I was reading an article today about a particularly nasty Mexican Drug Lord (is there any other kind?) who got off on torturing his victims before killing them, things like burning them alive in drums full of oil. A lovely chap. I started reading the article—sadly, today's most popular read on that particular website—and got as far as paragraph two before I had to stop and see if my stomach was still in the right spot. Gross.
Now, even I have to admit, there's a certain voyeuristic curiosity to stories like that. I read them all the time. I have long been fascinated by true crime and what makes one soul capable of doing such horrendous things to another—but that's as far as it goes for me. It's not what I revel in, and it's not what I like to write. It's also why I'm a bigger fan of say, Agatha Christie (the queen of delicate stab wounds) than Patricia Cornwall (who likes to crack open a body and get on down).
I don't want the grit and grime. I don't want the bloody and bloated corpse. For me, the best deaths are not really the point. It's about the puzzle behind the death.
Why were they murdered? How did it happen? Who is to blame? And how could they possibly have pulled it off without anyone knowing? (How clever was that?!)
I don't want to be distracted by dripping limbs and serial killers and creepy goings on in the night. I find many modern writers rely on those things too much, often when they haven't got much of a storyline. Sure, those things might be there, but they're not the best part. They're not the reason to read, borrow or buy.
I want the riddle. I want the red herrings and sideways glances, the 'where was she at such-and-such a time?' I like to line up all my clues and suspects and work it out for myself. And as far as I'm concered, the blood and the guts can be present as long as they don't get in the way. Or, worse still, mask a total lack of plot.
In an ideal world, I want one murder, 10 people in a room, and a baffling whodunnit. Oh, and there has to be a bloody good twist at the end, or you're wasting my time. It's the reason I wrote my second Ghostwriter Mystery book, A Plot To Die For. I loosely modelled that on Agatha Christie's Evil Under the Sun (one can only aspire). In my case, there were a bunch of people stuck on a Pacific Island and a corpse they had to answer for. One of them had to have done it. But who? How? Why? (Sure, there was a little gore in that one, but not enough to lose your Gin & Tonic over, and it all worked to serve the plot.)
Plot! How many times can I say it? There has to be a decent plot. That's why I read what I read, and why I write what I write. I may not win any awards for my prose, but I like to think I'm providing a kick-ass plot and a twist that most of you won't see coming (I've learned that some of you smart chookies may never be surprised!).
If you like that kind of writing, too, please pick up one of my books, write a review and let me know how I'm faring—am I getting it just right? My latest venture is Dying Words, and I think even the smarties will be left baffled by this one.
And if you don't like that writing style, I'd love to know what kind of "Book of Death" you like. Drop me an email or post a comment any time.
I'd love to hear from you.
Happy reading,
xo Christina
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