Write This Book: A Do-It-Yourself Mystery

by Pseudonymous Bosch

  I’m giving you a choice of three genres:*

  1. Classic crime, also known as noir

  2. Fantasy

  3. Gothic horror

  More Genres

  In case you’re foolish enough to try reading—or writing—another book after this one, here are some other genres you might choose from.

  Western (people on horses, gunfights, a lot of cactus)

  Science fiction (robots, aliens, dystopian universes where parents are replaced by video screens—wait, is that dystopian or utopian?)

  Romance (the mushy stuff—I’d rather not talk about it)

  Sports (I’ve never read any myself, but I’m told there are actually novels about people chasing balls around a field.)

  Graphic novels and manga (at last, a comic book… book!)

  Literary (any book your language arts teacher wants you to read)

  Coming-of-age (not sure what this means—it never happened to me)

  Other genres:

  Write This Book—The Multiplayer Version

  If more than one person is reading, or I should say writing, this book at once, then each reader/writer should pick a different genre—and write his or her version of the book accordingly. Whoever gets to the end first… gets to the end first!

  NOIR: HARD-BOILED CRIME

  He looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.

  —RAYMOND CHANDLER

  I’ve been as bad an influence on American literature as anyone I can think of.

  —DASHIELL HAMMETT*

  Ever murdered your husband? Robbed a bank? Sold shares in an imaginary company to an innocent old lady?

  No? Well, chances are you know a little bit about crime even if you’re not a criminal. Let me put that another way. Chances are you know a little bit about crime novels even if you’ve never read one. Classic crime novels like those by Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett have influenced not only many novels that have come since but also many films and television shows—and no doubt more than a few criminals as well.

  These “hard-boiled” mysteries are most often written in first person through the eyes of a private eye—that is, from the perspective of a detective. The detective is usually an antihero—a cynical tough guy, at least in appearance, who pretends not to care about the people around him. He speaks gruffly, with humorous understatement. A hunter of murderers, the noir detective may not be a killer himself, but he delivers deadly one-liners.

  You need not write your book in first person to adopt this kind of voice, however—

  What do I mean? Can I show you?

  Heh. I know what you’re up to—you’re trying to get me to write this book for you again. You can’t fool me.

  No? It’s just that you’re sure I’ll do such a good job?

  What can I say? I know I’m being played, but flattery will get you everywhere. Let’s go back to The Case of the Missing Author and give it a bit of a noir spin.

  Pseudo-intelligence:

  A perspective on perspective

  No doubt you’ve heard the word perspective before. Parents often tell their children that they should have more perspective. What the parent means is that whatever tragic event has occurred in your life—a bad haircut, say—really isn’t so tragic. Your hair will grow back—and besides, children are starving in Africa. It goes without saying that this so-called long view is infuriating for someone whose hair is cut too short. Sure, your hair might grow back one day, but will it grow back before school starts next week?

  What does this have to do with writing? Everything, my dear innocent young person, everything. In real life, you may not want to enter your parent’s head any more than your parent wants to enter yours. As a writer, on the other hand, you are continually called upon to see events from other people’s perspectives—that is to say, from the perspectives of all your characters. And if you are writing from your own perspective, it behooves you all the more to consider somebody else’s perspective. That way you can anticipate your critics and arm yourself against them.

  For writers, perspective—also known as point of view—has an additional, more precise meaning. Your perspective is the “person” in which you are writing. As you may already know from your language arts class, in third person, the subject is he, she, or it, and the narrator takes little or no part in the action. In second person, the subject is you—as in the reader. In first person, the subject is I, and the hero and narrator are generally one and the same. (If you play video games, think of a first-person shooter; the experience is similar, at least if you imagine reading as a gunfight.) A sentence can appear wildly different when written in one person versus another. Take the sentence He broke the piggy bank. In third person, it is merely an observation. In second person, it is an accusation: You broke the piggy bank. In first person, a confession: I broke the piggy bank. How do you know which person to write in? It depends on which person you ask, of course. For the purposes of this book, I (first person) think you (second person) should continue to write about A____, Z____, and I.B. as A____, Z____, and I.B. (i.e., in third person).

  And stop whining about that haircut!

  Pseudo-assignment: Musical chairs

  A game for the whole family! The next time your family sits down for dinner (I know with some families that’s a rare event), ask everybody at the table to get up and move to the chair to his or her right. Continue your dinner conversation with each person now playing the part of the original occupant of his or her chair. If you and your family have trouble seeing things from one another’s points of view, at least you can have fun with your impersonations. And the writing part? That comes afterward when you write furiously in your journal about the insulting ways your family imitated you.

  Now that A____ and Z____ have determined that they need to find the Other Side, I think we can assume that they would take one last look around I.B.’s house—this time for clues about what and where the Other Side might be. Here they are, continuing the investigation like protagonists in a noir mystery:

  The Case of the Missing Author

  Chapter 5

  INSERT CHAPTER TITLE HERE

  (noir version)

  Another day, another crime scene.

  Sure, A____ and Z____ were only kids, but they’d cracked enough of I.B.’s old bookamajigs to know how to handle a simple missing-person case like this one. (You want hard, try multiplying fractions—that’s hard.) Like old pros, they scoured his office for clues, dusting for fingerprints, checking for hidden doors, all the usual.

  Soon enough, they saw it: a body lying behind I.B.’s desk. Glazed eyes. Faded color. If you’ve seen one dead body, you’ve seen them all, right?

  It was an old stuffed bunny. You know the type. Cute. Cuddly. Covered with ink stains. Some poor kid must have loved this thing once. Now one of his long bunny ears was about to fall off. It would have brought tears to your eyes. That is, if you were the sort who had eyes instead of tiny plastic marbles inset in your fur.

  A____ leaned down and picked up the bunny from underneath the desk. His bad ear dangled by a thread.

  Z____ looked at her askance. “This is no time for playing with stuffed animals. You’re tampering with evidence.”

  “No, I’m putting him back where he belongs.”

  Somberly, A____ laid the bunny inside I.B.’s top hat. He looked ready for his funeral. All that was missing was a bunny priest.

  A____’s hand lingered inside the hat. “Either I.B. has a really big head or there’s a secret compartment in here—”

  Z____ stepped closer. “Anything in it?”

  His sister pulled out a shiny gold coin with a flourish, playing magician. “Voilà.”

  Z____ whistled. “That’s a lotta gold to hide under a little rabbit. What’s it say? Name of a casino or something?”

  She handed him the coin so he could read it. They both swallowed as he turned it over.

  THE OTHER SIDE, it said on both sides. Like it was some k
ind of joke. Only it was about as funny as a pimple on picture day.

  Beneath the words THE OTHER SIDE was something that looked suspiciously like a street address.

  The Other Side wasn’t on the other side of the moon. It wasn’t even on the other side of town. It was right around the corner—

  Don’t like hard-boiled eggs, let alone hard-boiled crime stories? Don’t own a trench coat or even a pair of sunglasses? Perhaps I can interest you in a fantasy, instead….

  FANTASY: THE AFFAIRS OF WIZARDS

  I doubt that the imagination can be suppressed. If you truly eradicated it in a child, he would grow up to be an eggplant.

  —URSULA K. LE GUIN

  Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.

  —J.R.R. TOLKIEN*

  You may or may not have meddled in the affairs of wizards, but you almost certainly have meddled with fantasy. If you haven’t ever read a fantasy book per se, you must have had a fantasy of your own at one time or another. And if you haven’t had a fantasy of your own, well, as the High Queen of Fantasy, Ursula Le Guin, suggests, you must be an eggplant.

  A fantasy book can be about anything. That’s the definition of fantasy, after all. But strangely enough, most fantasy books seem to be about the same things: wizards, witches, elves, dwarves, dragons, and the occasional talking animal. Why? I suppose the curmudgeonly answer would be that most imaginative literature lacks imagination. The more charitable answer, and I think the right one, is that these creatures hold enduring fascination and near-universal appeal. (I say near-universal because we all know at least one person who hates fantasy books with a passion.)

  Wait—a one-eyed oracle just told me you want to know what a fantasy version of our scene in I.B.’s office would look like. Here’s one possibility. I’m sure you can come up with many more.

  The Case of the Missing Author

  Chapter 5

  INSERT CHAPTER TITLE HERE

  (fantasy version)

  A sudden hush had fallen over I.B.’s office. There was a faint rustling, as if a gentle breeze were passing through the room.

  “Did you hear something?” asked A____.

  “Why are you whispering?” asked her brother.

  A____ felt her pant leg ripple. An old threadbare stuffed rabbit was lying next to her foot. “Hey, it’s I.B.’s rabbit.”

  She picked him up, smiling. “You have to admit, he doesn’t look like he can type.”

  “Ha-ha,” said Z____.

  “He’s kinda cute, though….”

  “I am not cute.”

  “Trust me, I wasn’t talking about you,” A____ scoffed.

  Z____ looked at his sister in confusion. “I didn’t say you were.”

  “You didn’t?” She shrugged it off. “Anyway, aren’t rabbits’ feet supposed to be lucky? Maybe if we carry him around, we’ll find out where the Other Side is.”

  “Just don’t start rubbing my foot. I hate that.”

  A____ made a face. “That’s disgusting.”

  “That wasn’t me!” Z____ protested.

  “But there’s nobody else here!” A____ glanced down at the rabbit in her hand. Was it her imagination or did the rabbit’s tiny plastic eye just blink?

  “Would you put me down already?”

  A____ jumped—and almost dropped the rabbit.

  “Did you… talk?” she stammered. If her brother hadn’t also been staring at the rabbit, she would have assumed she was going mad.

  “So she’s not deaf after all—just rude!” said the rabbit sarcastically. “Now put me down. Please.”

  “Uh… OK,” said A____. In a daze, she started lowering the rabbit to the floor.

  “No! Not on that dirty rug.” The rabbit shook his head; his floppy ears flailed violently. “Would you want to lie there with all those empty _____ wrappers?”

  “Where, then?” asked A____, trying her best to keep her composure. She hadn’t spoken to a stuffed animal in many years, and she’d never heard one speak back.

  “Where do you think?”

  “I think he means I.B.’s hat,” said Z____.

  “NO, I mean my hat!” the rabbit snapped. “Why does everybody always think it’s his?”

  “Sorry!”

  A____ started to put the rabbit in the old top hat.

  “Wait! Look inside,” said the rabbit.

  “But it’s empty,” said A____.

  “Hidden compartment. Don’t you know anything?” the rabbit scolded. “Never enter a magician’s hat without thoroughly inspecting it first.”

  “I thought it was your hat,” said Z____.

  The rabbit twitched his nose. “Touché.”

  A____ felt around inside the hat until she found a small object under the lining.

  She pulled out a gold key. It gleamed so brightly it seemed to radiate its own light.

  “What’s this?”

  “A magical golden key,” the rabbit answered. “Duh.”

  “We can see that,” said Z____. “What’s it for?”

  “When she puts me in the hat, I’ll tell you.”

  A____ lowered him into the hat, feetfirst. “Well…?” she prompted.

  “Didn’t you say you were looking for the Other Side?” replied the rabbit, yawning.

  “You mean there’s a door?” Z____ asked excitedly. “This key will get us to the Other Side?”

  “Every door has an other side, doesn’t it? That’s pretty much the definition of a door.”

  “You know what he means,” said A____. “Is this the key to the Other Side? Where they’re keeping I.B.?”

  “Oh, I think I’ve given you enough help as it is.” And with that, the rabbit closed his plastic eyes. The silk lining of the top hat billowed slightly as he started to snore.

  Still staring at the rabbit, A____ and Z____didn’t notice that the walls of the room were vanishing until the shimmering outline of a door appeared in front of them.

  What, you don’t believe in elves or fairies? What about trolls or dragons? No? Huh. I guess fantasy is not for you. How about a ghost, then? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a ghost! Well, you’re about to….

  GOTHIC: THE HAUNTED PILLOW

  There are such beings as vampires, some of us have evidence that they exist.

  —BRAM STOKER

  What terrified me will terrify others; and I need only describe the spectre which had haunted my midnight pillow.

  —MARY SHELLEY*

  The Case of the Missing Author

  Chapter 5

  INSERT CHAPTER TITLE HERE

  (gothic version)

  It was a dark and stormy night. Outside I.B.’s house, the wind whistled through the trees—

  Stormy night? Oops. It was morning when A____ and Z____ entered the author’s house. How much time could have gone by? Normally, your copy editor will catch a mistake like that, but you can’t rely on it (especially if you don’t have a copy editor). Let’s begin another way.

  You already know the gothic genre, even if you don’t think you do. The tone is eerie. The style is antique. Think Dracula… Frankenstein… The Headless Horseman… haunted castles… foggy moors… ghosts… monsters… things that go bump in the night.

  Pseudo-intelligence: Don’t use that tone with me

  Tone is another term that is difficult to define. But if you think about a tone in music, or even a ring tone, then you can imagine what tone might mean in a literary context. A writer’s tone might be light and tinkly or heavy and tragic. Gentle and kind or shrill and sarcastic. Naive and childlike or self-serious and pedantic. Establishing a tone can be a matter of grammar and word choice (or diction, to use the literary term). Or it can be a matter of subject and style (uh-oh, another vague word). In the end, tone is subjective. Meaning that while one reader may hear a tone, another may be tone-deaf.

  Often, a gothic story will include reference to a spooky legend of some kind, usually a legend dismissed as silly by characters in the sto
ry until they are forced to reckon with its veracity. “History and mystery,” some call it:

  The Case of the Missing Author

  Chapter 5

  INSERT CHAPTER TITLE HERE

  (gothic version)

  “Look at this!” shouted Z____, trying to make himself heard over the howling winds.

  He pointed to the legs of I.B.’s desk. They were gouged all over, as if somebody had taken a screwdriver to them. “You think the cat did that?”

  “I don’t know, it looks more like tooth marks than scratches,” said his sister, frowning.

  Z____ smiled darkly. “The Were-Hare, then.”

  “Right. That’s what got I.B. Not a crazed fan—a rabid rabbit.” A____ laughed, but she felt a chill nonetheless.

  Like all the children in the neighborhood, A____ and Z____ had grown up hearing strange stories about the Were-Hare, the monster rabbit who allegedly haunted the woods behind their street. According to legend, the Were-Hare had teeth of gold, so long they reached below his chin. Anybody bitten by the Were-Hare went mad—and believed for the rest of his life he was a rodent in human form. On the other hand, anybody who managed to extract one of the Were-Hare’s teeth would have good luck for as long as he could keep the tooth.