When Bad Plots Attack

I am watching ZOMBIE NATION (yes, yes, I know I have a fixation with zombie movies and books), it's a half hour into the film, and there have been so many idiotic plot points and incongruous settings, a few shambling zombies can only add some realism to the goings on here.

In a nutshell, a cop is arresting women on idiotic pretenses, such as jaywalking, applying lipstick while driving (which is stupid, but not necessarily arrest-worthy), and for no apparent reason at all; kidnaps them; takes them to a warehouse; looks into their mouths with a doctor's light, injects them with something, then stuffs them in a duffel bag and buries them. We won't even go into the lame reasons behind his behavior, shown in an abuse of the time honored gimmick of flashbacks. It's just too stupid.
...

Okay, his mom used to work at an insane asylum, where she'd chain the inmates and make them spank one another while he watched. Happy?! I'm not either.

His partner, an honest yet stupid rookie, suspects there is something amiss after he sees his partner lugging said duffel bag into the trunk of their squad car...oh...about a dozen times? Only then does he finally talk to his police captain. The result is a round of fisticuffs between the good yet wussy cop and his psycho partner, suddenly surrounded by a passel of men and women who bear no resemblance to the cops we saw in the previous scene. They're not even wearing uniforms, fer crissake! After the fight (bad cop wins by knocking good wuss into a pile of conveniently placed cardboard boxes - this police station has something for everyone ), the police chief promptly tells one of his officers to find a fall guy before 'the public' hears about this cop in a uniform kidnapping women. The police station, btw, is in a warehouse with a roll up door, a huge pipe running past the police chief's desk into cavernous darkness behind him, and, for some incomprehensible reason, there is a huge gong hanging up behind him as well.

I mean, really, people. I understand low budget films and the need to make due with what you have. But making due is different than ignoring things that make the scenes so obviously wrong and fake that you've lost credibility after ten minutes. It's not that difficult to angle the camera to hide the pipe. You don't SHOW the rolltop door in your supposed police station. If that's the only set your budget will afford, you disguise the fact instead of lovingly filming a scene set with the rolltop door as a backdrop. And...a gong? I shakes my head.

Ah well. 45 minutes into the film and still no zombies. I feel cheated.

No...wait, the zombies have appeared. Why? Well, one of the cop's victims is a young gal from Slovakia who conveniently went to see some voodoo priestesses before being kidnapped (we know this because a: we saw it and b: her brother tells reporters this fact when asked if he's worried about her disappearance) and after her death, they wiggle their fingers over a white snake and bring the dead girls back to undead life as zombies. You know they're zombies 'cause they stagger a bit, have black make-up around their eyes and...well, that's about it. Oh, and they do eat the flesh of the living. But for women stuffed into the ground for several weeks/months, they're in remarkably good shape other than that nasty case of raccoon eye. I've seen shabbier clothes at my local Goodwill. And I'd love to know what brand of lipstick these zombie babes are using 'cause it has some awesome lasting power. We will assume they're gonna eat the cop at some point. I wish they'd eat the writer and director.

What does this have to with writing, you might ask? Yes, I'm talking about a movie in this specific instance. But I firmly believe the mistakes, stupidity and just plain sloppy plotting that are making me want to drive spikes into my eyes...no, into the screenwriter's eyes... and bang someone's head against a wall can translate just as easily into writing, whether it be mystery, horror or, in this, case, unintentional comedy.

What about you? Have you ever read a book or scene a movie where you felt slapped in the face by stupidity and lost all good will towards the author or filmmakers? Share your horror stories! I need company about now...

James Lee Burke Is One Scary Dude

by Ben Small

For the longest time, I didn't read James Lee Burke. A friend had portrayed his writing as describing frogs on a bayou log. "How many times can you describe that frog?" my friend said.

Then I read Burke. Had some spare time, and one of his books appeared as if by magic. Okay, so I was curious: What was so great about a frog - Budweiser ads excepted - that merited description in oh so many books?

Well, wow! That frog does dance.

Most "How To" books urge the writer not to go overboard on description, to keep the picture portrayals strictly relevant to the story, lest the reader get side-tracked or bored. And many writers violate that rule, and are shot as a consequence. But Burke gets away with using descriptions to fill about a third of his page count.

How does he do this?

Simple. He puts the reader in the bayou, swimming in the muck and quicksand, swatting the mosquitoes, sweating like Kirstie Alley in a sauna, and stinking like a Kathy Reichs' bloated-body-bugfest.

And evidently, a lot of people like to experience that: mucking, swatting, sweating and stinking. Or is it that they don't; that they want to experience Louisiana without actually going there? I'd say count me in that post-Katrina group except for one thing: the food. My god, the food. Why can't Arizona make a decent facsimile of Louisiana gumbo?

Well, I've gotten side-tracked here. The mere thought of Louisiana food always does that to me. Back to James Lee Burke and his writing.

What kind of nutbag is this guy?

Stephen King and other writing authorities suggest writing what you know. If James Lee Burke is doing that, I can learn from this man. More or less, every one of his books I can remember has featured a cast of people you never want to meet: degenerate preachers; evil rich bad guys who lust after pretty young and innocent things; pimps and prostitutes; druggies and boozers; tattoed boob-ettes; gunbulls; prison rapists; mobsters; gamblers; hitmen; crooked cops and politicians, and last but not least, Clete Purcell.

Can there be a more degenerate character than Clete? Forget the gut, the unhealthy glow of 220-over-140 blood pressure readings, and his pock-marked and sweaty sun-burned neck. This stuff just makes Clete look like Larry, the cable guy. No, Clete's got the personality to match these wonderful characteristics. Pop your fingers and count: 1) Clete's always drunk and sweaty; 2) He can be counted on to say and do the dumbest of things to all the wrong people; 3) He's killed a federal informant; 4) He enjoys drugs and prostitutes; 5) He was a corrupt N.O. cop; 6) He's murdered a bunch of people in a plane crash; 7) He's probably left more teeth in toilets than a dental convention, and 8) He's been known to attack with innovative weapons such as hammers, fully oiled frying pans, and tire irons. (These tools are just for novelty; Clete likes guns, knives, saps and baseball bats, too.) Clete actually enjoyed Vietnam, thought it was a hoot. So, of course, with all these charms, how can Clete help but be a babe-magnet? His latest conquest: an FBI agent. Smart guy, that Purcell: Go with a chick who can bust you for lying. What's next: Playing medicine ball with a hornet's nest?

But seriously, how could Clete not be a stud? He's so vulnerable, isn't he? What that poor man has had to endure. Clete's seen more hospitals than Doc Kildare. Poor S-O-B had his hand squashed in a car door; he's been smashed with enough iron to make him fearful of magnets; he's been shot so many times he could strain spaghetti, and in the latest Burke masterpiece Swan Peak he was tied to a tree, blindfolded, doused with gasoline and forced to listen to a Zippo's spinning wheel.

Doesn't Clete ever wonder if it's smart having Dave Robicheaux as a buddy? Seems to me the only thing more hazardous is having Jessica Fletcher around.

And what about Dave? Poor ole Dave Robicheaux stands for truth and justice, and it's cost Dave plenty. He's had wives murdered and a daughter threatened. He's been suspended numerous times, suspected of murder over and over. He's been beaten, stabbed, shot, haunted by Vietnam nightmares, and don't ask about his parental issues. The guy's a drunk. And is it any wonder? Dave's hollow inside; he's not just got worms in his head, they're full-bodied snakes. In Swan Peak, Dave - the good guy - threatens to throw a preacher into an airplane propeller. My goodness, we thought water boarding was bad. And, oh, did I mention, he married a nun? Dave best do some serious repenting.

So getting back to my point: If what Stephen King and others say about writing what you know is true, James Lee Burke is one spooky dude.

But can I learn from this man? Hell yes, about description and the depravity of man.

Do I want to be his pal?

Hmmm...

Why not. I just bought a Total Gym. Chuck Norris is my buddy.

Paint Me a Picture

Recently I was reading a mystery where the heroine rented a "big ass pimp-mobile." There was no other description of the car whatsoever. I put the book down to ask my husband and kids just what those words meant to them. No one agreed on the make, model or color of the car, let alone the year. (My husband seemed to think some car he owned as a teenager was the only one ever made to fit this description. The only thing the kids agreed on is that they strongly disagreed with that.) According to them, the car was violently pink, glossy black, or even (unlikely as it seems to me) purple. I never picked the book up again as it bothered me that I could not see this car in my head. My kids tell me that is because the book wasn't aimed at my age-bracket. I'm thinking that's most likely true but still not an excuse.
This is a problem I have with description lately. People think that some popular term means the same thing to everyone and that will fill in for description. Sometimes it does--but I think it's mainly limited to "Beam me up, Scotty." And even then, I know a few Trekkies who think this is a sign of a kindred spirit --instead of a comment that they are living in whole 'nother world than the rest of us.
We all want to skip writing the parts that readers skip reading (with apologies to Elmore Leonard for mangling his quote) but you can't take shortcuts to writing good, taut, description. The picture in the reader's head won't ever be exactly the one in the author's head--no matter how you try. How many times have you seen a book made into a movie and been upset by the choice of actress for the lead? But think of the Harry Potter books and the way some readers (many adults) return over and over again just to visit that world. The description was a big and necessary part of the series.
It doesn't take much to take a reader out of our books. This whole, beautiful, chaotic, world is in competition with what we have to say. That's why we have to make our fictional world as real as we can. And have a little fun describing those pimp mobiles.


Christine Duncan is the author of the Kaye Berreano mystery series.

Planting the Clues

Rather than a how-to, this is more of a how-do? We all know one of our favorite parts of reading a mystery is trying to figure out all the clues...can we discover whodunit before our intrepid detective, whether it’s a police investigator or the nice neighborhood grandmother who always seems to be involved!

I tend to lay in the clues as I go along – I know what I want my reader to know, what s/he can extrapolate from that and what should be a bit, shall we say, “fuzzy” in an effort to keep the villain a secret as long as possible.

Let’s share our secrets: how do you get your clues in there? Do you plot them out before hand? Do you drop them in at the end? Do they surprise you and kind of insert themselves at opportune (or even inopportune) moments?

Let’s dish for our readers!

Libby McKinmer
Romance with an edge
www.libbymckinmer.com
libby@libbymckinmer.com
Also on Twitter, GoodReads & Facebook

On Pace

Today I want to share with you another example of writing styles. It's all about pace - the speed of movement of your story. Here are two versions of the same scene. One is slow paced, the other fast paced.

First example-

Crack!

The ball went up. Up. Up. Out. Further. Higher. Further.

Thirty thousand fans held their collective breath as time stopped and held them transfixed. Glen clutched at his sinking heart. Still there was hope. Maybe. A mighty west wind had held center field yard unbeatable all afternoon. The ball rose higher. Glen's heart sank deeper.

Surreal, it seemed, as the slow motion play unfolded below. Like clay puppets struggling to scramble, but without actual muscles to propel them with any efficient motion. Fate seemed to mold their motions frame by frame in a stop/adjust/stop/adjust/stop/adjust impossible to believe lackadaisical series of jerky hiccups. Excruciating.

The pitcher's pained face was fixed on yonder far yard. The catcher's mask was off, his stance and body language one that said, "Dammit, I told you he'd hit your heat. He knew it was coming. Why don't you ever listen to me?"

The center fielder made his way back. Back. And the ball went up - and back. But wait - a sudden downward trajectory! Glen's heart pumped again with the glimmer of hope, with the scarcely believable but just-might-be-possible chance. He fixed his eyes westward, his mind taking a snapshot of the backdrop of azure skies spotted here and about with puffs of cumulus, his nose registering atmospheric conditions heavily dosed with scents of beer, popcorn and corn dogs. Then the play. The play that would decide everything. This was it. It all came down to now. With his back against the wall, the player leaped - glove wide, high above the fence.

Smack!

Horse-hide met cow-leather in an eye and ear popping catch that could be heard throughout the entire massive stadium. The fearsome reign of silence that had been lord of the arena began to slowly crumble. The very fabric of the air began to tear apart as thunderous peals of shouts and roars of victory pummeled the heinous dictator and banished it forever into exile.

Glen sighed, let go his grip on his jacket just outside of the heart, and turned to his wife. They hugged, jumped up and down, hooted and hollered together. The impossible had become a reality. The little guys had beat the big bad guys. Celebrations would ring the city's all-night hours alive with the joyous sparkle of a million happy-go-lucky and inebriated townsfolk tonight.

***

Second example-

Thirty thousand held their breath as the pitcher let his heat fly. Smack! The ball flew up and away, streaking out into center field like a laser guided missile on a search-and-destroy-every-heart-in-the-arena mission. Glen grabbed his heart and choked, gasping for not only air but some glimmer of hope. Players scrambled about in a flurry. Center fielder was the last chance, the only possible one to stave off certain doom, an end to what had been the most improbable of journeys all season.

The ball went out and up. Just as it seemed all was lost, the center fielder leaped right at the moment when the ball fell just enough to ...

He caught it! The stadium erupted in waves of disbelief and torrential screams of victory. We won! We won! We're number one! The champions!

Glen and his wife grabbed each other and jumped for joy in a hopping happy dance. Hometown would be party town tonight.

***

Two different styles, different approaches to writing the same scene. And of course you can go anywhere in between. Which style do you like best, and why, and for which kinds of scenes do you think fast pace is better than slow pace and visa versa, especially in the mystery/suspense book genre?

Allow Me to Introduce Myself

My name, Jose Jimenez. (No, not really.)

My name is Sue. How do you do? (No, that's not right either.)

My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die! (Another lie, but it sounds like me.)

Actually my name is Austin S. Camacho and I’m the author given the unenviable position of filling the space previously held by the lovely and talented Anne Carter. As this is my first official appearance on Make Mine Murder I will take the coward’s way out and tell you all about myself… in lieu of anything useful.

I am the author of five detective novels about Washington DC based African American private eye Hannibal Jones. The newest novel, Russian Roulette will officially release on June 13th so I’m a little single-point focused right now. I could blog endlessly about my new book, my character and my series, but I’d understand if you might prefer other topics.

I’m active in several writers’ organizations, both national and local. I’m a past president of the Maryland Writers Association and the Northern Virginia chapter of the Virginia Writers Club. So I can regale you with tales of participation in such groups. I’ve also attended and run several writers conferences so I can speak on those cool things too.

In addition I teach writing courses at Anne Arundel Community College. My classes cover creating great characters, and the use of setting, dialog, and plot. I could add my voice to this esteemed group on matters of writing craft.

I’ve also written a popular marketing manual, Successfully Marketing Your Fiction in the 21st Century. That, and my decade of experience as an author, qualify me to blog about marketing books and give concrete examples from my own efforts.

I still do media relations work for the Defense Department - For more than a decade American Forces Network carried my radio and television news reports to military families overseas. I’ve settled in Springfield, Virginia with my lovely wife Denise and Princess, the Wonder Cat.

I will not blog about my wife. I might one day write about Princess. But what would YOU like me to discuss? Now that you know a little about me, let me know how I can best serve the Make Mine Mystery cause. I can’t make you miss Anne any less – heck I miss Anne’s posts – but maybe I can entertain you and enlighten you about matters pertaining to the writer’s craft, the writer’s life, and of course… murder!

Prologues Pro and Con

By Earl Staggs in Fort Worth for what it's worth.

A few years ago, I joined a local writer’s critique group. Only one other member wrote Mystery. The others wrote in a range of genres from Fantasy to Science Fiction to Historical. It wouldn’t hurt, I thought, to gain exposure to other genres. After all, writing’s writing.

My initial exposure to the work of another member, Chuck by name, came when he submitted the beginning of a new novel. He submitted for critique not one, not two, but three prologues to his novel.

The others didn’t bat an eye, but I had to ask. “Why three prologues, Chuck?”

He explained that his novel was set in the present with a heavy dose of religious undertones and each of the three prologues dealt with the creation of a different religion centuries ago. Knowing how those religions originated was backstory, he explained further, but had nothing to do with the current story line so he wanted to get it out of the way before he started the main story.

I wanted to ask, “If it has nothing to do with the current story line, why do you need it at all?” Since I didn’t know him well and since he was nearly twice my size and half my age and might not like my being so abrupt, I didn’t ask that.

Instead, I offered several suggestions as to how he might blend the backstory into the current story without using prologues. I suggested small doses of narrative exposition cleverly spaced within the current story, for example, as well as flashbacks and having the backstory come out in conversation among characters. I didn’t phase him. He remained steadfast in his resolve to have his three prologues.

I then told him I knew for a fact some agents are so deadset against prologues they will not even read a manuscript that has one, certainly not one with three of them. I added that some readers will not read a book with a prologue.

His defense was, “Many famous authors use flashbacks.” He went on to name several whose names I didn’t recognize then and don’t remember now.

He was right. Some authors use prologues, some agents read manuscripts with prologues, and some readers will buy and read books that have them.

My philosophy, however, is this: I won’t include a prologue in a novel of mine because I don’t want to take the chance it will end up on the desk of an agent or publisher who happens to be anti-prologue. If an agent or publisher decides not to do business with me, I want it to be for a reason other than because I wrote a prologue. I also don’t want to take the chance some browser will pick my book from the shelf, open it to find a prologue, and promptly put it back without giving it a chance. If I have backstory, I’d much rather use one of the methods I suggested to Chuck.

That’s not to say, however, I will never write something that looks very much like a prologue. I will simply not call it a prologue. I’ll stick it in the front of the book and call it Chapter One.

Earl Staggs