Drop the Pen! What Every Writer Should Know About Real Police Work: Six Terms Writers Tend to Get Wrong About Police Work

By D.L. Williams

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There are terms in films and novels that are used interchangeably, despite the fact they actually refer to different things. For example, in Stephen King’s novel, “The Green Mile,” death row inmates occasionally refer to The Cold Mountain Penitentiary as “jail,” and in the Sylvester Stallone film, “First Blood,” the tiny local lockup in the fictional town of Hope, Washington is referred to as a prison. This is not a big deal, especially when it comes to dialogue. Fictional characters flub, either because they don’t know better or, perhaps, because the writer is inserting irony. 

If you want your hardened criminal to refer to his maximum-security prison as “jail,” or you want a naïve person in your story to refer to his two-hour confinement in a local holding cell as “my time in prison” for comedic purposes, I say rock on. However, it is often evident the writer plugged in an incorrect term, not for style or characterization purposes, but purely from a lack of information or research. It’s far better to be a well-informed writer who can tweak dialogue and descriptions artistically than an author who throws out incorrect terms due to not having done their homework. Let’s take a look at the six most common terms I hear or read that are used incorrectly: 

Misdemeanor or Felony

Misdemeanors are lower-level offenses for which a person can only be sentenced to a maximum of one year of confinement. Felonies, on the other hand, are more serious and can carry an incarceration sentence of anywhere from a year to the rest of the convicted person’s life and/or the death penalty. 

Every state has its own definitions of what constitutes a misdemeanor versus a felony. Each state’s statutes clearly differentiate between the two based on the severity of the offense, how many times the person has been convicted of a crime, or the dollar value of a stolen or intentionally damaged piece of property. 

For example, shoplifting is a misdemeanor, but many states also have theft statutes that bump the misdeed up to a felony if the item or items stolen are valued above $1,000. Driving While Intoxicated (DWI) is a misdemeanor unless the driver hurts someone in a crash or if the arrestee has been previously convicted multiple times for DWI. 

There are other significant differences: People arrested on a misdemeanor are often allowed to leave jail after posting bail without first having seen a judge, whereas many states mandate a person arrested for a felony-level offense is seen by a judge who will set the bail amount before release. Convicted felons are not allowed to vote or own a firearm in many states, oftentimes for life, whereas most misdemeanors can be expunged (legally erased) after a period of time.  

Jail or Prison

Jails are holding facilities used to detain people accused of a crime or who have been convicted of a misdemeanor offense and sentenced to less than one year of confinement. Prisons, on the other hand, are only for people who have been convicted of a felony and who have been sentenced to at least one year. 

Things can get tricky here, so tighten your hat strap. People arrested for felonies will be held in jail until they are convicted. Remember (and I don’t say this lightly), people are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law, so what they’re initially arrested for may be quite different than what they’re sentenced for at trial. Thus, potential felons will be held in jail until trial (or until they agree to a plea bargain). Many jails segregate those accused of violent felonies from misdemeanants, but this depends on state statues, local policies, the physical size of the jail, and manpower resources. Thus, someone arrested for stealing a loaf of bread could well be in the same jail cell as someone arrested for murder. 

Probation or Parole

Probation and Parole are terms used to describe the condition of release from confinement following sentencing. They are used so interchangeably that they have become colloquial synonyms. They are different, however. Someone on probation has been convicted of a crime, misdemeanor or felony, but was not sent to prison. They may serve jail time, pay fines, do community service, but they never set foot in a prison for the crime they committed. Parole, on the other hand, is exclusively for convicted felons who have spent some time in prison. 

The difference between probation and parole may be insignificant in a conversation between two characters in your WIP, but it is significant in terms of the conditions of release. People on probation may be court-ordered to do certain things such as keep their probation officer apprised of where they live or work, take an occasional drug test, or do community service in lieu of jail time. 

People on parole, however, are only allowed to leave prison based on good behavior and an agreement to give up certain rights upon release. Most significantly, parolees generally give up their Fourth Amendment protections against government intrusions into their privacy. Thus, a parole officer can search a parolee’s house, demand an immediate drug test, require a detailed list of friends and family members, and insist on being privy to just about every move a person recently released from prison makes. 

The street lingo for someone on parole is that they are “on paper.” Your fictional detective will want to know if a parolee she’s interrogating is on paper, and she may want to get access to that person’s “chronos,” the written reports filed by prison and parole officials documenting how that person behaves, if they were often in trouble or were a model prisoner while incarcerated, if they’re going to their court-mandated therapy sessions, or if they’re making progress with drug rehab, etc. 

Police officers do not have the authority to intrude into a parolee’s private spaces (home, car, bodies, etc.). A common scenario when a cop is investigating a person on parole is for the detective to contact the parole officer and detail why their parolee is a suspect in the latest crime. The cop can’t order or even ask the parole officer to perform a search, but the parole officer can offer of his own accord. Generally, the parole officer will then invite the detective to come along and help out on the search. This is an end run on the Fourth Amendment. This is, by definition, a warrantless search, and, in my opinion, should only be used as a last resort and only if the crime being investigated is especially egregious. 

Bail or Bond

Bail and bond are probably the most confused terms I see in prose and in screenplays. Bail is the amount of money set by the court as a condition of release prior to trial. No one wants to sit in jail for weeks or months awaiting a court date, and the Eighth Amendment requires that the bail amount not be excessive. People who complain that judges are “soft” for allowing an accused person to pay bail and leave jail before their court date simply haven’t read or don’t understand this section of the Constitution. 

People who do pay the bail amount will get a refund when they show up for trial, but they forfeit the money if they “Fail to Appear” (often referred to as FTA), at which point the judge will issue a warrant for their arrest. 

Bail bonds, on the other hand, are posted by a bonding company or an attorney. It’s like a loan, only with heavy interest. Most bail bond companies don’t actually have to pay the court anything unless their client doesn’t show up for court. If that happens, bail bond companies will go looking for the person who burned them, and they’ll set a bounty hunter on the accused person’s trail. 

All of these terms are interchangeable in most people’s minds, which means you have wiggle room when it comes to how your fictional characters use them. Write your dialogue based on what you imagine your good guys and bad guys would know and say, but always do so from a position of insider knowledge.

What if?: A Most Important Question

By DP Lyle 

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Every author has been asked: Where do you get your ideas? The short answer is: Everywhere. Something you see or read germinates an idea, and a story unfolds. Sometimes the story comes together quickly, but most often weeks of building mental scenes and snippets of dialog, setting, and action must be waded through before pen meets paper. 

An overheard conversation might be the spark. Or a couple talking/arguing/laughing at a nearby restaurant table. Maybe an odd character strolling down the street. Perhaps an idea simply pops into your head from wherever those thoughts arise. 

Okay, so you have an idea. Now what? An idea isn’t a story. Ideas are a dime a dozen. They are literally everywhere. The key is to find an idea that can stand up through a 100,000-word manuscript. No small trick.

To do this, the original idea must be refined and fleshed out. An idea can become a scene, but to be a full-length novel it must evolve and expand. It must become a premise, or what many call “The Central Story Question.” It’s what the story is really about.

To become a premise, the original idea must ultimately lead to the question: What if? 

What if this happened? What if that person did this? What if that dude in the shabby clothes was actually a rogue undercover agent with a deadly agenda? What if the restaurant couple was planning a murder? What if that briefcase contained state secrets? Or an explosive device? Or a deadly virus?

From those two words--What if?--stories arise.

The power of your story’s What If? can’t be overestimated. If it is done correctly and not lost in the writing. A good What if? states the main character, the situation, the stakes, and, most importantly, the Central Story Question. 

It is the answering of this question that is the story.

Okay, so our restaurant couple is planning a murder. Who, what, when, where, and, most importantly, why? It’s always the why that makes a great story. Is it to get out of a messy marriage and save all that alimony money, or to cash in that million-dollar insurance policy, or to cover an embezzlement from a company they work for, or to seek revenge for some act? Even though the original idea was a couple planning a murder, each of these scenarios generates a different story. Each will lead your sleuth, who must solve the murder, into a different world.

What if a young couple witnesses a murder and in so doing put themselves in the cross hairs of a transnational criminal organization?

This is the What If? for my latest Cain/Harper thriller, TUNICA. 

The What If? should be stated in about 25 words or less. Because the What If? is brief, it’s often called the elevator pitch or the agent pitch. It communicates your story in the most efficient terms. We’ve all heard writers respond when asked what their story is about by saying things like, “Well, there’s this guy who lives on an island. And he hates the water. And a big shark is killing people and this is threatening to shut down the town’s beaches on a holiday weekend. And then there’s this other guy who is a shark expert and he has a really cool boat. Oh, I forgot, the first guy is the chief of police.” Yawn.

What if a hydrophobic, island-community police chief must go out on the water to kill a predatory shark to save the town’s summer economy and to prove his own self-worth?

What if an FBI trainee must exchange personal information with a sadistic serial killer in order to track another serial killer and save a Senator’s daughter?

What if the youngest son of a mafia family takes revenge on the men who shot his father and becomes the new godfather, losing his own soul in the process?

These are of course Jaws, Silence of the Lambs, and The Godfather, respectively. See how these What If?s reveal the protagonist and cleanly state the story premise? Read these books or watch the movies and you will see that each scene moves toward answering the story’s What If? Each of your scenes should, too. If not, consider cutting, or at least reworking, those that don’t.

Many authors consume weeks creating the What If? for their story. Constantly refining it, making it more on point. You should, too. It’s that important. It concisely states the Central Story Question.

Here’s a tip: When your What If? is completed to your satisfaction, print it out and tape it to your computer or the front of your writing pad so you will see it every time you sit down to write. Before writing each scene, read your What If? and ask yourself, “Does this scene help answer the Central Story Question?” If you do this, you will never lose sight of what your story is about. Particularly in the dreaded middle, where so many stories get lost in the jumble of character and backstory and cool dialog all the other stuff that goes into a manuscript. The What If? keeps you focused and on track.

But It Really Happened

By DP Lyle

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But it really happened. I swear. 

This is the defense fiction writers offer when someone says their story isn’t believable. “That could never happen,” they say. But, it could. It did. Still, their disbelief lingers. 

I write both fiction and nonfiction. When people inquire about the difference between creating the two, my response is, “They are exactly the same, only different.” With NF, the research comes first. It must be gathered, fact-checked, and organized. Then, the writing begins. With fiction, you must first know your characters, plot, and setting before researching the materials needed to create a story that rings true.  

Fiction writers often base their stories on a true crime. A look at best-selling books and iconic movies over the years underlines this fact. The horrific slaughter of the Clutter family in rural Kansas became Truman Capote’s masterpiece In Cold Blood—a book that sits somewhere between fiction and true crime. Serial killer Ed Gein fashioned furniture and clothing from human skin and inspired Hitchcock’s Norman Bates in Psycho and Buffalo Bill in Thomas Harris’s Silence of the Lambs.  

For fiction writers, a true crime book, a news story, maybe a blog post sparks the idea. For my third Samantha Cody book, Original Sin, I created a character who was a snake-handling preacher. My research led me to the National Book Award finalist Salvation on Sand Mountain by Dennis Covington. It chronicles the story of Glenn Summerford, pastor of the Church of Jesus with Signs Following, who employed a rattlesnake in the attempted murder of his wife.  You bet that little wrinkle appeared in Original Sin.  

Or Victor Borkov, the bad guy in my first Jake Longly story, Deep Six. His enemies often found themselves lashed to an iron ring and dropped into the Gulf of Mexico. Alive. This is based on the actions of Skylar Deleon. Look up sociopath. You’ll see his picture. Under the guise of buying their boat, Skylar and a thug friend convinced Jackie and Thomas Hawks to go for a test cruise. It ended with the Hawks bound to an anchor and dumped in the Pacific Ocean.  Alive. 

These true stories are unbelievable. Yet true. For fiction writers, the trick is to morph unbelievable fact into believable fiction. 

We fiction writers owe a great debt to true crime writers. They do the heavy lifting, the research, the telling of the crime, and we use that to inspire and create our stories. Ann Rule once told me that when she approached a true crime story, she looked for the person who was the heart of the story. Not the bad guy, often not the victim, but someone who was deeply affected by the crime. In fiction, we do the same, but have the added freedom of not being bound to the facts. 

The marriage between crime fiction and true crime is alive and well. 

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DP Lyle, Award-winning author, lecturer, story consultant 

www.dplylemd.com

A Killer Voice That Makes an Impact

By Alexandrea Weis

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When you think about a rampaging murderer out to destroy his victims, what comes to mind? Most of the time, it’s their iconic voice. Imagine Candyman without the breathy and slow speech of Tony Todd or Ghostface without Rodger L Jackson’s craggy mix of sadism and insanity. Who can forget the deep, dark, dulcet tones of the Master of Macabre, Vincent Price? That’s what you want to give readers when your character speaks—a taste of their depravity.

Finding that unique resonance can be challenging, but like any diligent author, you appreciate the value of research to carve out a brilliant inflection that will capture your delinquent’s soul. Breathy, croaky, cracking, soothing, alarming can all describe a voice. Vivid comparisons can also bring the essence of someone alive in a reader’s mind. Does her breathy narration sound like a gentle breeze moving through a tree plump with the leaves of spring? Does his laugh remind you of the bray of a donkey? How a death-dealing degenerate sounds can influence what your readers take away from a scene. 

Sentence structure plays a vital role in intensifying a character’s emotions. A nervous woman convinced she’s being followed might require short, clipped phrases, imitating the twittering of a skittish bird. Or there are those long, flowery sentences that could represent the pompous police chief or dense detective who doesn’t believe the victim. Punctuation can also add impact. A frightened person’s dialogue can frequently trail off with ellipses, exemplifying their wavering train of thought. Or a brash thug might add terror to his loud, paranoid ramblings by ending everything in exclamation points.    

A voice doesn’t have to be menacing to create a shudder. An ordinary, quiet man with a somber or even childlike tone who carries out ghastly deeds can elicit chills. Think Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs. A monotone, emotionless pitch can tell us more about the inner workings of a psychopath than a shrieking mother frustrated with her children. Remember the crazed computer Hal 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey? 

Don’t forget about the intense horror of silence. The doomed want answers before they take their last breath. Not having the solace of another’s voice could be more hair-raising than a sinister hiss or last malicious chuckle. A memorable example is the unsettling nothingness of Michael Myers as he sliced through his victims in Halloween (1987). 

You may want to design a manner of speaking that becomes your transgressor’s trademark. Police often ask survivors of violence about the voice of their attacker. Even if a victim doesn’t look at the perpetrator, they will never forget how they sounded. The way your slayer stays with those they have tormented can be as important as what they say or do. Inflections, the rise and fall of their tone, the deepness or high-pitched way they laugh, and even the pauses they give when speaking are all critical. The Grady twins from The Shining delivered their creepy invitation to Danny to come and play “forever… and ever… and ever,” scaring theatergoers.

Also, keep in mind dialects do matter. Whether it’s a southern drawl, Texas Twang, the guttural angst of New Yorkers, or the dropped Rs of Bostonians, give your killer some flare. But don’t overdo it. You want authenticity without coming across as stereotypical. Research how people speak naturally in the area you’re writing about. Go to restaurants, walk the streets, sit in coffee shops, and eavesdrop. Get a sense of rhythm and the way people talk. It will give your scoundrel depth and believability. 

Don’t forget the backstory, especially when dealing with physical or emotional traumas. A brute with a history of throat damage, whether through strangling or a sliced larynx, can have a wispy way of speaking that sets one’s teeth on edge. Damage to the mouth, either through the loss of teeth or cut nerves, can provide relevant clues to why your murderer speaks as they do. A maniac who’s suffered immense sorrow or abuse might carry the past in their voice. Cold, unemotional, lifeless tones can tell you a lot about the pain behind someone’s words. Red’s rasp in the movie US becomes even more horrific when the audience discovers rats have gnawed through her vocal cords. A cringe-worthy backstory can ramp up the fear factor.

There’s nothing more insightful than a voice. It’s the true window to one’s emotions and personality. So when creating a killer character who will leave readers mesmerized and terrified, don’t forget their distinct, haunting vocal expression. Take the time to make it compelling, and your villain will live on long after your story’s climactic ending.   

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Alexandrea Weis, RN-CS, PhD, is an award-winning author, screenwriter, advanced practice registered nurse, and historian who was born and raised in the French Quarter of New Orleans. She has taught at major universities and worked as a nurse dealing with victims of sexual assault, abuse, and mental illness in a clinical setting at New Orleans area hospitals.

Having grown up in the motion picture industry as the daughter of a director, she learned to tell stories from a different perspective. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her novels, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story moving and memorable. The first person to give her writing advice was Tennessee Williams, a family friend. 

Weis is a member of the International Thriller Writers (ITW) and Horror Writers Association (HWA). She lives with her husband outside of New Orleans where she is a permitted/certified wildlife rehabber with the Louisiana Wildlife & Fisheries and rescues orphaned and injured animals.

Twists and Reveals: The Art of Keeping Your Readers Guessing

By Claire Cooper

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An interesting plot and intriguing characters are key ingredients to keep readers turning the pages of any work of fiction. But if you’re writing thrillers, crime, mysteries, or suspense, twists and reveals can be the secret sauce that turns a good story into a great one.

The two terms are often used interchangeably, but twists and reveals are quite different things. What are they? How do you construct them? And most importantly of all, what needs to be in place for them to work well?

The difference between twists and reveals

A reveal is just what it sounds like—new information that answers an important question. 

It might be the central question of the plot (who’s the killer?). Or it could be a nugget that brings the reader closer to solving the mystery (that dodgy guy who’s been stalking our heroine is her long-lost brother).

A reveal is essential to any whodunnit. Lucy Foley’s The Hunting Party is a classic example—there’s a cast of characters, one of whom is the murderer. The set-up has readers poring over every word, searching for clues to the killer’s identity. When it comes, the reveal is beautifully satisfying.

And while that happens at the end of the story, there are other, smaller reveals along the way. They keep things interesting, provide clues, and allow the reader to form theories about what’s happening. 

Like reveals, twists also impart information—but that’s not all. That information turns everything the reader previously thought they knew on its head.

That creates an exciting reading experience. And it also means readers will recommend your book to all their friends, because they’ll be desperate for other people to talk to about it.

Gone Girl is perhaps the most famous example of a twist in a modern psychological thriller. At the start, it reads as a well-written but conventional mystery: a woman has gone missing, her husband is under suspicion. Has he killed her?

But halfway through, we’re presented with new and shocking information. Everything we thought we knew was wrong. And we’re faced with a different set of questions to keep us reading.

Twists appear in classic crime, too. Agatha Christie’s After the Funeral has one of the most brilliantly constructed twists I’ve ever read. No spoilers: if you haven’t read it, put that right ASAP.

What is it that makes some twists and reveals work so well? And what goes wrong when they fall flat?

Writing a great reveal

Both twists and reveals play on the contract between author and reader. Some people refer to this as the “story promise,” the set-up that tells the reader what to expect if they decide to read the book.

Reveals honor that promise. Twists are an unexpected bonus (although the prevalence of twists in modern fiction means they’re not always unexpected—more on that later).

The reveal in The Hunting Party works so well because it offers readers exactly what they wanted when they started reading the book: they find out who the killer is.

Other reveals along the way answer some questions while posing others, keeping the tension high throughout. At the end, everything is resolved—and crucially, it fits together and makes sense.

That logic is essential. Part of the delight of reading a whodunnit is trying to work out the answer for ourselves. With the best books we fail, whilst knowing we could have succeeded, if only we’d spotted all the clues.

When a reveal goes wrong

When reveals fall flat, on the other hand, it’s often because new information comes out of the blue. There’s no way a reader could have worked it out. And there’s no pay-off for our concentration because nothing we’ve read until that point is relevant. We feel cheated.

The same goes for a reveal that feels implausible. While it could happen in real life, it feels too unlikely to be satisfying. It doesn’t fit comfortably with the world as it’s presented in the book.

Classic reveal fails can be guilty of one or both of these sins. Revealing that a character has an identical twin, say, or that a huge chunk of plot has been a dream—both feel like the author isn’t taking us seriously.

Yes, we know that identical twins exist; and yes, people dream. But if we haven’t been given any clues about what’s going on, the author has essentially been wasting our time. And even if the clues have been seeded, it’s hard to feel that the writer hasn’t taken an easy way out. 

The key to a successful twist

The same rules apply to a twist. It has to make sense. It has to be plausible. And it has to tie into what’s been presented before.

But with the twist, that final criterion is especially difficult to pull off. As writers, we need to lead our readers in the wrong direction, while still playing fair. Our characters can say things that aren’t true—they can be unreliable narrators. But we ourselves can never lie.

In Gone Girl, the twist is set up by the way we’re persuaded to think about the two main characters. One character reveals they’re lying to the police—they must have something to hide. We hear from the other in a context that makes it seem impossible that they’re lying.

That belief colors our interpretation of everything else. When it’s flipped on its head, we realize all our preconceptions are wrong.

The twist here works at a meta level, too. It changes our whole perception of the kind of book we’re reading. The story promise we thought we were being presented with at the beginning is something else entirely. 

That’s a risky approach. But with Gone Girl, it works because it’s so exciting. You thought you were getting something good—but you’re getting something even better.

With Agatha Christie’s After the Funeral, the twist is set up so subtly you don’t notice it’s been done. Not only are we misdirected, we congratulate ourselves for having worked something out for ourselves. What we don’t discover until right at the end is that we got it completely wrong. 

And Christie achieves that while only presenting us with the facts of the story. It’s a masterclass in misdirection.

The role of planning in constructing your twist or reveal

I’d argue that planning is essential to constructing both twists and reveals—even if, for pantsers, it only kicks in at the editing stage.

That planning starts with a clear story promise, the question that will be answered by the end of the book. That gives you the substance for your big reveal. 

To get there, there’ll be other questions that need to be answered. And those mini-reveals should pose new questions, too.

Also crucial is to decide what to reveal when. A good rule of thumb is to release important information at the last possible moment, only when readers need it to make sense of what happens next. Reveal it too soon, and suspense will leak away.

If you’re including a twist, you need to walk a tightrope. On one hand, your reader needs enough information that the twist will make perfect sense. On the other hand, you need to disguise that information in a way that doesn’t allow your reader to spot what’s coming.

There are lots of different ways you can do that. Here are a few:

• Have a character tell the truth, but make them appear so untrustworthy that your reader won’t believe them

• Have a character who lies but appears honest 

• Include red herrings

• Slip out crucial facts alongside revelations that appear more important, so your reader focuses on the wrong thing.

Finally, think about where you want your twist to appear. The only rule here is not to have it happen too soon: you need your reader to have developed a clear (and wrong) idea of what they think is happening for it to have real impact. 

The role of the twist in book marketing

Once upon a time, a twist was a relatively rare thing. These days, in genres like psychological thrillers, it’s almost expected. 

That presents some challenges. If readers suspect a twist is coming, they’ll be on their guard. And some people complain that blurbs mentioning a twist distract them from the story, diverting their attention to trying to spot it. 

It’s a fair point. But it’s also true that a great twist can be the thing that gets readers talking about a book. That, of course, means more sales—and what marketing department or indie author can afford to ignore that?

If savvy readers looking out for a twist are wise to the usual tactics, it’s up to us as authors to respond. Either we find ways to execute those tactics so brilliantly that we still bamboozle our readers, or we come up with new tactics altogether.

That’s pretty daunting—but it’s exciting too. I for one can’t wait for the next book with a “mind-blowing twist!”

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Claire Cooper grew up in a small village in Wales before moving to London as a student. She was a civil servant for 17 years, but hung up her bowler hat when she discovered that she much preferred writing about psychotic killers to Ministerial speeches. She lives in London with her husband and a pond full of very cute newts, and also writes as C. J. Cooper. Her latest book, "The Elevator" is set in New York, Bristol and London, and includes lots of reveals (and maybe one or two twists!). It was published on August 25th.

The Mystery of Creativity

By Avanti Centrae

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Imagine: Sherlock Holmes smoking his iconic pipe. Wonder Woman wielding a golden lasso. Glow-in-the-dark lightsabers clashing during an epic battle for the future of the Empire.

Have you ever wondered how authors come up with those types of larger-than-life characters? How we work in the jaw-dropping plot twists and design stories that keep your head spinning? Or are you curious about learning tips to utilize in your own creative endeavors? 

I’m here to share my secrets with you, gentle crime aficionado. I’ll pull back the curtain in the hope that you’ll use these techniques to make the world a better place. We’ll all win.

My background is in tech. The very definition of left-brained work. I got a degree in computers from Purdue University and several decades later climbed the ladder high enough to become an IT executive for a well-known Silicon Valley firm. My world was spreadsheets, PowerPoint slides, and meetings. Oh, the meetings...talking on the phone while answering emails from my manager while simultaneously dealing with four instant messages. Argh! PTSD flashback! 

I digress. The point is that’s a left-brained world. I wanted to be a thriller writer. Right-brained inspiration required. But how do I get the creative juices flowing?

I began my novel writing journey with an outline—the left brain’s answer to plotting. But as I added layer after layer, I found plot twists and character traits coming to mind at the oddest times. I’d be on a walk with the dogs, and an idea would come to me. I’m sure the neighbors thought me strange as I jotted down ideas in my BlackBerry while the German Shepherds pulled me down the street by their leashes. Or I’d take a hot shower, and that pesky plot problem would magically resolve itself. After toweling off, I’d take notes for later. The same thing would happen during yoga class, when meditating, or when I first woke up in the morning. Eventually, I realized my right brain, my subconscious, was adding its fingerprint to the story. 

Once I realized when my muse liked to contribute, I started to use those times as windows of opportunity. Before I went for a walk, I’d mentally pack a chapter that I was writing in my backpack. When I stepped in the shower, a thorny plot twist would rest next to the soap bottle. The two halves of my brain work differently, and I learned to schedule writing time at a point in the day when I’m not answering emails, updating my website, or doing other heavy-lifting type thinking tasks.

I also studied brain wave patterns to find out how our minds work. In simple terms, we can all move from a problem-solving beta-brain-wave pattern to a right-brained alpha/theta creative pattern by visualizing and deepening our breath. That made sense to me, as walking, showering, meditating, and sleeping all involved physical activities that inspired my creative self.

After completing the first two books in the five-time award-winning VanOps thriller series: The Lost Power (2019) and Solstice Shadows (2020), and then writing an award-winning standalone called Cleopatra’s Vendetta (2022) I’ve figured out how my creative process works. There’s a dance between my logical brain and my creative side. I just have to set up the dance floor, turn on the music, and let the two sides tango.

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Avanti Centrae is a former Silicon Valley IT executive turned #1 international bestselling thriller author. Her multi-award-winning novels blend intrigue, history, science, and mystery into pulse-pounding action thrillers. Download the first six chapters of her edge-of-your-seat VanOps series at www.avanticentrae.com.

Adding Tension, Suspense, & Intrigue to Your Story

By James Glass

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Are you in the process of writing a novel? Crime or suspense thriller? Or some other popular fiction you hope will grab readers’ attention? Besides a great character and a fascinating plot, you need to keep readers engaged and eagerly turning the pages. ALL genres of fiction, and not just thrillers, need tension and intrigue. That and a certain amount of suspense. But how do you break away from other writers in your genre? You must ratchet up the tension, intrigue, and suspense. Create a fast-paced, nail-biting, page-turner. Okay, but how?

First, create a protagonist your readers will care about, and give him/her some worries and secrets. Make your hero or heroine intriguing and complex, clever, and resourceful. But not perfect. Perfect is too boring and you’ll lose your readers. Make them vulnerable. Whether physical vulnerability or some inner conflict, regrets, and secrets. In most cases, you want your protagonist to be likeable too, or at least possess some endearing traits to make readers worry about and want to root for. If readers can’t identify with or bond with your character, it’s pretty clear your story needs work.

Next, you want to get up close and personal. Use deep point of view (first-person or third-person) to get us into the head and body of your main character right from the opening paragraph. Show their thoughts, fears, hopes, frustrations, worries, and physical and sensory reactions in every scene. Most new writers want to start with opening their story with description, background info, or even flashbacks. Instead, open with action. It’s best to jumpstart your story with your lead interacting with someone else who matters to them, preferably with a bit of discord and tension. And show his/her inner thoughts and emotional reactions, maybe some frustration or anxiety. Give your character a problem to solve right from the start. This creates an early conflict that throws your lead off-balance and will make your readers worry about him/her. A worried reader is an engaged reader. Remember—act first, explain later.

 Another way to create suspense is to withhold information. There’s no surprise for the reader if they know everything up front. This is so important and a common weakness for new fiction writers. Hold off on critical information. Give a hint of a traumatic or life-changing event early on. But reveal fragments of info about it little by little, through dialogue, thoughts, and brief flashbacks. This will keep your readers wondering and worrying—keeping your reader engaged as they need to know but have to read further.

Don’t get bogged down in lengthy descriptions, backstory, or exposition. Keep the action and interactions moving ahead, especially in the first chapter. Dialogue is your best friend early on. This isn’t to say dialogue is not needed later on, but new writers tend to overuse narrative description. This usually results in a slower pace and bogs down the action.

Then introduce a significant, meaningful story problem for your protagonist. Now that your readers care about the main character, insert a major challenge, dilemma, goal, or threat within the first ten chapters, a big one that won’t be resolved until the end. The tension will keep the reader engaged throughout the story.

Every page needs some tension, even if it’s just doubt, questioning, disbelief, disagreement, suspicion, or resentment simmering below the surface. Add in tough choices and moral dilemmas. Devise ongoing difficult decisions and inner conflict for your lead character. Besides making your plot more suspenseful, this will also make your protagonist more complex, vulnerable, and intriguing.

Insert several plot twists. Readers are surprised and delighted when the events take a turn they never expected. Don’t let your readers become complacent, thinking it’s easy to figure out the ending, or they may stop reading. To keep the reader engaged, establish a sense of urgency, a tense mood, and generally fast pacing.

Utilize cliff-hangers. Put your hero or heroine in danger at the end of some chapters. This will incite reader curiosity and questions and compel them to go to the next chapter. James Patterson is a master of short chapters with lots of suspense that forces the reader to turn to the next chapter. 

I hope you find these tips to be helpful.

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James Glass achieved the rank of Command Master Chief before retiring after 22 years in the United States Navy. After retiring from the Navy, he exchanged his rifle for a pen. He and his family moved back to Florida. James is also the President of the Panhandle Writers Group. He’s published five novels, one novella, and two (you solve the crime) chapter books.

Fact to Fiction: Turning Real Crime into Story

By Anne Da Vigo

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Almost everyone has some memory of a real crime that has stuck with them.

Maybe you saw TV news about a strange disappearance. Or a great-uncle spun a tale of a brazen heist. When you worked for a former employer, you heard whispers of evil deeds.

For mystery writers, that’s how novels are born: an earworm of an idea sparked by real crime that won’t shut up until it’s transformed into fiction.

I started on the road from fact to fiction in the late 1970s. I was working as a journalist back then, in the agricultural and oil industry town of Bakersfield, California.

My editor sent me to cover a murder trial. The jury found the accused not guilty of stabbing and beating to death a local businessman. I wrote the story and within months had moved on to a bigger newspaper. 

But I was haunted by trial testimony about a thirteen-year-old boy abused by the victim.

Three years later, the boy murdered another of his abusers, a top county government official.

The victim was part of a secretive group of powerful men in business, law enforcement, and the district attorney’s office who abused vulnerable teens. These and other murders involving the circle were dubbed the Lords of Bakersfield cases. 

I spent years thinking about the Lords, and eventually began writing what would become my thriller, Bakersfield Boys Club.

As I sat down at the computer, I faced decisions many crime writers face: how to craft actual events into fiction.

First, I needed a unifying character to knit the story of the murder series together, someone with a passionate commitment to uncovering the truth.

My solution? Creating a struggling widow whose teenage son was ensnared by a circle of dissolute men. She wasn’t a real person, which gave me the freedom to delve into her innermost thoughts and feelings and share them with the reader.

Her harrowing journey from disbelief to relentless outrage also formed the essential character arc for the story.

Next, I wanted to include several characters in the thriller that were loosely inspired by real people, but I wasn’t certain how to protect myself against an accusation of defamation.

I found several internet sites that helped address my concerns. You can find a list on my web page, www.annedavigoauthor.com.

Basic advice for authors: mask characters by changing their names and physical characteristics.

Another aspect of defamation law was helpful as I wrote the thriller. Most of the prominent players in the Lords cases had died by the time I began writing; only a living person can file a claim for damages to their character or reputation.

Truth, of course, is the basic defense against allegations of defamation.

In my case, the local newspaper had written a series about the Lords of Bakersfield, winning a major journalism prize. I felt confident about using events that had been vetted by their lawyers and disseminated widely in the press.

Pacing was another issue that had to be dealt with in morphing the story from fact to fiction. Because the actual events occurred over a period of nearly twenty-five years, I was finding it difficult to build suspense.

Several drafts and thousands of words later, I decided to compress the murder series into a two-year time frame. That way, the frantic mother was working against an escalating threat to save her son.

I chalked up my strategy as a success when several readers said they stayed up late to turn the last page.

Finally, the facts, incidents, and characters that formed the factual story needed to be woven into a theme for the fictional mystery.

The theme wasn’t clear in my mind when I began writing, although my outrage at the abuse experienced by young people had been brewing for years.

As I wrote, the theme began to emerge: those who exploit the weakest among us must be punished, no matter what the obstacles.

My commitment to the theme of Bakersfield Boys Club led me to write a conclusion I’d never considered when I began the mystery.

Now I’m at work on another thriller, this one sparked by a mysterious tale I heard at my husband’s college reunion.

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Anne Da Vigo is a former journalist and public relations professional who lives in Northern California. Her thriller, Bakersfield Boys Club, is available from Amazon or on order from your bookseller.