My
grandsons' school invited me to lecture about mystery writing in the classrooms
of Alexander and Nathaniel, shown here in their Halloween costumes from last
October.
At this
juncture, their third-grade writing syllabus calls for them and their
classmates to try their hands at mystery stories. One suggestion was that I talk about my process
as a writer. That's an easy thing for
any writer to describe, but it didn't seem it would help the children at all
with their own stories. Of course, there
is no lack of formulae for mystery writing; I could have taught them one of
those. But it didn't seem right to
constrain their young minds with structures they might take as hard and fast
rules. I wanted to come up with
something helpful to them in inventing out of their own imaginations.
About a
week before the gig, I woke up in the middle of the night, thinking about the
six major questions. A whole lot of
ruminating in the wee hours yielded a plan that worked well in both in Alexander’s class and in Nathaniel's a week later.
We started
by defining what the kids thought a mystery was. I wrote down their answers on the white
board--a projection system that takes a bit of getting used to. When any of the students shouted out a
definition that contained one of the question words—who, what, when, where, how and why—I put those words on a special list. When we had most of them up there, the
children filled in the missing ones.
Then, we
talked about how a mystery story usually begins with giving away the answers to
three or four of those questions. But
the writer withholds some of the answers.
I made a crude diagram.
........ .
. . .
. .
Did they
know the story of Hansel and Gretel?
Sure, they did. What did the brother
and sister do to help someone trying to follow them? Of course the kids knew that: a trail of
breadcrumbs! That's what mystery writers
do, I told them. They hold back the
answers to two or three important questions, usually but NOT always Who and Why. They start the story by dropping a whole pile
of breadcrumbs and then lead the reader through the rest by dropping a new hint
every once in a while. And sometimes
those hints are false ones. "Red herrings," a little girl with
glasses and a boy with Harry Potter-ish black unruly hair shouted in unison.
We spent
the rest of our time together inventing plots.
"Somebody think up a main character," I asked.
"A
cranky girl."
Somebody
describe a bad guy.
A boy who
actually looks like a hero but isn’t.
Who is
going to be our victim?
The
girl's grandmother.
For ten
minutes in a furious flurry of creative thinking, we invented plot after plot. They never asked me where I get my
ideas. They were just brimming with
them.
I don't know how the kids made out with the
stories they went on to write for themselves.
The few beginnings I saw showed a
lot of promise. A couple were astonishingly sophisticated in how they opened. One thing I know for sure: nothing I have
ever read or heard as a student of the genre ever crystallized my thinking
about how to plot a mystery as clearly as hanging out in the third grade.
Annamaria Alfieri
That was fun, Annamaria! You and Earl Staggs should form a club!! Thelma Straw in Manhattan
ReplyDeleteTrue, they blow your mind! I was guest speaker at the Albany Public Library, invited by the Friends to talk about the collection I edited, 'Queens Noir'. All of a sudden I noticed two lines of schoolchildren enter with their teacher and sit in the back. At the end, they were still there and, I sensed, wanted to ask questions but couldn't get past the senior citizens crowding the front. They were the 4th Grade from the Albany Middle School and had read my short story, 'First Calvary', in Queens Noir (probably the only story in the book legal for them to read; it was about a stand-up 9-year-old in a tough neighborhood). I went to the school, talked with them like you, Annamaria; read their work and felt uplifted. There were traditional prose stylists, outnumbered, however, by RAP versifiers.
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