Thursday, February 4, 2010

It was a dark and stormy night...

"I'm going to write a mystery."


I've just finished the second installment in my urban fantasy series. The muse is with me, right? I'm in fuego! I'm going to step off the dark and violent path of my current series and try my hand at a genre I have read and loved my whole life - mystery. I even said that to myself: "You love mysteries, Sheila. Let's go!"

Cue utter stillness.

I polled some of my mystery writing friends (see the links below) who gave me pep talks and advice and recommended books that have been informative and inspiring. I've got my characters, my setting, my victim, even some passable motives.

And I got nothing.

I can't call it writer's block. What does that even mean? Why don't I get radio block? Or bill-paying block? Or even laundry block? I want to do this! I love mysteries!

That's when the bell went off. I love mysteries. Reading them, watching them, solving them in jigsaw puzzles, for crying out loud! If there's a riddle to be solved, I'm on it like white on rice, clapping and giggling and peering around the corner. I realized I was like a kid that loves magic and decides to slip through the curtain to see how the tricks are done. Would learning the mechanics of a mystery take away the magic that has thrilled me my entire reading life?

Back to my writer friends. They assure me that the path is riddled (pardon the pun) with surprises galore and that I may not know whodunnit for quite a while. Well, there's only one way to find out...

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