What's in an Ending?

After writing every day for three months I'm coming up to the final scenes in a new stand-alone. This is usually an exciting time for me because I have an idea of what will happen and I'm eager to see how all the elements play out. But as I approach this section I'm not as decided on the various threads as I usually am, which means I have far greater flexibility on the ending. So, how much choice do I have? What do I want in my ending?

In a cozy or traditional mystery, all the questions should be answered. Based on the form of comedy, the cozy mystery is expected to answer all questions, solve all problems, mete out punishment, and bring the community together again into a coherent whole. We want to see the villain get what he has coming to him or her. We want the virtuous sleuth to be rewarded with praise and new regard. That's exactly what happens in The Widows of Malabar Hillby Sujata Massey. The tidy ending is heartwarming and clear, much tidier than in real life. 

The second type of ending is a variation on the first. In this one the villain is caught, but another criminal in the midst of the community is revealed and departs. It doesn't matter how involved in the instigating crime this second party is; only that he or she walks away. This is the ending I chose in Friends and Enemies: A Mellingham Mystery.

The third type of ending is popular in a series that the reader especially likes. In this type the mystery is solved but then another mystery or problem occurs, and the sleuth doesn't have a moment to rest in glory. One crime is solved, and another is hinted at or committed, which means the sleuth can't walk away and move on. This is the ending chosen by Alexia Gordon in Murder in G Major.

In the fourth type the reader confronts a question of responsibility that transforms the mystery and its crime into a larger question, and no two readers may have the same response. In The Nine Tailorsby Dorothy L. Sayers, a man is found dead from what looks like a tortuous experience. Lord Peter Wimsey searches doggedly for a murderer to no avail. He stumbles on the answer quite by accident, but how the victim came to be where he was, unable to escape and thus unable to protect himself from death, raises questions of the nature of guilt, of responsibility and justice. No villain is arrested, no one is charged. Sayers addresses the underlying questions and offers one possible response.

There is a fifth type that few writers attempt, but it is delicious when tackled successfully. In this form, the crime may or may not be a murder but there is always deception around a death, perhaps a lesser crime, and a question of justice and responsibility. In The New Sonia Wayward(The Case of Sonia Wayward) by Michael Innes, a man goes sailing with his wife, a famous novelist who has been supporting him generously all their married life. When she falls overboard and drowns, he faces a bleak future. He decides to conceal her death, tell everyone she has gone on a trip, and write her romance novels himself. This has been called Innes's most cynical novel, though written with his light, wry touch.

The ending chosen tells us about the story structure, for example, but it also challenges the reader's view of justice and right or wrong. Not everyone will agree with Sayers's conclusion in The Nine Tailors, and not everyone will agree that community is restored in Murder in Mellingham, the first Mellingham mystery. Each ending is an interpretation of what justice means in a particular situation, and forces the reader to think about the choice that has been made. In a few more days I will have to choose one of the five possibilities, and right now I only know that it won't be the first one.

Assessing the Pandemic in My Writing Life

Over the last several days I've thought this would be a good time to pay more attention to my blog and get back to writing every week or at least every month. I've begun a number of posts on various topics--problems related to endings, choosing the right detail to illuminate a character, reworking a first draft. But all of them fell flat. 

As interesting as these problems may be to me and other writers, I felt like I was sitting on a raft whose anchor had been cut and I was drifting out into the middle of a fast-flowing river, ignoring the current, hazards, and struggling boats. My ideas seemed irrelevant to the current circumstances.

We are in the middle of a national crisis not of our own making and certainly not under our control. If you're like me, you're glued to the television news in the evening and scanning the morning paper for anything hopeful, reading posts from other papers and FB postings. And then, after a few days of this, I began to feel the effects--I was ready to snap at people not wearing masks or standing too close as we passed on the sidewalk. I was on high alert in the grocery store and wary of touching anything on a shelf, even while wearing gloves. A simple question asking me how I was could easily trigger a long-winded rant. 

I have no reason to be ill tempered. I'm one of the lucky ones. My husband and I are retired; we haven't lost our livelihood; and our extended families are able to isolate themselves without worrying about how they're going to feed themselves or manage for several months if necessary. It won't be easy, but it won't be catastrophic for them or for us. This is sobering and grounding. We're fortunate. It's a relief to acknowledge this, and step back from the hysteria on social media, from the self-serving lies coming out of the White House, and from any promises of a quick fix from anyone.

This is a time to appreciate what we have but also to be mindful of how others are faring. I can't volunteer to help directly but like many others I can do small things. I donated a half-empty box of facemasks to a nearby home for senior women after they put out a call for protective gear. On my walks I look for something that will offer cheer and a distraction to others, such as the way people decorate their gardens now that spring is here. On the water the ocean breezes slow the blooms but gardeners are out anyway.

Plenty of writers are speculating on how this pandemic will change us. Most are optimistic. I would like to be but not under the current administration, which is angling for both a power and money grab. Nevertheless, I intend to keep close what I have learned about people--both strangers and friends and neighbors--and to move accordingly into the future, making a greater effort where possible to help out and remain ever mindful of those surviving with less. And in the end I'll go back to writing about writing, grateful I can do so and ever appreciative of the opportunities I've been given.

My New Book List

My current project is to read one work of fiction by a woman from each nation: that would mean books by 197 women in countries recognized by the UN and several more by women from Indian nations (Apache, etc.) if I can find them. That's a lot of books.

If I'd begun this project several years ago, I'd have far fewer nations to deal with. Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia would still be intact, but German is now united. I could have done one book for the USSR, which might have pleased Moscow (something that seems to be of great concern among some folks here in the US of A) but would probably have been cheating. Finding books by writers in the many countries now out from under the yoke of the Russians might be challenging, but Latina writers are coming into their own--writing great stories in seductive language. 

As for language, most of the books so far (and there are not that many yet) are in English translations, and that's a key point for me. Unless English is one of the recognized languages of the nation's government, I prefer books written in the language of the nation and then translated into English. I'm not looking for stories written for American or British readers. I'm looking for literature that has emerged from and is directed to the people of the author's country. 

Since I'm a mystery writer, the first question might be, will I read only mysteries? That might be fun, but the answer has to be no. That is likely to be too limiting, since writing crime fiction means adopting a form developed in the West, though it is imitated now throughout the world. I hope to read some, but mostly I'm looking for texts that are popular or well respected in their country of origin.

The other challenge, which I may not be able to overcome, is to find literature in countries that have recently endured great upheaval. A woman writer in Afghanistan may face huge obstacles in getting published. Ex-pat writers living in parts of the Middle East may dominate my list for that region if I can find them. 

I've only begun this project, so I'm eager to receive suggestions for authors and titles. If you've read something that fits my criteria (and they are as loose as I can make them), please send it on. You may introduce me to a new favorite author.

How do you know when a story isn't working?

Recently I shelved a mystery novel I’d been working on for some time after I admitted to myself that it just wasn’t working. Sometimes I get an idea for a short story, make a couple of notes, and promise myself I’ll set aside time to work on it. If the story idea sparks something, I’ll start writing that day or the next. The problem comes later, after a few days or perhaps months, of writing and revising, reworking and editing, when I have to admit that this story doesn’t feel alive. If it’s a novel, I’ve wasted a lot more time but the result is the same.

I can’t be the only one who goes through this, but I wonder how it is that I don’t notice sooner that something isn’t going to fly. There will be no lift off, no launch into a soaring tale, no flight of mystery or terror or anything else. Do I keep going just out of perseverance? What are the signs I ignored? Were there signs? Yes, there were.

First, the plot doesn’t unfold, roll out in the major particulars like a carpet, but instead has to be constructed step by step. A plot is work much of the time; but also it is organic to a specific group of characters. Their behavior dictates what will happen next, but if I have to work at figuring that out, then something is wrong. The plot feels mechanical because it is.

Second, the main feature of the plot that has propelled me this far is usually a key scene that sets the tone, delivers a surprise or special insight, or defines an important character. If it occurs near the end of the book, it’s too late to define the story, which has to happen at the beginning. It has to be part of the opening of the story to generate interest.

Third, the characters don’t surprise me. They don’t feel original or interesting. They do what they’re supposed to do in order to move the story forward, but I haven’t been able to tap into their quirkiness or authenticity. There is little or no spontaneity in the story. There is no sense of discovery with them.

Fourth, I’m not enthusiastic. After graduate school and teaching, I worked as a freelance writer/editor and ghostwriter, which meant I had to meet deadlines to get paid. I can whip up interest in all sorts of topics because that’s my job. Whether it’s a pitch for money from a granting foundation or a how-to for car maintenance, I can write with zeal and passion. I can keep writing as long as I have to in order to get the job done. This is great in writing fundraising letters, agency reports, and the like, but not great in writing fiction.

Fifth, I’m not eager to show this new work-in-progress to anyone else. This sign is really a way of signaling the others above. I like feedback and I count on it to set me right when I’ve fallen off the clear path I thought I was following. Beta readers, including my agent, have sent me in a better direction with a few well-chosen words and the implicit confidence that I can make the work, whatever it is, better. If I’m not seeking someone else’s opinion when I have a completed draft, that’s a sure sign that I have reservations.

Sixth, once I decided to pack it in, I felt no regret, just relief.

So what kept me going on this story when I knew instinctively I should have dropped this project? If the climax was so important, was it worth saving and using somewhere else? The minute the idea came, I saw the short story I should have written at the outset. In an afternoon I had a three-thousand-word story that pleased me. In addition, it had my own sense of humor. It needs a little polishing and clarification in one or two spots, but this one I consider a success.  

As a professor once said after I'd spent months researching an article I ultimately abandoned, nothing is ever wasted. (I used the material in another project.) This time, after a lot of pages that didn't move me, I have a short story I like and a blog post.

Random Thoughts on Plot

Some writers begin a mystery novel with a full idea in their heads—who are the main characters and what is the thrust of the story, the theme, and the climax. I wish I could do this; it would make my life so much easier. Not even in a short story do I know where I'm going. My recent story in Mystery Weekly is an example.

I’ve been struggling with my current work-in-progress because the characters keep going off in tangents. That’s supposed to be a good thing for a writer and a story, but in this case, it’s only frustrating. After several pages, sometimes chapters, the characters fall back into line and I’m left with a lot of pages I don’t need and don’t fit. Occasionally I can salvage some of those extraneous scenes and turn them into a short story, but usually I file them at the end of the draft and leave them there.

Recently I came across a mystery novel that was all plot—no excursions, no digressions, no descriptive passages to flesh out a location or person. It was all plot. There’s something to be said for this—it kept me turning the pages wondering where other parts of the story would come in. Halfway through I had a good idea who the killer was. By the time I reached the next to last chapter I knew. Was I right? Yes. Did I care? No.

A crime novel may be based on plot, reliant on a structure, or formula if you prefer, to tell a particular story, but in my view the best ones go deeper than a superficial sequence of events, as riveting and surprising as those may be. A good mystery novel leaves me nodding in admiration. A great one leaves me weeping, real tears falling for the depth of feeling the writer has created. This kind of story is not easy to write, but we all know when we’ve come across one in our reading. We finish the book wishing we could write something as good, admiring far more than the plot or turn of events.

Following tangents, letting characters meander perhaps uselessly for pages, is one way of discovering where the novel is or is not going, and if that’s what it takes to get to a deeper place, then so be it. It’s frustrating but worthwhile. The story that is slick and quick offers little compared to the ones that make us think and feel. Plenty of wonderful writers give us such stories to admire. The Long Callby Ann Cleeves is the most recent one of these I’ve read. There are others. Meanwhile I’ll struggle with my manuscript, pushing the characters to tell me more so I can reveal more to the reader. 

An Unexpected End to the Year

For the last few months I've been posting once a month on Ladies of Mystery, which has introduced me to several writers new to me as well as new readers. But this meant that I have sorely neglected by own blog. Today was meant to be a stab at catching up, abandoning bad habits and establishing a new practice for the coming year, but instead I find myself thinking of what a sad ending this year is for me and many of my friends.

Last week a writer on the North Shore who should have been much better known outside of this area died after many years of work and community activity. Peter Anastas had unappreciated gifts as a novelist, and gave generously to up and coming writers as they set out on a path he knew well. He also worked in social services at Action, Inc., known for his commitment to those less fortunate than the rest of us. I've read several of his books, and enjoyed his lectures and reminiscences of the poet Charles Olson and poet Vincent Ferrini, whom I also knew. He wrote incisively yet lovingly of Gloucester, his hometown, and the literature created by others in this area.

And then yesterday I learned of the death of another writer who wasn't known as a poet because he didn't publish much poetry but was nevertheless a writer and thoughtful reader of others. We were in the same book group for the last few years, and I learned a lot from him. His wife, Ellen, and I taught at the same college for a while. Doug Guidry listened and shared ideas about books, literature, ideas, and more. His comments were always intelligent and insightful, and he listened carefully to the rest of us.

This is not the way the year should end. We should be celebrating our achievements, the simple and not so simple--living another year; grappling with a knotty literary problem and confident in a new essay on a favorite writer; planning a trip to enjoy more of the world and meet new people; finding new challenges; settling down for a quiet afternoon of iced tea and family stories. Instead I look at the new year as unexpectedly bleak, bereft of two who contributed so much to so many in every conversation, every meeting.  I know we get over losses and move one; new writers come along to replace those who have left us. But some loom larger than others, and in the coming year I know there will be moments when I'll think, "Oh, Peter would know the answer to that," or "That's just what Doug was talking about," and I'll catch my breath and feel a twinge and my thoughts will wander to earlier times and lively conversations. And then I'll remember. 

It's too simple to say I hope all of us will have a year without sorrow and loss, but it's a human  even if it's a naive wish. And so I hope the new year will bring less pain and more joy to everyone.

Piracy and Copyright

Storytelling by Tumisu from Pixabay

At least twice a week, often more, I receive a Google Alert about the availability of one of my books, most recently titles in the Anita Ray series. Below the title might appear a web address that is unrecognizable (numitas.ga; gadsnela.cf; zilibega.gq, and more of the same) or the name of the supposed website that holds the book or even the edition. Apparently, there is a French edition of some of my books. I've had hundreds, perhaps thousands, of these Alerts, and I ignore them.

More recently I've been learning about piracy sites that hold copies for sale or loan. Open Library is one, and Kiss Library is another. I've sent take-down letters to the first one, and when I checked back, they had complied. When I returned later, some of the books were back up as eBook loans.

The first time I came across a piracy site and found my books there I was understandably upset. When I wracked my brain for how to counter this, I got a headache. Now, when I read threads with posts from writers who've just discovered this worm in the book pages, I recall how I felt but rarely engage. 

Most of the Google Alerts are, in my view, forwarding an effort to install malware on my computer. If out of curiosity I click on any of the fields, I'm sure I'll go to a nonsense page and, frustrated, log off, but by then it will be too late. The worm will be inside my computer. If I actually do reach a site with a pdf of one of my books, I expect it will be riddled with errors from some auto-correcting program, perhaps missing chapters, and be overall unreadable.  Any reader who goes this route in getting free novels deserves what they get--mostly nothing.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately because of the failure of the powers-that-be, mostly Congress, to take any action to protect the work of writers (and other creative workers). But I'm no longer surprised, not because they're incompetent (which may be true but is not the issue here) but because as lawyers (and so many of them have law degrees) they learned early on that the intent of the founding fathers was to keep the stream of knowledge, books, etc., flowing into the United States. The founding fathers believed that a new country desperately needed to have new ideas and ways of doing things accessible to the young citizenry. Hence, in the beginning, only books produced in the US had copyright protection, and even that was weak. Anything published overseas (with rare exceptions) could not be copyrighted in the US.

This may be the thinking (or lack thereof) behind the failure to regulate early on the social media sector before each company/platform became such a behemoth that it may now seem un-regulateable.

Those who write the law to protect writers and others are by training predisposed to doing as little as possible, believing it is better to have ideas flow freely, disseminated widely, than prevent citizens from having access to them in order to benefit one person, the creator of those ideas. The mindset of Congress does not favor the creator.

I don't know what can be done about this, but like most things, a growing rejection of the current thinking in Congress on these issues may wake up individual senators and representatives to eventually take action. But I'm not holding my breath.