language. Consequently, research is one of my favourite aspects of novel writing – a labour of love, one might say.

It’s interesting what directions book research takes. For An Unfamiliar Murder, fire research led me to a wonderful meeting with the former Chief of Northants Fire Service who explained how the structure of our old terraced properties work in the UK, the role of accelerants, and their fire procedures.

I also spoke to endless police officers about their role, their aspirations, the politics of the organisation. Then there are all the books about serial killers and psychopaths – the real case studies that kept me awake at night and haunted my dreams.

Recently, for the sequel, I met up with a former Detective Superintendent, who managed murder squads all over the UK during his 30 year career, for some in-depth research into some of the cases he has managed. Boy, did he have some tales to tell...

The internet can provide a great resource model but, when considering settings, I prefer the hands on approach. I like to visit a scene, if possible, to see what it really looks like, how it smells, what noises I can hear in the background. There are times when you can’t beat touching the cold stone, breathing the air around you. I spent hours trudging over fields examining disused mine shafts, old pump houses, railway cabins, derelict cottages, in pursuit of deposition sites for a body for my first novel. Something my Labrador, Bollo, found particularly enjoyable!

Often such information provides background material which never appears in the novel, or only converts to a couple of lines. Sometimes it’s edited out. But the details we learn provide more depth to our work, allowing us to describe scenes and people from an informed viewpoint. This not only enables the words to flow, but makes it feel more real, which is particularly important for a psychological thriller.

Ever read a book when you’ve questioned an event, a character, a place because it isn’t quite right? Failing to do your research will show. And with the internet these days, it’s easier than ever to make sure we check our information. I’d never claim for my work to be completely factually correct, but it’s certainly not for the want of trying.

Jane Isaac’s debut novel, An Unfamiliar Murder, was published by Rainstorm Press in February 2012. You can learn more about Jane, read her blog and an excerpt from her novel on her website at www.janeisaac.co.uk

A GOOD INTERVIEW IS AN EXAMINATION OF CONSCIENCE

Less than 1 month ago, I had the honor of being interviewed by Laurie Hanan, http://www.wix.com/lauriehanan/laurie-hanan the author of Almost Paradise and How Far is Heaven, for her blog. Laurie lives in Hawaii. (I know, I jealous, too.) The interview gave me a chance to talk about my books in depth, which is something an author rarely gets to do. It also gave me an opportunity to pause and contemplate my writing. A good interview, meaning questions that go deeper than "how long did it take you to write this book?" forces you to examine your conscience. It is something I recommend for everyone - authors and non authors alike. You may be surprised by your answers. Here is my interview in its entirety.

It is an honor to have with me today the very talented novelist, playwright, artist, and jeweler, Gerard Bianco. He is the author of the award-winning mystery/thriller The Deal Master. His latest book, Discipline: A Play recently won the Editor’s Choice Award. He is a contributing author in Now Write! Mysteries, and was featured in Carol Hoenig’s book The Author’s Guide to Planning Book Events.

Laurie: Good morning, Gerard. Let’s start with your first novel, The Deal Master. Without giving anything away, can you give us a brief idea of what the book is about?

Gerard: The premise of the book is based on a mythological tale that comes down to us from the 13th century—modernized, of course. A serial killer is murdering women with red hair. Detective William Gillette and his team are on the hunt, but their investigation fails to turn up any concrete leads. They are clueless as to the identity of the killer or where he will strike next. Enter a mysterious man who holds information vital to the case, but this man will supply this information only through a series of deals. Gillette, desperate for a lead, accepts the stranger’s terms. This plunges the detective into a game for which he is unprepared. Each deal comes with a price, and Gillette soon finds himself in a predicament he can’t get out of unless he strikes the ultimate deal. Is this master of the deal Gillette’s answer to solving the crimes, or is he the detective’s worst nightmare? You’ll have to read the book to find out.

I should also mention that The Deal Master is a mystery/thriller. The story starts out as a mystery, but then slowly, a subtle, more important chain of events begins to take place, and soon the reader is galloping off into a spine-tingling thriller. This makes for an exciting read where you suddenly find yourself caught up in an entirely different adventure with the same characters. Reading The Deal Master is like getting two novels for the price of one.

Laurie: It sounds very intriguing. Your protagonist is Detective William Gillette. There are many murder mysteries written with a police detective as the lead character. What kind of person is he, and what makes him unique?

Gerard: William Gillette, son of the famous NYC detective Phil Gillette, was groomed from a early age to follow in his father’s footsteps. His youth and rugged handsomeness enhance his talent as a natural leader. He is well-liked, focused and serious. He was devoted to his mother, who was abused by his alcoholic father. He is not afraid to bend the rules, or even break them, to get what he wants.

There are some flaws in Gillette’s character, and this leads him to make mistakes. I am not a fan of a story in which an author presents his/her protagonist as someone who knows all the answers, solves all the riddles and shines brighter than all other characters in the book. When you read The Deal Master you feel Gillette’s anxieties, disappointments and trepidations. You know his exultation when he gets things right and you suffer his humiliation when he does something he shouldn’t—and he does this quite often.

Laurie: How much of you do we see in Gillette?

Gerard: I’ve always found it difficult to separate myself from my characters. There is a little of me in all the characters I create—some more than others. This metamorphosis is what breathes life into the characters. They would be made of wood, otherwise. My characters are real; they are made of flesh and blood. They have wants, fears and desires, like everyone else. And I’ll let you in on a little secret: by putting a bit of myself into my characters I get to live their lives as well. I get to solve the case. I get the girl, too. Most people live their fantasies in their thoughts and dreams, but these fantasies disappear when the dreamer stops dreaming. My fantasies last longer and seem to me to be a little more real because they’ve been printed on paper and are bound in a book.

Laurie: There are no doubt many authors, including myself, who have enjoyed the same sense of lasting fantasies. Do you foresee writing a series based on the same character?

Gerard: I’m asked all the time when the next Deal Master is coming. The fact is, I’ve already written a sequel, but it’s all in my head—there’s not a word of it on paper. Quite simply put, there are other projects I want to tackle before focusing on another mystery.

I love the theater and have always wanted to write a play. For the past three years I’ve devoted myself to this project. Voila! My newest book is titled, Discipline, A Play.

Laurie: Tell us a little about Discipline. It’s a comedy, is that right?

Gerard: Yes, Discipline is a zany, adult comedy. It’s funny and romantic. Paige Lovitt from Reader Views said, “Discipline truly made me laugh out loud.” But Disciplineis also a powerful and serious play. If read correctly, you will see that it is the study of human behavior, injected with meaning where there appears to be none. It touches on subjects such as social norms, sexual overindulgence, society’s treatment of people with an affliction, the role of women in society as a force of good vs. evil and the advantages and disadvantages of a personal belief system.

The story takes place in Manhattan. The main character’s name is Harold Jenkins. Harold is a man stymied by his inability to overcome the outside forces that control his life. Essentially isolated in his apartment, he fights against the powers that be. Lilly, Harold’s lady love, keeps him at bay, adding sexual frustration to his already perturbed existence. New possibilities arrive for him, however, when he is awakened in the middle of the night by a strange man sniffling on his stove. The story continues from there.

Laurie: Do you see Discipline being acted out on a stage in front of an audience?

Gerard: Absolutely. Discipline was published in January, 2012 and already a local theater director wants to stage a performance. You see, the message of the play is timeless and universal, and it is for this reason that I foresee Discipline being performed locally, nationally and even globally. It’s a fun play—light and comical, even though the underlying message bears significance.

Laurie: That’s wonderful. I hope you will keep me informed about the progress. What else would you like to share with us?

Gerard: I’d be grateful if your lovely readers logged onto my website: http://gerardbianco.com to explore more about Discipline and The Deal Master, both of which have terrific book covers, by the way.

Laurie, I want to thank you for this opportunity to speak to your readers. I hope that they have enjoyed this interview and will want to follow me on Twitter and like my Facebook fan page at: https://www.facebook.com/GerardBiancoWriterEnRoute

MAKING YOUR OPENING SENTENCES FLOW

I've spent 6 days on the first two paragraphs of my latest short story. I'm close to getting them the way I want. They're not quite there yet. I want them to flow. I want the reader to slide into the story without realizing he is being taken for a ride. I want him/her to feel as if they are floating with the current on smooth seas, not fighting against it, which means, I want to give the reader as much information as I can, enticing him to continue reading, but not overloading him with too much information.

Let me show you what I mean.

Here are the first few sentences from my story before editing:

One day I came home and found a man lying on my living room rug. Ordinarily, this would have been a delightful surprise, but my discovery was far from normal. The man was dead!

Here is the new version:

I went for a walk one morning, and when I returned, I found a handsome man stretched out on my living room rug. I’m gay, so ordinarily this would have been a delightful surprise. But this incident turned out to be far from delightful. This guy was dead!

The second version gets into far more detail than the first. It explains why the narrator left his house in the first place. (He went for a walk.) It gives a slight description of the man on the floor. (He was handsome.) It lets the reader know that the narrator is gay. (An important point and one that needs to be mentioned early on as it sets the tone for the remainder of the story.)

I hope this gives you an idea of what I find is important in the opening lines of a story. Any further thoughts or comments on this subject would be greatly appreciated. Remember: I’m not through editing and I can use your help!

LIN ANDERSON: THE STRUCTURE OF STORY, PART II

Today, I'm excited to re-introduce Lin Anderson for Part 2 of her 3-part series on The Structure of Story. Lin has a lot of writing experience, having published eight novels, which feature forensic expert Dr Rhona MacLeod. Her books have been translated into several langauages and are in development for TV. Her short stories have appeared in a number of collections, most recently Dead Close was chosen for the Best of British Crime 2011. Also a screenwriter, her film River Child won a BAFTA and the Celtic Film Festival best fiction award. Lin's website is: http://www.lin-anderson.com/

Part 2: The Muddle in the Middle

As I said in my opening piece, human beings intuitively understand when a story works. That’s probably most obvious when sitting in a packed cinema. The collective intelligence of the audience knows when things are going slack in the story. This happens usually in the middle section when the audience starts to fidget and eat their popcorn. They’ve dropped out of the story. They’re back in the real world. Something that should never happen. In the case of novels, it’s where you skip bits you don’t feel engaged with and hope to be recaptured later on. Or even worse you lose interest and stop reading the story altogether!

So what went wrong with the storytelling?

One of the most obvious reasons for giving up on a story is because we don’t care what happens to the people who inhabit the story, particularly the main character, our protagonist.

Because a story is a character in action.

A story should present us with a character we empathise with, who is presented with a situation that propels them into action. Through a variety of escalating challenges they're tested to their limits and emerge usually having learned something about themselves in the process. We have lived vicariously through them.

A story is deepened when we also follow secondary characters and become involved with their lives, but these characters’ actions should always impact on our protagonist’s story. Switching viewpoints and using dramatic irony makes the storytelling dynamic. However, if you tell a story from too many viewpoints you can lose your reader, because we have to buy into a character enough to really care.

As a writer you should ask yourself:

Who is my protagonist?

What do they want?

Why do they want it?

What’s stopping them?

What’s the result?

These questions will eventually present you with the theme of your story i.e what it’s really about. Crime stories usually have a main theme of justice or the restoration of order, but there can be many subthemes operating within the crime story e.g Love, revenge, coming of age etc

The conflict your character faces can be external or internal and is usually both, but it must be big enough to sustain the reader’s interest and for them to want the protagonist to succeed.

We have already considered the beginning and the inciting incident (sometimes called the first crisis.) This is what propels your protagonist into action. Most people would rather have an easy life, so your protagonist may prevaricate, but eventually they must move. Once they do, nothing will ever be the same again.

Once into the ‘muddle in the middle’ the antagonistic forces rise even more against our main character. This is the part of the story where things often go wrong. The story slackens. We lose the reader’s attention. One common error it to make the antagonistic force too strong, too soon, leaving nowhere to go. To prevent the story from going slack, you need to build momentum towards the middle of this section of the story. It’s that old saying that things will get worse before they get better. When our protagonist deals with what some call their deepest darkest cave, you can provide a little respite. Stories differ a lot in this middle section. Some peak around the midpoint, some go on slow burn and peak towards the end of this section. In a short story, because of its length, the 'peak' or 'deepest darkest cave' moment is usually placed towards the end of the middle section.

To keep your story tight and your reader engrossed, it's sometimes useful to timeline it. Mark where each obstacle is met and matched and where exactly the big crisis happens. Also check that the conflict is always on the increase. The pattern of three is often seen here. Try, try, try again is something we all recognise, from nursery stories onwards.

Any secondary stories will also have a three part structure and a character arc. It's good to know that the really big moments in a story occur when a key moment in a subplot clashes with a key moment for the protagonist. Those are the scenes we remember the most.

Next time… the resolution (and the twist in the tail). After which I'll use a short crime story to illustrate what we've learned about structure. 

EDITING - UGH!

Yesterday, I deleted nearly 600 words from a story that I have been working on for the last two weeks. Did it hurt? You bet it did. But by doing so, it improved the story dramatically.

Don't you wish you could write prose that flowed across the paper like soft butter on warm toast? Dream on. If you’re like me, you're spending more time editing your stories than almost anything else. Editing is an integral part of the writing process, and it is only through thoughtful editing that my stories have come alive. Writing a story is like building a house with a lump of clay. You begin by roughing out the shape you want. Editing is the modeling process that shapes the clay into the beautiful finished product you had in mind when you began.

The more experience I gain as a writer, the more I edit. The more I edit, the more experience I gain as a writer.

George Lucas, talking about film editing, gives us an excellent definition on the subject. His words apply to story editing, as well. He says, “The whole process of editing is a process of paring the film down and keeping all the relevant material and getting rid of all the material that doesn’t work for one reason or another.”

How do you edit a story? What do you leave in? Take out?

There are a slew of books written on the editing process – each is similar and different, depending upon the technique offered for the editing solutions. But with all the diversity between each book, there is one theory that has remained constant ever since man first learned how to hold a pencil: If you find a word, sentence or paragraph that does not move the story forward, take it out.

Every word must advance the story from opening line to concluding sentence. Every device you enter in your story should have significance in some form or another. Every character must play an important role and every word your character utters must have meaning.

There are many books that have failed to maintain interest simply because the author decided to mosey down a parallel path he found interesting, one that had little or nothing to do with the original storyline. How many films have done the same?

Keep your eye on your target. Edit out all that is unnecessary, even the parts that you’ve worked on for hours. Keep nothing that doesn’t point the reader in the direction you decided he should go. You may lose many words in the editing process, but you will keep your readers, and they will keep coming back for more.

Lin Anderson: Things I Wish Someone Had Told Me…

Today, I'm proud to introduce guest blogger, Lin Anderson who has published eight novels featuring forensic expert Dr Rhona MacLeod. Lin's books have been translated into several langauages and are in development for TV. Her short stories have appeared in a number of collections, most recently Dead Close was chosen for the Best of British Crime 2011. Also a screenwriter, her film River Child won a BAFTA and the Celtic Film Festival best fiction award. Lin's website is: http://www.lin-anderson.com/

This following essay is the first of a three part blog.

Part 1: The Structure of Story

How important is it to understand the structure of a story?

When I wrote my first short story and my first novel I had no idea how stories 'worked'. I knew instinctively when one didn't work, but had no idea what was wrong with it. When I wrote my first crime piece for television, I studied how it was done by watching Prime Suspect, a classic, and noting the structure, arrangement and purpose of each scene. The resultant screenplay generated a great deal of interest from a USA based television producer.  I didn't have it completely right, but I had told the story in a way that kept him reading.

That screenplay became the novel, Driftnet (available as an ebook on amazon.com at http://tinyurl.com/bodetdz) first in the Dr Rhona MacLeod forensic crime series, now running to eight books. The series is in development with ITV and I recently saw the screenplay for 'Final Cut' which they intend starting with. The writer had told  the story for screen really well. I was impressed.

After Driftnet was published, I became interested in why the story worked well and began to look at stories in the way I look at screenplays. Any story in any form is 'a character in action'. Crime novels are not about the crime per se. They're about the character(s) that solve the crime. Great characters create a series. The readers come back for more of them and their world. That's understood, but what about structure?

I would argue that writing a crime story is harder than writing general fiction. Why? Because you have to do everything that a dramatic piece does - create a protagnist your reader can empathise with and use their personal story to explore the human condition. Added to this you have to create a complex mystery that interweaves with their own story. Secrets must be revealed at the right moment (always keep a secret as long as possible). Placing each piece in a complex jigsaw so that the reader cannot/must not know the full picture until the last piece is in place. Not for the fainthearted.

So how does understanding structure help you?

We all intuitively know when a story 'works'. Watch a movie audience. When they start twitching and losing interest, they've dropped out of the story. The question is why? The general form of a story is  The Beginning/The Muddle in the Middle/The Resolution. Roughly speaking the first and last form a quarter of the story each. The Muddle in the Middle is a half. The middle section is the really tricky part. Here's where things can flatline and you lose your way and your readers. Beginnings aren't easy either, but creating something new is heaps of fun and carries you along, provided you understand what a beginning must achieve.

Stories are characters in action. Actions driven by conflict. The conflicts may not be big in world terms, but they are big to your main character. As one conflict is solved, another rears its bigger uglier head. The opening is the first time we see your main character in action and is instrumental in selling your book to your readers.

Effective beginnings need to do three things

·         The chief of these is to get the story going and show what kind of story it’s going to be and the tone you'll use to tell it.

·         The second is to introduce and categorise the protagonist

·         The third is to engage the reader’s interest in reading on. (They have to want to turn the page)

A beginning can do more than this i.e. establish a mood, a setting, a norm. But it should always do the first three. The most economical way of handling these three jobs is to find a way of doing all three at once using a scene. Why? Because a story is a character in action. You reveal the character by what they do in a situation. Stories are also circular. The end will in some way reflect the beginning, but we can worry about that at the end. Whatever inciting incident you create will set your character on a journey to satifsy a need they might not even know they have. By the end of the first Act they will have stepped over the threshold into the unknown. In a crime story, the inciting incident will normally involve a crime, which will require solving. In Driftnet, the murder of a teenage boy who looks like Rhona makes her think he might be the son she gave up for adoption 17 years before. That inciting incident impacts on both her personal and professional life. A double whammy. Is he or isn't he her son? Who killed him?

Next time, Part 2: The Muddle in the Middle.