Howdunit. Группа авторов

Beast Must Die has a sharper edge than most of my thrillers, it is because it sprang from that initial involvement of my emotions, and because I was enabled thus to take the hero’s plight at a more serious imaginative level. This book has the one first-rate plot I have ever invented – a plot, by the way, which was no great shakes till, halfway through the book, I suddenly saw how the hero could use his diary.

      The plot of A Tangled Web, on the other hand, was given to me gratis – by ‘The Case of the Hooded Man’, as Sir Patrick Hastings called it in his Memoirs, the first case in which that celebrated KC led for the defence. At Eastbourne early this century a policeman was shot by a burglar – a clergyman’s son who bore the most remarkable resemblance, in temperament and actions, to Hornung’s ‘Raffles’. Sir Patrick was chiefly concerned, in his book, with the legal aspects of the case. So I could exercise all my imagination in reconstructing the character of this young burglar, of his beautiful and innocent mistress, and of the ‘friend’ who proved to be their downfall – a man who, even through Sir Patrick’s factual account, shines out luridly as the nearest thing to Iago I have ever heard about in real life. My emotions, even at the distance of 45 years, became thoroughly involved with the burglar’s girl as I interpreted her. After the book was finished, inquiries among retired policemen who had taken part in the case discovered that several things I had imagined about the Iago character, though not mentioned at the trial, were in fact true.

      The germ of A Penknife in my Heart was also given me. A friend suggested a story in which two men, previously unknown to each other and both needing to get rid of certain human encumbrances, meet by chance and decide to swap victims. Neither my friend nor I had read Patricia Highsmith’s Strangers on a Train, or seen the film Hitchcock made of it. Later, I found that Miss Highsmith’s treatment was entirely different from mine; but its starting-point was identical – and, horror of horrors, I had given two of my characters the same Christian names as she had used for two of hers. The plot of A Penknife in my Heart is the most ‘fictional’ of the three presented here, and the most diagrammatic. To put flesh on it, I had to work myself into the minds of two very different men – a coarse brute and a weaker, more sensitive character, plunge as deep as I could into their weird relationship, and be each of them as he made his murder-attempt (upon a complete stranger), and live with them through the aftermath. It needed a pretty strenuous stretching of the invention.

      Even before the plot is constructed in detail (or not constructed, in the case of authors like Eric Ambler, who regard writing a crime story as a voyage of discovery) there comes another question. Which type of crime fiction to choose? How to put it all together? Anthea Fraser and Ann Granger, two highly experienced novelists who both worked in other genres before specializing in crime fiction, describe their personal approaches.

Making Choices

       Anthea Fraser

      Crime writing is a broad church, offering a choice of police procedural, supernatural, hard-boiled, ‘noir’, psychological or romantic suspense, espionage, thrillers or whodunits, though sometimes the sub-genres can blur at the edges and overlap. I came to crime writing myself by way of paranormal books, which were enjoying a vogue at the time. When public interest started to wane, my agent asked if I’d like to change genre, and realizing there’d been a crime in each of the paranormals, I found I’d already made my choice.

      It’s important to remember that although you’ll be writing over a period of months, the reader might take only a few days to read the entire book, so the same ‘tone of voice’ should be kept throughout. Sometimes I can tell where I’ve stopped for the day by a very slight but noticeable change of style, so I always begin by rereading (and heavily editing) what I wrote the previous day to ensure it flows without a break.

      The main aim, of course, is to grab the reader’s attention from page one, and there are various devices to achieve this. You could start with a prologue covering an event that, unknown to the characters, has already happened. Or begin with an explosive incident that hasn’t yet happened, but which the reader is awaiting with trepidation until it occurs later in the book. Or you could have a catalytic event taking place in ‘real time’ which is the actual starting point of the story – such as the discovery of a dead body.

      Conflict is, of course, a necessary component to a good story, whether between lovers, police colleagues or family members, and can pave the way to any number of situations, often resulting in murder. However the maxim ‘Write about what you know’ just isn’t possible when you’re dealing with murder, and anyway, what price imagination? I turn it round to ‘Know about what you write’, and try to make sure I check my facts – thoroughly – easy these days with the internet. When writing a police procedural, however, there really is no substitute for personal contact with a friendly officer who is prepared to answer any number of queries you might raise. What’s more, they seem to enjoy it, and I used to send my contact a copy of each book to thank him for ‘helping with my enquiries’!

      If you’re lucky, you might find your characters already waiting in the wings, fully formed and ready to go, but failing that it’s useful to keep a ‘Faces and Places’ file containing photos torn out of magazines or newspapers of interesting faces (preferably not anyone well known) and the interiors of houses, or town or village streets along which you can imagine your characters walking. If any of these are applicable for the plot you have in mind, you can stick them up on a cork board in front of you. It’s helpful to look at them and think, ‘What would you do in this situation?’

      Character names are extremely important and often people won’t come to life if you choose the wrong name. Sometimes, as the characters develop, it might be necessary to change one halfway through – no problem with the Replace All key. Since names go in and out of fashion, consideration must be given to the age and social status of the character. I also try to avoid any that are unisex or begin with the same letter, which might cause confusion.

      The setting you choose is crucial; personally I’ve found it gives me more freedom to use imaginary locations. I do, however, picture them in a particular part of the country, and try to ensure the made-up place names fit in with those in the appropriate locality. Then I draw town plans, filling in shops, police station, church, etc., so that I know in which direction a character will turn when he comes out of his gate and – important in establishing an alibi – how long it will take to get from A to B. I also do plans of the main house in the story, again with the aim of being able to ‘see’ the action taking place. The reader should feel completely at home there, able to follow the characters as they move from room to room.

      A series might require the invention of a complete county, in which case I draw a map of it, positioning towns and villages at random and working out the travelling distance between them in both mileage and time. I can then choose the one that best fits the plot, and if there doesn’t happen to be a town in a suitable place, I can always add a new one!

      It can be quite a challenge to invent someone who’ll mature and develop and whose personal life will progress through an indefinite number of books – someone, in short, whom you could live with. Your characters will, of course, age and develop as you go along. Relationships will be formed or ended, family members might die, couples divorce and children be born.

      One problem with a series can be timing – how much has elapsed between the end of one book and the beginning of the next. My DCI Webb series lasted for sixteen books and it became increasingly difficult to keep track of children’s ages and how long ago a certain event had taken place. So I invented my own time zone, in which the first book took place in year one and the second in the following year. The characters had met each other in year minus one or two. I could then check back