Back in the dark ages, I struggled with my first mystery
novel. Just about every reader I knew talked about how important the opening
pages were. Hence I labored over them, writing and rewriting the opening
chapter. If what I had didn’t seem to work, I wrote another opening chapter.
After weeks of agony, I had three opening chapters, one right after the other.
It took a tactful inquiry from a former Knopf editor to set me straight.
“Couldn’t we get to the dirty deed a little sooner?” Natalie
asked. When I realized what I’d done, piling one opening onto
another, I got the point. The murder came much, much earlier in my first mystery, Murder in Mellingham.
I’ve been wishing there were more Natalies in the world
these days. Over the last year or so I seem to have zeroed in on mysteries by
writers who prefer to delay the inevitable, so long delayed in fact that I
begin to wonder if the murder will ever happen. Which raises the question, when
should the murder occur?
In one book set in New York City, the author takes eighty
pages to set up the crime, introducing the two sleuths and the core characters,
which are eight. We see these individuals repeatedly but the writer doesn’t go
deeply enough into any one of the suspects to leave me feeling I know him or
her well. It’s all a lot of bantering and bickering.
Another author whose two books I’ve enjoyed immensely doesn’t
even admit that a death perhaps long ago was even a murder. She meanders for
two hundred pages exploring the possibilities and just as the book ends manages
to have a character make a decisive statement that indicates that yes, indeed,
a crime was committed. But just as the book is about to end, the reader grasps
that enough detail has been uncovered to ensure that the now curious detective
will solve the crime. The first book was annoying, the second one confusing but
riveting.
When does a murder have to occur, or be recognized as the
central crime of the story?
I took Natalie’s advice and excised almost seventy pages of
fabulous, deathless prose—hundreds of darlings were cast aside—and introduced
the murder at the end of the first chapter, within the first fifty pages. I
consider that a good guide—first chapter, first fifty pages. If it takes me
longer, perhaps I’m not sure what the story is about.
By pushing myself to bring in the murder sooner rather than
later, I am forced to think through the characters and their motivations, set
up the major points of tension, and make choices about subplots. I can
establish the setting rather than indulging my pleasure in talking about a
place I find interesting, which is not the point of the novel. I draw in the
reader to the story and characters, and get started. All of this can be changed
as I write and make discoveries. But I’m not wandering in the first chapter. I’m
establishing the basic thrust and outline of the story, and setting a path for
me to follow.
My rules or guidelines may not be for everyone. After years
of reviewing for mystery and general review publications, I have come to be
accepting of the many ways writers get into their stories. But there is the
key. Get into the story, and don’t make the reader wait, flipping to the end of
the book to see how many more pages, or wondering when something really
interesting is going to happen.
The murder holds the reader’s attention and tells her what
to focus on in the coming chapters. But it’s not the only way to tantalize the
reader. Find what works and use whatever holds the reader’s interest and
satisfies that ideal reader sitting out there waiting for our next books.
https://www.facebook.com/susan.oleksiw.author/
http://www.susanoleksiw.com
https://www.susansblogbits.blogspot.com
https://www.pinterest.com/susanoleksiw/
Susan Oleksiw @susanoleksiw
