How to Build Suspense by Ginger Simpson #suspense #mystery #writing tips

I am particularly interested in this topic because one of my current WIPs is going to be a suspense story.  I tried my hand at writing one and although I thought I did a great job of surprising the reader with the villain, reviews suggest otherwise.  The last thing you want in suspense is predictability.  Maybe using some of Elizabeth Sim's tips  borrowed by WRITERS DIGEST and an article written on how to FUEL YOUR STORY WITH SUSPENSE:

1. Elizabeth Sims is an American writer, journalist, and contributing editor at Writer's Digest magazine.
3. Born: 1957, Wyandotte, MI
4. Education: Michigan State University, Wayne State University
5. Awards: Lambda Literary Award for Lesbian Mystery

1.  Point a finger.  This can work to create and maintain suspense in any genre.  You can point to anything:  financial ruin, a broken heart, a lost opportunity....

2.  Pull a false alarm.

3.  Build a forgotten place.  (Example:  Edgar Allen Poe tricked an enemy into joining him in a wine cellar then bricked him up there.  Suspense rises in trying to figure out the reason.

4.  Plant a hazard, then wait.  An example Sims gives is a snake pit in True Grit.  It's introduced but not used until Mattie falls backwards into it.  Although from the moment of introduction, it's been lurking in the reader's mind.

5.  Make panic your friend.  Have your victim stumble and fall.  Built anticipation.

6.  Water a plant.  I see your confused stare.  *smile*  Growth of the character can be incredibly suspenseful.  Think about Rosemary's Baby, Carrie, The Bad Seed.  You water a plant and wait to see what it grows into.

7.  Withhold the right stuff.  According to Sims...withhold substance but give tantalizing information as in The Valley of Fear where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle keeps a character's identity secret from the other characters and readers thus giving everyone the opportunity to interpret clues.

8.  Banish someone....as in the Bible where God throws Satan out of Heaven...or if you wish to modernize...a troublesome kid gets sent to boarding school.  Let your imagination guide you.

9.  Rip it from the headlines.  Check your local news.

10. Fray an End.  Okay, I see that same blank stare.  Leave a cupboard door open because little odd things not quite in order create suspense, although subtle.

11.  Fake 'em out.  An example given...have the guard step out for a smoke.  Readers will suppose it's a great time for an escape.  Have the guard come back, think the same thing and race to where he finds the prisoner lounging peacefully.

12.  Stash Someone.  Harriet the Spy discovered how useful hiding is.  Watch and listen undetected.  Suspense conjures up questions such as:  What is you sneeze?  What is a dog comes along and detects the candy in your pocket?

13.  Seat a pigeon on a stool.  Guess what this means.

14.  Put a mask on it.  Use disguises or impersonation to build suspense.

15.  Amp the Unknown.  Stephen King is the master and has built a colossal career by using the unknown...example:  The Shining.

16.  Put a symbol to work.  Example:  A beautiful lake can represent the water of life, or symbolize something more unsettling.  For instance....it can transgress into something cold, hard and dangerous.

17.  Flip the Hourglass, then flip it again.  I see the puzzled look again.  :)  Example A Season in Purgatory by Dominick Dunne who skillfully works with time for max suspense.  From the start, the reader knows a murder occurred many years ago, and then transport the reader back in time to when the victim was alive.  How was the crime committed?  How was it hidden or exposed?  Then flash forward again to the conclusion.

18.  Double down on the Debt.  Huh?  Anyone knows when you do favors, people are in your debt and more easily persuadable.

19.  Isolate 'em.  How about a stuck elevator or a vehicle with a flat tire?

20.  Throw a Monkey wrench.  Make the reader work for the real culprit.

21.  Get your head into it.  Live and breath your writing.  If you do, you[ll have a greater chance of having your readers stick with you with bated breath.

Note from Ginger:  I'd like to take credit for all these tips, but it's evident these are from someone well-read and experienced.   The entire article is in the November/December 2014 issue, and it's great.

SUNDAY SNIPPETS WITH GINGER #sundaysnips

I'm giving you a teaser from Betrayed which is now on Amazon Countdown. Get your copy while the price is only 99 cents. The special lasts until May 1. I'm currently working on the second in the series, Deceived.



“Ring, damn it!” Cassie sat, curled up on the sofa, and stared at the phone. For the last hour she’d fought with herself about being the one to initiate the call, but her mother’s words echoed in her mind. “Nice girls don’t call boys. They wait.”

Cassie wondered what her mother would think about this whole Internet dating scene. Mom maintained old-fashioned standards, still believing that real men opened doors and threw their cloaks over mud puddles. Cassie opened her own doors and stepped over puddles, but the one thing she couldn’t do was fill the void of loneliness inside herself.

The phone’s loud ring sliced through the silence, startling her and ending her dilemma. She took a deep breath before she answered. She didn’t want to sound too eager.

“Hello.”

“Hi, purdy lady.”

Cassie’s heart warmed. She snuggled down on the couch and cuddled the phone between her head and shoulder.

 http://amzn.com/B00GXKW7OI

BLURB:

The advertisement claimed: “Find your true love; we’ll match you with the person of your dreams.” Their irritating spam clogged her computer inbox. "Free tonight? Let’s chat." Cassie Fremont thought of hitting the ‘trash’ button, but the promises were alluring. Divorced and so lonely, Cassie signs up for the on-line dating service. What she doesn’t know is the cost of the ticket for her ride on the romantic roller coaster from hell.

Now hop on over to these other blogs and view their Sunday Snippet:

http://www.jamiehill.biz/
http://triciamg.blogspot.com (Tricia McGill)

Friday Freebits with Ginger #Frifreebits

Today, I'm starting with a new release, The Well, which is my foray into self-publishing. 

  I also want to share a special announccement with you: After this month, Rita Karnopp is retiring from writing, and I'll be joined by Jamie Hill, a fellow Books We Love Author and friend.  I know you'll enjoy Jamie's posts and work and I feel certain you'll help me welcome her to Dishin' It Out.

My darling Rita has posted all her final blogs into April on her usual days, and after April 9th, Jamie will be blogging on Mondays and Fridays and I will blog on Wednesdays and Sundays.  I'm going to change Friday Freebits to Sunday Snippets and share 6 paragraphs from work (mine and guests), so I hope you'll continue to come read just enough to tease you.  :)  Speaking of teasing...here's six paragraphs from The Well.

Cover by Charlene Raddon

Harlee cranked the bucket up and shielded her eyes against the sun while looking longingly at the sky for any hint of rain. A few wispy white clouds drifted across a sea of blue, and in the distance, vultures circled some poor critter either dead or dying. Her heart ached for such a gruesome end to life. 

“Are you gonna take all day getting water?” Hannah poked her nose outside. “I’m mighty thirsty, just in case you care.” 

“Hold your horses, would ya? If you think you can fetch a bucket full any quicker, you’re welcome to try.” 

Hannah stuck out her tongue then disappeared back inside the house. No surprise, she wouldn’t put forth any effort. As the baby, she was spoiled rotten. 

Harlee turned her attention back to the chore at hand. The bucket crested the well’s top, only half full this time. The water used to be so high, she often bent over and stared at her reflection.  Doubtful she could see it now; she crawled up on the stone ledge and peered over, searching for any hint of her likeness. Stretching more…she still saw nothing but emptiness. The old stone beneath her grip gave way, sending her tumbling into the black abyss. Numbed by shock, her scream froze in her throat. 

She hit the water, creating a splash, although not a very big one. Pain shot through her head, and she grabbed her scalp to soothe the ache and found a huge lump had already formed. Something dripped down the side of her face. Was it water? She licked her hand and confirmed by the salty flavor—blood. Her attempt to choke back tears failed when the throbbing intensified and matched each beat of her heart. She cried until she got the hiccups, and leaned her head against the wall, waiting for them to stop.

Hope you'll come back next week for another installment.  Just in case you can't wait...The Well is available on my Amazon page. 

A Page Straight From... #apagestraightfrom

Veering from my Wednesday feature, I'm going to share a page from my WIP, The Well, which has no cover yet.  Please feel free to offer feedback.  I need all the help I can get on this one.  As you will probably be able to tell, it's a time travel.

THE WELL
OKLAHOMA


Hot winds drove a herd of tumbleweeds across endless acres of sod—broken and dried by the sun.  The devastating drought in Oklahoma continued on, leaving everything parched or dying.  Using the rope crank, Betsy Wagner lowered the bucket into the well. She swiped at the perspiration on her brow with the sleeve of her blue and white checked cotton dress.

Each time she fetched drinking water for the family, the rope attached to the wooden pail reeled closer and closer to the end.  What would they do if the well ran dry?  They’d already given up bathing and Ma only prepared one meal a day, using mostly vegetables she’d preserved and dried meat.  Her younger sister, Hannah, moaned the most, but change was inevitable if they were to survive.

Drastic times called for change. The horses needed water every day but Betsy no longer filled the trough, instead gave them small amounts from a pail.  The chickens seemed unaware of their plight and pecked unaffected at the ground, searching for insects.  A small dirt devil swirled across the empty corral and moved like a ghost-like apparition through the white-washed fence and then disappeared from sight behind the barn.  Rain was certain to come and things would improve.  She needed to cling to that hope.

Pa’s hunts were unsuccessful as most game had fled in search of vegetation. Fishing was no better since the lakes and streams dried up, leaving bloated trout and catfish littering the banks. At seventeen, this was the most severe time Betsy had witnessed in her life.  The plants in the garden were a withered as Betsy’s heart.  She'd never find a beau miles from nowhere to whisk her away to better times.  Her stomach growled the hunger and her dried mouth cried out for a long, cool drink.

A glance at the shack they called home served as a reminder there was no reason to stay in this God-forsaken place, but Pa saw something she didn’t and remained determined to make this their permanent home.  Perhaps it was because they’d been driven from every other place they’d lived…either by crooked tax men or cattlemen who didn’t want to share the rangeland.  Pa came from a family that raised sheep and saw that as his calling.

Betsy cranked the bucket up and shielded her eyes against the sun while looking longingly at the sky for any hint of rain, A few wispy white clouds drifted across a sea of blue, and in the distance, vultures circled some poor critter either dead or dying.  Her heart ached for such a gruesome end to life.

She turned her attention back to the chore at hand. The bucket crested the well’s top, only half full this time.  The water used to be so high, she often bent over and stared at her reflection.  Doubtful she could see her image now, she crawled up on the stone ledge and peered over, searching for any hint of her likeness. Stretching farther . . . she still saw nothing but emptiness.  The old stone beneath her grip gave way, sending her tumbling head first into the black abyss. Her screams echoed back to her.
Betsy hit the water, barely creating a splash.  This wasn’t the way she expected to prove how much remained.  Gathering her wits, she stood, wiped sodden hair from her face and found the water dismally came to her knees. Her second worst fear was realized…her first—how to get out of the well.
“Help me.  Ma!  Pa! Hannah!  Someone!  Heellllpppp!”  Her cries went unanswered but she yelled until she had no voice left.

Time slipped by, and she grew weary.  Her elbow, evidently skinned during the fall, ached and her knees begged her to sit.  The blue sky above darkened with the approaching nighttime, and Betsy sagged into the water letting it lap to her chin while she rested against the stony interior.  Why hadn’t someone come to look for her?

Despite her discomfort, Betsy slept.  She woke with a crick in her neck and fingers wrinkled from being under water.  She glanced up, praying to see someone peering back, but strangely, no longer saw the sky.  Could it still be nighttime?

  Straining her eyes, she noted light leaking around what appeared to be a cover.  Her mind whirred.  Was this all a bad dream?  The fact that she sat in water, confined in a stone prison confirmed the truth.  But why hadn’t someone missed her, and why did they cover the well unless her family thought her dead.  With a hoarse voice, she shouted as loud as she could, but still no one responded.  Trying to find a bright spot, she remembered the circling vultures.  At least she’d cheated them out of a meal, but that didn’t lift her spirits.  Tears plunked into the water, barely making a ripple. Death would surely claim her and deny her marrying, having a family of her own and growing old with them.  She rested her hand on her bosom, searching for a heartbeat.  Maybe she was already dead and didn’t realize it.

****

"Warshing" Clothes Recipe

I received this from a friend and it harkened me back to the days when I recall my grandmother doing laundry in her "wringer'style"machine.  She always joked about having gotten her boobs caught in the wringer from time to time and that's why they were was so long.  Well, I've learned the natural way that wasn't true.  I've never owned a wringer style machine and I went from a 38 DD to a 42 Long with just the help of gravity. Maybe it was just Granny's way of preparing me for life.  *smile*

 This "recipe" takes things back even before those types of machines were invented. Thought I'd share this piece of fun and see if it brought back some memories for you, too.

Never  thought of a "warsher" in this light before...what a blessing! "Warshing  Clothes Recipe" -- imagine having a recipe for this! Years ago, an Alabama grandmother gave the new bride the following recipe exactly as written and found in an old scrapbook with spelling errors and all.    WARSHING  CLOTHES      Build fire in backyard to heat kettle of rain water. Set tubs so smoke wont blow in eyes if wind is pert. Shave one hole cake of lie soap in boilin water. Sort things, make 3 piles -- 1 pile white, 1 pile colored, 1 pile work britches and  rags. To make starch, stir flour in cool water to smooth, then thin down with boiling  water. Take white things, rub dirty spots on board, scrub hard, and boil, then rub colored don't boil just wrench and starch. Take things out of kettle with broom stick handle, then wrench, and starch. Hang old rags on fence. Spread tea towels on grass. Pore wrench water in flower bed. Scrub porch with hot soapy water. Turn tubs upside down. Go put on clean dress, smooth hair with hair combs.     Brew cup of tea, sit, rock a spell, and count yore blessings.    "Warshing"  Clothes Recipe                                  Paste  this over your washer and dryer. The next time you  think things are bleak, read it again, kiss that washing machine and dryer, and give thanks. The  first thing each morning ,you should run and hug  your washer and dryer.        For  non-Southerners - wrench means rinse.

First Breakup or Makeup

First Breakup

It was over.  I couldn't believe I'd cheated on my boyfriend...and with his buddy, to boot.  What was wrong with me?  I had the most handsome boyfriend in the Air Force, stationed only a few miles from my house and I blew it.  Sure, my dad didn't approve of me dating GIs, but I'd gotten my neighbor to sign my permission slip to be a Jr. Hostess at the base dances.  All those nights my parents thought I was at my friends...well, I sort of was.  :)

But those memories were gone.  I'd thrown away a blue-eyed, blond hunk for a chance to go out with someone who looked exactly like Fabian Forte, and now I hated that I'd been so stupid.  I couldn't stop crying, and Woody's phone calls, while drinking, of course (yes he was older than me), kept reminding me that I'd broken his heart.  Still I questioned how much he cared for me when he refused to call me by name because he thought I looked more like a, "Sue."  Maybe that was an omen. Still, the thought of not being with him crushed my very soul.

I went to school the following Monday, depressed, upset, and wanting to be anywhere but in a classroom trying to concentrate.  All I could think about was getting Woody back.  But how?  It didn't matter...my dreams were dashed during lunch, when I overheard my nemesis, Diana, talking about how she was now dating Woody since he'd tossed me in the trash.  Broken heart my buttcheek!  He hadn't wasted a minute of time getting over me.  Although I can't say I didn't smile when I heard her tell her friend that they couldn't actually "date" for a while since he'd broken both his legs jumping off the barracks balcony after he discovered I'd cheated.  Alcohol seems to make people think they're invincible or something. My immediate thought was,   I wonder if Bill, Fabian's twin, is still available.  To shorten my story, he wasn't, but I ended up with Sonny Swegles as my next possible conquest.  It's amazing how quickly your heart heals when you're young, and there are so many possibilities.  :)

Postscript:  I still wonder what happened to Woody, and wish he hadn't had such a common name (Johnny Woods).  I'd love to know if life was kinder to him after he left the military.  I know Diana and he lasted only a short time, and she married another of our classmates and they're still wed to date.  I went on to find happiness with my first husband, and we lasted thirty-two years, so that's not a bad track record.  :)  I'm on marriage number two now (featured a few of my "first" posts) and we just celebrated fifteen years wed but we jokingly tell people it's been fifty.  God, I'm old.  I've been married longer than most people have been alive.  Don't know how that works when I'm actually 35 in my mind.

Join me tomorrow for "Best First Love of 2011."  Click the links below to view the other entries:

1. Ravencrafts Romance Realm 5	2. Louisa Bacio -- Love Knows No Bounds 4	3. Margay Leah Justice 5
4. Ginger Simpson - Dishin It Out 7	5. Dianne Hartsock-Write What Brings You Joy 5	6. Deannas Tidbits 5
7. Brenda & Steve, Authors of Erotica 6	8. Sarah Gilman Books 5	9. Readers Haven 2
10. Tonyas Tales 2	11. Writers Block NZ 3

The Impact of Editing, Writing and Reading

This is how I hope readers view my work.  I want to make colors so vibrant, emotions so real, and characters so likeable, that people can connect with the storyline and experience my tale through the eyes of the hero or heroine.  That's the sign of an author who knows their craft.

I have confidence that I've achieved my goal in most of my books.  Short stories, not so much.  I find reviewers comment about the length, wishing for more, so that tells me that I've connected in some way, but there is only so much you can pack into fewer words.

New rules crop up every day and make me question where they come from.  As someone who has been writing for over ten years now, I wonder if they existed way back when, and my editors weren't versed enough in writing themselves to know about them.  When I first started, a great majority of the editorial staff on board we authors with credentials and experience not much more than my own.  My first editor was very knowledgeable about historical facts, and I learned a ton from her about showing my story to the reader, but passive voice, head hopping, and cause before effect didn't seem to matter to her, nor did the numerous times I used "that" which later was cause for a rejection from another house.

Now my latest quirk has become the use of identifying tags that are now deemed unnecessary.  Evidently, in the characters' POV, the reader will assume that the person doing the knowing, seeing, hearing, etc, is the main character, so sentences starting with she heard, she knew, she watched, she saw, etc., add nothing but words to the story.

Speaking of words...I tend to see lots of the above sentences in mainstream writing...in fact in most books I've read lately, so I wonder are authors adding them to up their word count.  I also wonder if readers notice the number of times we use a character's name in paragraphs...especially when forced to in order to help them decipher between characters.  I recently received a critique where the critiquer had highlighted every instance of the heroine's name, which seemed excessive to her.  I wrote back and explained that through various editing experiences, I'd learned pronouns reflect back on the last person named, so if I introduced another character into the scene, I had to name my heroine to differentiate.  Confusing?  Yes!  Of course, when you use too many pronouns, editors take issue with that too.  It all comes down to being able to reword sentences or use phrases that allow a breather from the norm.  I'm learning still.  Writing is one career or pastime where you never stop acquiring new knowledge.  The problem is determining whether it's factual or fiction.  Not everything passed along is true or worthy of time spent changing your writing habits. 

Each writer has a voice unique to themselves.  Some houses abhor "ing" starts to sentences, but I assume that's because all authors haven't figured out how to use them correctly.  I critiqued a story a few days ago which was worded something like, Entering the room, her heart fluttered.  If you read it quickly you may gloss over the fact that her heart entered the room.  Where was the rest of her?  I'm sure this is something I did in my earlier writing, but now I try to pay attention and send the whole body along with the heart.

Other publishers want us to avoid 'ly' words and use strong verbs.  There are just some instances where you want to share with the reader that she spoke softly.  She didn't whisper, but she wasn't speaking in her normal tone, so an 'ly' word is called for.  In my opinion, the problem with rules is that we take them literally and don't apply them with rationale.  I had one editor comment that I had removed so much passive voice from my story, my writing sounded stilted and had no flow.

The rule with rules is to apply what works.  Take them with a grain of salt and try to avoid redundancies, find stronger verbs, send in the whole person and not just a body part, and remember that eyes don't roam the room, a gaze does.  Someone doesn't fling their hands in the air, but they might lift their arms over their head.  Leave out the amazing body tricks. You can't chuckle a response, but you can before or after your character speaks, so omit that comma.  Even more annoying for me, are tags that describe a person's speech before they've even spoken.  Which is better for you?

He whispered, "Are you okay?"

"Are you okay," he whispered.

A ton of rules are applied at the discretion of your editor.  You may find one who is annoyed by something as simple as the above example, or you may have one assigned who is more concerned with how many times you use "was."  Tomorrow, it may all be different.  Just remember to check house rules when you submit.  I'm finding a vast difference in requirements concerning punctuation, fonts, spacing, margins, indents, and whether to use "Chapter" or just a number.  Oy vey....so much to absorb and so little brain cells left to work with.   Writing is a challenge, so make sure you're up for it.

Feel free to comment on some of your pet peeves.  I'd love to know that me and my internal editor are not the only ones finding some habits more annoying than others.