by Leigh Perry / Toni L.P. Kelner
It's graduation season in our family. Last week, my younger daughter graduated from high school and this coming Saturday we're heading to my older daughter's graduation from the Atlanta campus of the Savannah College of Art and Design. Since I'm not really thinking there's a wide audience for a list of the certificates and medals Valerie won at her school's Awards Night or her prom photo, and we don't have any pictures of Maggie in her cap and gown yet, I thought I'd pull an old issue of the Femmes, back from Spring of 2004 when the Femmes produced a newsletter to mail rather than our regular blog.
Mary Saums was our editor then, and the late Femme Marlys Milhiser wrote the issue's introduction. Julie Wray Herman, Charlaine Harris, and the late Meg Chittenden were Femmes then, too. (Donna, Elaine, Kris, and I are still hanging around!)
Mystery in the Details?
by Marlys Millhiser
Do my sister Femmes find the details and accuracy in scientific forensics and suspect profiling critical to their stories? I have textbooks on crime scene investigations that are outdated and inaccurate. I’ve watched reruns of TV crime-scene shows that spout facts or investigative methods that have been highly questioned since. The internet is also rife with nonsense that must be sifted for nuggets of useful fact.
I find this topic of interest since I've lived in Boulder, Colorado for over forty years and thought the profiling of the Ramseys and subsequent misuse or dismissal of crime scene evidence in the Jon Benet murder a shocking misjudgment. I said so while touring out of state with some other Femmes a few months after the murder, for a Charlie Greene book set in Boulder, and was met with open hostility by people who came to hear us. I had two writer friends who were also social workers in different states tell me that if the parents were in the house when the child was murdered, one of them did it. That’s the way it always is. Well, no it isn’t.
Can we as writers trust the glut of often dated information constantly rerun on “fact” TV or on the web? My books border on the silly, but I hate to think I’m contributing to an already misinformed world that profiles infinitely complex people and circumstance with simple and arbitrary rules. That may make things easier, but doesn’t make them right. How do the famous Femmes handle this?
Donna Andrews
She's a sneaky one, that Marlys. She’s actually asking us to justify our existence—given today’s technological marvels, can anyone still write amateur sleuth mysteries?
I think so, if you either learn enough to use technology or find clever ways to sidestep it. I do both—whatever works at the time.
In my Meg Langslow series, I sidestep by having a short timespan and giving my heroine a reason to solve the murder ASAP. In Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon, she's rescuing a key employee of her brother's company—someone they urgently need on the job, not in jail. In We’ll Always Have Parrots, Meg fears that the publicity of a long investigation will damage her boyfriend’s chances for tenure at his stodgy university.
In my Turing Hopper series, technology plays a key role, and I have to do the research. Fortunately, I can call on my tech–savvy friends Dave and Paul—my tech review board. After reading the first draft of You’ve Got Murder, they remarked, “You didn't make nearly as many mistakes as most books and movies—and we can fix those.” Though even with their help it’s tough devising a mystery that will interest both technophobes and technophiles.
So yes—you can still write about amateur sleuths; it’s just a lot tougher these days. But maybe that's what makes it so much fun.ƒƒ
Elaine Viets
“Can you kill someone with a wine bottle?” I asked my friend Katie. “Full or empty?” she said. Every mystery writer needs a friend like Katie. She’s a pathologist, and helps keep my new Dead–End Job series dead–on accurate.
My novels are funny, but my forensic research is serious. Books and articles date quickly. For the latest forensic information, I get by with a little help from my friends. I consult homicide detectives, pathologists, and federal agents. Of course, I need to know what they’re saying. That’s why I took the death investigators course at St. Louis University. My goal was not to barf when I looked at autopsy photos for a week.
Each Dead–End Job novel brings a new forensic problem. For Shop till You Drop, I solved a murder using feline DNA. I learned how to get a DNA sample from a six–toed cat with an extra complement of claws. You need a Q–Tip and a peacock feather, but you have to read the book to see how it’s done. For Murder Between the Covers, Katie gave me the gory details about bleeding after death. For Dying to Call You, due out in October, I researched the lethal side of household products. Now I’m too scared to clean house. (OK, it’s a good excuse.)ƒƒ
Kris Neri
Facts? Scientific facts? We don’t need no stinkin’ facts!
Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Actually, forensic elements have sometimes played vital roles in my writings. But rather than sift through all the truths, near–truths and nowhere–near–truths out there on the web, I go straight to reliable sources. When I needed accurate information on a sniper shooting for Revenge of the Gypsy Queen, a friend’s police officer husband came through for me.
Sometimes, though, the source comes to me and ends up shaping my plot. Once I heard a criminalist speak, and while I found her talk interesting, little related to my writing. Until she made an off–the–cuff remark about killers only cleaning up the obvious places and leaving loads of evidence where they didn’t happen to look. That became an important clue in Dem Bones’ Revenge.
But while the scientific elements sometimes function as more critical turning points in my urban cozies than readers might believe, profiling will never have a place. My goal is to make every character—from the leads, to the suspects, to the walk–ons—unique and unrepeatable. The characters populating my writings are lively creatures who defy every attempt to categorize them, and who simply refuse to fit any pattern or further any stereotype. They surprise everyone, including me.
Profiles? We don't need no stinkin’ profiles!ƒƒ
Meg Chittenden
I spend hours, days, weeks, tracking down information in books, magazines, newspapers. I also talk to librarians, police officers, judges, medical examiners, crime lab specialists. I’ve taken a citizens’ police academy course, gone on ride–alongs with cops, and I’ve learned to shoot. A friendly forensic anthropologist advised me on what happens to dead bodies. I travel to the places I write about, photographing, checking out the scenery, the flora and fauna, the restaurants—buying postcards and maps, figuring out mileage. When my Charlie Plato series focused on a country western tavern, I took line dancing lessons and wore a cowboy hat. For my Pacific Northwest mysteries, I had help from an FBI agent and my local police department, and I walked the Seattle setting for More Than You Know. Same for the Port Townsend setting that my fictional Port Findlay is based on in Snap Shot.
I e–mail my doctor with medical questions. I’ve called up the local vet. I even took a self–defense course so I could write about one. I broke five ribs finding out what it was like to ski. I travel the internet looking for information I can’t find elsewhere, but then I check it out with any expert I can find. I probably still make mistakes, but I don’t worry about them!ƒƒ
Toni L.P. Kelner
I'm a professional liar. That’s what a fiction writer is, somebody who tells stories that didn't happen. But don’t think I get off easy. Lying is hard work. You can’t just tell any crazy tale, not if you want people to believe you. You want something that could have happened, and the best way to make sure nobody calls you out on pesky facts and physical laws is to keep your lies simple. So that's how I write my mysteries.
When I wrote about killing somebody with a blunt instrument in Down Home Murder, I didn’t describe the depth of the wound or how much blood there was or what part of the skull was impacted. I just said he was hit on the head. And when I have somebody shot dead in Wed and Buried, I don’t say exactly where the bullet hit or what the caliber of the weapon was or detail the angle of the wound. When the details don’t matter to my stories, I emulate all good liars and leave them out.
The fewer details I put in, the fewer chances there are for me to make mistakes, which makes it that much more likely that people will believe in the story. After all, what’s the point of being a professional liar if nobody believes me?ƒƒ
Julie Wray Herman
Way back when, in my Senior History class, I was singled out for an unexpected contribution to our discussion of a historical crime. I was not really that knowledgeable, nor did I sit in the library and research the subject for days on end in order to make this marvelous contribution. I just happened to have finished a well-written mystery novel that contained details about the crime.
Fortunately for me, the author had done her research. Had she not, I would have had egg on my face instead of a check– plus on my grade for the day.
Enter Three Dirty Women Landscaping, Inc., an endeavor in which two of my dreams came true. In one book I became a published author and the ‘owner’ of a successful landscaping business, all without even having to pick up a shovel. Perfect!
Except—the publisher wanted the book set in the southeast. I am a Texas Master Gardener. How do you landscape (even pretend–landscape) an area in which you’ve never gardened?
Research of course—which forced me to use a ‘shovel’ after all, turning over information gathered over the telephone, from the library, and pulled off the internet. I have been fortunate indeed to find police officers, forensic experts, medical personnel, as well as gardeners who generously shared their knowledge to help a writer get it right.ƒƒ
Charlaine Harris
I have two separate reactions to Marlys’ question.
(1) The overwhelming publicity surrounding high–profile crimes convicts the suspect before the trial is even held. What happened to presumption of innocence? At the same time, it’s statistically true that a victim is most often killed by the person closest to her. (Incidentally, the selectiveness of the media attention makes me ill. For every Laci Peterson, there are probably twenty pregnant women of color who vanish with no fanfare whatsoever. There’s no huge search effort on their behalf, no media coverage. I’m glad poor Laci is so widely mourned; I’m sorry every murdered woman doesn’t get the same attention. Enough of my personal soapbox.)
(2) In my books, I don’t use a lot of forensics, but I do use the modern fascination with forensics. For example, Sookie Stackhouse often thinks of details she’s learned from The Discovery Channel when she is trying to decipher a crime scene. I don’t use profiling at all; but the identity of the murderer has to make sense to me, and I try to plant fair clues through the book about the state of mind of the person who turns out to be the killer. I do believe you have to psychologically justify the crime, and also make sure it’s physically possible for your fictional suspect to have committed the murder.ƒƒ
Mary Saums
I don’t do police procedurals. My stomach gets too fluttery to write autopsies, so coroner books are out. I don’t have a clue about courtrooms, spies, or the latest ways the military can toast somebody. Mine are traditional mysteries, with emphasis on characters and a puzzle’s solution, using a minimum of blood, guts, or Clancy–esque factoid tutorials.
So I shouldn’t have to research anything, right? Nope. Like Willi Taft, my series protagonist, I’m female, Southern, and worked in the music business, so writing those aspects of her stories are a cinch. It’s that other stuff that causes problems.
In The Valley of Jewels, a Civil War professor is murdered, and there’s a back story set during the War, related through fictional diaries. That required extensive library stints. As Willi goes from recording sessions to private eye work, she has to know what PIs can do. Her business partner is a retired policeman, so she relies on him for procedural information. Which means I have to make occasional phone calls to local pros in the field. I do search the Web, mostly for weird details, like do they have Putt–Putt in the UK? Otherwise, police procedure and CSI techniques happen off-stage, with a minimum of discussion. Willi’s investigations move around the murder, a circuit that leads her to the killer without benefit of forensic evidence.ƒƒ