Winging It

Recently, I had an amiable online discussion with someone over whether or not George Lucas had already planned out how the Force works by the time the first Star Wars movie was released. I’m still pretty sure he was winging it, given he couldn’t be certain whether or not he’d get to make more movies in the universe. That led me to thinking about winging it as a such when you’re a writer.

I tend to do it regularly myself while I’m writing. When I stumble across a one-off object or other detail, I make it up on the spot without really thinking about it. That then sometimes comes back to haunt me when the object, skill, or other detail later needs to be expanded on. Luckily, I’m quite good at winging that, too, and add more detail and depth even if I didn’t do so originally. That might be due to my past as a discovery writer, though.
Even though I do plot by now, my plotting is not set in stone. Therefore, I might suddenly find that I need to introduce something to finish a scene, just a little detail that is important for the moment, but won’t really play a role long-term, since my general plot usually is not affected by changes to a scene as plotted originally. I still know where I’m going, even if I might take a slightly altered route.
In my experience, those ‘spurt of the moment’ additions are fine. They exist simply to enrich a scene, not to make any important changes to the overall story. For that, I can wing it. Sometimes, though, I’m wrong and it turns out that the detail becomes much more important as the story progresses.

In such a situation, there is one big danger, which is to overthink things to make up for under-thinking them before. After just having thrown the thing in the first time, it gets to be developed far further and into something far more complicated than it needs to be and the end result is not working out as it should.
This has happened to me, too. When I first wrote the basic outline for “Stray” (the first novella featuring Gabrielle Munson), I didn’t think much about the necromancy in the story — there was no reason to, as she was mostly on the run and would only use her powers to find out who really had done the murders by asking a victim. When I expanded into other stories, when the first book took shape, I began to realise that I needed to go deeper. I began to overthink.
I tried to write down a whole essay on how necromancy worked, tried to make it all logical and invent rituals which I wasn’t going to need any time soon. Then I took a step back and realised it wasn’t necessary. I needed to write Gabrielle’s skills as a necromancer and an alchemist down to keep them in mind. I needed to make sure I wasn’t writing one thing in one story and the opposite in another. I didn’t need a full magic system for her skills — she uses them little enough. I had overthought and I had to stop doing that.

If you don’t keep notes of the details in your stories, you might also run into a situation where the audience will wonder why your main character doesn’t just use a skill or object shown in a prior story. It’s important to keep track of skills which your recurring characters have shown, in case you need to use them again when they would normally be used again instead of the new solution you want to implement in your plot.
This goes twice for any kind of skill or special object you have given a character in a pinch. As you’ve been winging it, there was no planning this out in advance and you’re probably not expecting to ever use it again. If you’re writing a series, though, you should write it down so you will remember it — parts of the audience definitely will.
Sooner or later, you might put the character into a similar situation and again wing it and write something else in to help that character. Fans of the series will remember that magical object or advanced technology or little-mentioned skill which the character used the last time and they’ll be surprised to see it doesn’t make an appearance. They might even get sarcastic about it, realising you’ve forgotten.

One thing you should never do is wing an important or recurring aspect of the story. When you want to implement something for good, it needs to be thought-out or you will sooner or later be in trouble. Skills and special objects need to be balanced, otherwise they will lower the tension and that is never a good thing. Relationships or backgrounds of recurring characters need to be able to survive the stories or change accordingly. It is always possible to add more details later, but the foundation must be sound.
This should go without saying, but you don’t always know which part of a recurring character is going to become the most important over time. Even if you plan out a full series, while writing it, you might find that there needs to be a certain shift. It has certainly happened to me, see the necromancy in “Theoretical Necromancy”.
Before you give a major character a skill or object, you especially need to think about how it can be used. Even if it’s normally limited, if there’s a way to misuse it, that way has to be eradicated. If one character’s skill or object completely cancels out another character’s skill or object, there might need to be changes. Balance is important for both the stakes and the tension and that means the protagonists must appear under-powered compared to the antagonists.

‘Winging it’ is a solution for small details that are not used for long in a story. Sometimes, you just need to make something up on the spot. Yet, if the detail is a skill or object that might return at some point or be useful again, it pays to keep a note on it, especially in a series. You never should try to wing something important for the story, either, because it will always come back to bite you later on. Always…

Sherlock Holmes And Count Dracula Deep Dive

This deep dive follows right on the coattails of a blog post on how not to use supernatural elements in a story (which was also about a Sherlock Holmes novel). In “The Classified Dossier —Sherlock Holmes and Count Dracula” by Christian Klaver, there are a lot of supernatural elements, but they’re well-incorporated in the four stories and they actually work out well.

There will be spoilers, as I want to dive into how the book deals with its ample supernatural content!

This book dives fully into the supernatural from the beginning, as Count Dracula appears in the first chapter of the first story — to seek Sherlock Holmes’ help. In most novels which include Sherlock Holmes and Dracula (and you might be surprised at how many there are), they are set against each other. Not so in this book. In this book, they’re on the same side.
While there have been rare cases where they were not directly on opposite sides of the board (“A Betrayal in Blood”, in which Holmes tries to figure out the whole Dracula affair, springs to mind), they usually are not working together. Dracula is considered a villain (for good reasons) and Holmes is a hero — they’re not supposed to be on the same side of anything. Normally, it is Holmes who comes to the aide of someone threatened by Dracula (often one of the Vampire Hunters around van Helsing) and takes up the fight against the undead count.
This book, on the other hand, does it well by making Dracula a client who wants Holmes to help him find his wife Mina (yes, that Mina). They’re not knocking about together for mutual friendship and Holmes doesn’t always like his clients — he’ll still work for them if the case is interesting or the stakes are high enough. The stakes in this case certainly are high enough.

Vampires are also introduced as people with an infection. They are still alive, but they have a changed body which barely breathes and has a seriously slow heartbeat. The audience hears it from Dracula, but later on also from Watson, who is turned into a vampire, too.
As the story is still told from Watson’s perspective, this also means the audience comes to understand the differences between humans and vampires as Watson does. Watson is a rare vampire who keeps his personality and morals after the change while most vampires who make it through the first ‘animal’ stage of the change become predators with little left of their convictions as humans. They are intelligent, they remember their past, but they don’t care about human morals any longer. Mary Watson (who turns her husband) becomes an example of that.

In the climax, I would have liked for the big bad in the background, the ‘Mariner Priest’ to have been someone else, though. Moriarty is just a villain in the Sherlock Holmes canon, not the only villain. Anyone else would actually have been better — except perhaps for Irene Adler.
It’s not that Moriarty (who had apparently just become a vampire before Reichenbach) doesn’t make for a good villain. Cold-blooded mastermind and vampire is a dangerous combination and he comes up with an interesting solution to the ‘animal’ stage of the vampire transformation. Yet, ‘it was Moriarty all along’ is just too common to still be a proper plot twist by now.

One thing which breaks things up a little is the influence of Lovecraftian horror in the second story (this plot will eventually be taken up again in the sequel), yet this also shows that the oceans — where Moriarty is floating about with his followers — are more dangerous than one might think.
This also means there are more supernatural powers around than just the vampires (the Jekyll-Hyde transformation will follow in the sequel) and gives Holmes and Watson something to do while the main plot is brewing in the back and coming around again eventually.
Personally, I think that introducing the deep ones and Dagon is a nice idea, given the whole ‘vampire ship on the seas’ situation and the title of ‘Mariner Priest,’ which could very well point to a Lovecraftian background and makes for a nice red herring.

While each of the four stories which the book is comprised of is self-contained to a degree, all four also form a larger story of a kind. They fit together, boosting Watson’s understanding of his new powers and Holmes’ understanding of the supernatural which in the end make the victory possible. They also introduce the audience to a wider world than just ‘vampires exist.’ There’s deep ones out there. There’s vampires. There’s supposedly other creatures as well.
The world is much larger and stranger than the regular person is aware of — and Watson is now inevitably part of this larger world for good and has drawn his closest friend into it, too (although Holmes is still fully human). Now, Holmes and Watson also have to keep a secret from the world — Watson’s change. He has new needs — and I still don’t know what Holmes has told Mrs. Hudson about that teapot of warm chicken or cow blood which Watson now takes in the evening when he gets up. He has new powers, but also new weaknesses.
Watson works through his new relationship with his wife Mary eventually (it helps that she dies, it doesn’t help that he’s the one who has to kill her to save his friend) and has to face the fact that he will probably spend more time in this world with Kitty Winters (who has also been turned) or the Count and Countess Dracula than with his best friend. Holmes refuses to be turned early on, claiming he’d be a huge danger for mankind as a vampire.

The author is also excellent at dropping hints for what will happen. It’s never too obvious and always close to when it becomes important, which is how I love my foreshadowing.
Especially in the last story when the big confrontation happens, there is a hint dropped which enables the whole twist in the end — the simple mention that Holmes and Dracula are the same height and build and both have a similar facial structure. This is what brings Moriarty down in the end — thinking he’s caught the human Holmes, but really having brought the vampire Dracula too close. A lot of things established before, like a vampire having next to no scent for another while a human has a strong one or vampires having a much stronger sense of smell than sight, play a huge role in that situation.
All of this is mentioned before and enables the audience to see how clever the plan which Holmes and Dracula come up with really is.

Unlike “The Dartmoor Horror”, “Sherlock Holmes and Count Dracula” makes the best of its supernatural aspects. Every aspect is useful. Every aspect plays its role in the story. Even the seeming tangent of the deep ones and the Lovecraftian horror has its use. This is ‘supernatural Sherlock Holmes’ done right.

Doing Nothing With A Plot

“The Dartmoor Horror” by Joe DeSantis is a Sherlock Holmes novel which does include supernatural aspects within the story. It is also an unofficial sequel to “The Hound of the Baskervilles”. This is not about how supernatural elements can’t be introduced into a Sherlock Holmes story. I’ve seen that done very well in other books (look out for a deep dive on one of those soon). It’s about the way in which the supernatural elements are used — a way that makes them surplus to requirements.

There will be spoilers in this post! I can’t discuss the plot threads without talking about what is happening.

The main plot of the story is sound. Jack Stapleton (the lost child of the lost Baskerville brother) has survived the events of “The Hound of the Baskervilles” — which would be possible, as he is lost in the Grimpen Mire, so there’s no body. Stapleton, who knew the mire like the back of his hand, might very well have made it to the tin mine in the middle and hidden from the authorities there. He’s still after the Baskerville fortune, which also makes sense, although I’m not quite sure how he would have claimed it after Sir Henry’s death (Costa Rica was mentioned, though). Stapleton has an assistant in Murphy, a character mentioned as being shady and knowledgeable about the moor in the original book. That, too, pans out.
The romance sub-plot between Sir Henry and Laura Lyons also works out. While it’s not the most natural thing for them to connect, it’s still believable and well-handled. With both of those plot threads working as they should, the whole novel is standing on solid feet. Both of these threads also don’t need any supernatural element to work, as you might already have noticed.

Now for the supernatural elements. Keep in mind that the original novel had a supposedly supernatural element in the hound already, but made it turn out to be something natural instead (a specific dog breed which Stapleton had bought and trained). The basic possibility of using supernatural elements in a sequel is there. After all, the story of Sir Henry and the hound has a scientific background, but there’s still Sir Hugo being killed by a Hellhound centuries earlier.
The Hellhound is back in the sequel, this time as a real, physical creature which, in an interesting twist of fate, becomes a guardian and protector for Sir Henry. Yet, I can see how that would work out if used well.
The second element is an ancient bog witch who is raised by Murphy with his grandmother’s help (Murphy has been exiled from his clan, but is still Romany) and who apparently was alive at the time of Sir Hugo already. She is the more unnecessary of the two elements, as there’s nothing she does which can’t be done without her.

The Hellhound could work nicely within the narrative. It has been around to ‘punish’ evil members of the Baskerville family before, from Sir Hugo onwards. This is hinted at in “The Hound of the Baskervilles” already where several strange deaths on the moor are mentioned. Yet, if the hound kills the evil Baskervilles, why should it not also protect a good one?
Within the story, Sir Henry does a lot of good for the nearby towns and villages, taking care of the repairs to the local church and having specialists do repair work on the local roads. For a poor community living in the middle of a large moor, that is certainly a blessing. He also treats the hound well when it comes to him, starving and injured. This is what wins the hound’s loyalty and proves he’s worthy of its protection.
In addition, Stapleton is a Baskerville as well (otherwise the main plot would make no sense) and certainly one on a level with Sir Hugo himself. By protecting his new friend, the hound could very well also return to its job of punishing the evil members of the family.
In a better use of the hound, it would come to Sir Henry’s aide in the big climax and either kill Stapleton like it killed Sir Hugo or at least drag him into a bog in plain view of others, so it is clear this time around that he’s really dead. That is not what happens, though.

Unlike the Hellhound, the bog witch has no practical use within the story. I personally always approve of a little necromancy on the side, but there is no reason to have the witch there. She does nothing which no other established character could be doing instead.
In the story, the witch kills two people, one by luring him into the bog (which is what she enjoyed doing before she died in that bog herself) and one in a more direct way (presumably by strangling or breaking his neck, the audience doesn’t ‘see’ the death). Yet, before she’s raised from the bog, Stapleton has already committed two murders himself. He’s not shy of doing it and he’s certainly capable of it, too. He doesn’t need the witch to do his dirty work, as he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself. In addition, one of the witch’s two victims (two more are suggested, but it’s not clear whether she’s killed them, too) is superfluous and the other one could just as well have been waylaid and killed by Stapleton.
Frankland, Laura Lyons’ estranged father, is lured off the track on his way back home after telling Laura he doesn’t approve of her divorce and new engagement to Sir Henry. He is lured into the bog and sinks slowly while the bog witch watches. Apart from how that is not how swamps and bogs work, there is no reason why Stapleton on his own or with the help of Murphy couldn’t just overpower Frankland and put him in the bog. The end result would be the same.
The second victim, the superfluous one, is an old man who has seen Murphy move about on the moor at night, mostly to bring Stapleton food and water and to get his marching orders from his boss. This character is never mentioned before, he has not caught Sherlock Holmes’ eye already, and his murder is not noted in any way. His death has no influence whatsoever on the outcome of the story. This murder is pointless and unnecessary and should simply have been left out.
With that, the witch has completely lost her use for the story. Her first victim could just as well have been killed by Stapleton (who murdered with his own hands before already) and the second victim could simply have been left out completely.
In the end, the bog witch tries to kill Sir Henry and the Hellhound comes to his aide, grabbing the witch and bearing her into the bog. The hound could just as well have done that with Stapleton. Stapleton is again fleeing into the Grimpen Mire and supposed to have been killed when taking a misstep after Holmes has moved his new markers. To be honest, I would have preferred a confirmed death the second time.

Unfortunately, “The Dartmoor Horror” is a good example of how not to do supernatural elements in a story. The Hellhound and the witch cancel each other out and become pretty superfluous that way. The Hellhound could have been a nice addition to the story, a nod to the legend which is read out to Holmes at the beginning of “The Hound of the Baskervilles”, but it hasn’t been used that way. The witch isn’t needed in a story where the villain has already proven he’s able to kill before she’s even raised. She is neither a tool for the villain nor a mentor or other useful helper.

A Body Isn't Necessary

At the beginning of the year, I wrote a post about how ‘there must be a body.’ I was referring to S.S. van Dine’s “Twenty Rules of the Detective Story” and to my own experience with a cosy mystery without a murder which was horrid as a mystery novel (it was a nice romance novel, though, even if that wasn’t planned, I’m sure). S.S. van Dine claimed that a detective story must have a body ‘the deader, the better.’ After reading the book, I had to agree with him. After reading another two books, I now have to disagree to a degree.

I recently read two mysteries by Shanna Swendson from her ‘Lucky Lexie’ series which didn’t feature a body at all. In one case, there was a suggestion of murder and there not being a body was the point (“Case of the Vanishing Visitor”) whereas the other case didn’t even suggest a murder (“Case of the Curious Crystals”). Yet, none of the stories lacked in tension, stakes, and enjoyment for the reader.
Tension and stakes, of course, are what makes us enjoy a story. We want to read on because there’s something at stake and we enjoy the story more and more as the tension rises and pushes our own engagement with the characters and their possible fates. Now I think that the failure of the book mentioned above wasn’t not to have a murder, it was not to have stakes for the main characters and thus no raising tension. There was no personal involvement and there was nothing horrid to happen if the stolen fireworks weren’t found. The two books mentioned in the last paragraph, though, manage to build up stakes and tension wonderfully.

In “Case of the Vanishing Visitor”, Lexie seems to have met a woman who got herself killed afterwards. Given that Lexie can speak to ghosts and the woman is not to be found, dead or alive, it seems as if, perhaps, Lexie met the woman after she’d been killed already, but in the end, the facts don’t add up and it turns out that the woman isn’t dead and was never in danger of dying, either. Yet, the way the story handles the plot is excellent and you go through the uncertainty and the worry with Lexie as she tries to find the woman, dead or alive. It’s, therefore, not horrid when the woman turns up alive — it’s rather something you’re glad for after going through the story and learning about all the bad things that might have happened to her.
In “Case of the Curious Crystals”, no dead body is even suggested. A wave of strange thefts runs through the town and sows distrust between the regular ‘townies’ and the descendants of the sideshow crew (this is part of the town’s world-building and discussed from the first book of the series onwards — ‘Curious Crystals’ is the second book). Lexie needs to find out who steals cheap 1930s costume jewellery and why and so she stumbles over a try to sway the jury of an upcoming court case. The story has stakes — at least for Lexie and her love interest/local cop Wes, as both don’t condone influencing the court even if it’s not a murderer going free. More importantly, if the case is not solved, the tension between the townies and the sideshow descendants will only rise and one day might end in the severe injury or even death of an innocent person. That can’t be allowed. There’s stakes, there’s tension, there’s a satisfying end, so there’s a good book.
The other three of the five cases in the series (so far — fingers crossed here) do include at least one murder each, so it’s not as if the author has gone for lower stakes in general. The stakes in the two ‘body-less’ cases also don’t feel low at all. Sure, it might be more threatening if you’re caught in a bed-and-breakfast in a storm with a murderer, but watching as people distrust their neighbours simply for their pedigree can also be scary.

Lexie only has a personal involvement with the first case — she has found the victim, she is the person from out of town, and she is standing to gain something from their death (not that she knew and not that she needs them dead as it turns out). In all other cases, her interest in the case as the editor and reporter of the local weekly newspaper get her involved and she strives to solve the crime for the sake of solving it as well as for a more satisfying article in the newspaper. Not to mention that the ghosts of the victims want her to solve it so they can pass on. Then there’s the ghost of the former owner and editor of the newspaper, a delightful 1930s business woman, who will not be satisfied unless the newspaper brings out the news before the gossip mill can.
Nevertheless, all cases are engaging and interesting. They’re being brought to her attention in a suitable way, pulling her out of the regular life in town she has grown used to. They are challenging her by not being simple ‘open and shut’ cases. They involve friends and neighbours and her understanding of justice as well as her wish to make every edition of the newspaper as good as it can be. Not to mention that they bring her into closer contact with the charming and handsome Wes…

It is easier to make high stakes and rising tension when there is a murderer on the run, of course. In a cosy mystery (which is probably not the kind of detective story S.S. van Dine was thinking of in his semi-serious list), the stakes don’t have to be that high and the tension can rise much more slowly. In the end, the stakes must be high enough to engage the audience. The tension must rise fast enough to make them want to read on. If that is happening, you can have a good cosy mystery without a body and people will still enjoy themselves while reading it.

Supernatural Cosy Mysteries

I have liked cosy mysteries for a long time already, yet there is one big problem with them: keeping it believable that a regular person would get drawn into several murder investigations. In more recent years, I’ve found myself drawn more towards supernatural cosy mysteries and those where the profession of the main character makes it easier to explain them being drawn into murder investigations. Quite often, those overlap in my book collection. Why the draw to the supernatural, though?

Suspension of disbelief is probably one of the main reasons. With a supernatural story, I am already doing more suspension of disbelief while I’m reading it — I have to believe in witches, demons, or other supernatural beings. It’s easier to move on from that to the idea that a regular person (well, a regular supernatural being) could be drawn into several criminal investigations.
I am already stepping away from ‘real’ life when I’m opening a book where the main character is a witch or a fury or can speak to ghosts. From there, the idea that they are also stumbling over dead bodies and get drawn into solving the mystery of the dead isn’t that far-fetched. Especially someone who speaks to ghosts would be a draw for every ghost who needs a wrong righted — and what bigger wrong is there than being murdered?
Things also might work differently among supernatural beings. Perhaps they don’t have the same government structure. Perhaps they are much more tight-knit and need to keep the whole case from regular law enforcement. There are options and with that, it is easier to keep believing for longer.

In addition, of course, quite some of my favourite supernatural cosy sleuths, such as Eden Fury, are already working within the legal system or are at least researchers by profession and character.
Of course it is only natural for a law-enforcement agent to investigate a murder in their town. It’s their job when all is said and done. Of course a reporter and editor will not allow themselves to be send away from the scoop that will make people buy the next edition of the local newspaper. Of course the defence lawyer of the town will look into a crime their client is accused of.
This works without the supernatural element, too, of course. Yet, it helps explaining why someone is stumbling over corpses and needs to figure out how the murder happened and who did it for what reason.

It’s not that I need for magic to be present in every moment of the story or only want to have supernatural beings all around. Most of the stories I’ve read have supernatural people mingle discreetly with normal people, so there’s also humans who are completely unaware that there is something like magic or vampires or whatever. Yet, supernatural elements play their part and usually play it well.
With Eden Fury from the Federal Bureau of Magic, it’s often less about the case as a such (although the case will be solved by the end of the book) and more about the shenanigans which happen with her family made up of witches, demons, vampires, angel-hybrids, and other supernaturals. With Jayne Frost, it’s about the daughter of the ruler of the North Pole stumbling over cases while she’s just trying to manage a toy shop and decide which one of the two possible lovers she should choose (she chooses a third one in the end, by the way).
Human life and supernatural elements mingle in those stories and I love that very much, because being a witch or a vampire or a fury or Jack Frost’s daughter doesn’t mean you’re not also, deep down, a human being with a love live and your own wants, needs, and fears.

World-building is another aspect for me. Every book has to build a bit of the world, has to give the reader a framework of how things are, of what to expect. There is a world someone lives in — a town or village in most cosy mysteries —, which needs to take on shape so the audience knows where the characters are going, who is living and working where, and how they are connected. It’s about the streets and landmarks as much as about the families and friends.
One big world-building problem with all cosy mysteries is that cosy mysteries are usually set in a small town or a village (US authors seem to favour the town whereas UK authors seem to favour the village) where not that many murders should be happening. That takes some serious suspension of disbelief of its own — which I also find easier to do when supernaturals are involved. It seems to me that in a village or town filled with supernatural beings, there is a higher chance that things might heat up and end in a murder or other serious crime. A fight between two regular men in a bar will most likely lead to a few black eyes and other bruises. A fight between a vampire and a werewolf, on the other hand, could very well leave one of them dead as they’re much stronger and have predatory instincts.
A book with supernatural content has more world-building to do to integrate the parts which are not ‘real’ with the parts which are. Often, it is much more detailed for this reason and gives me a better feeling for the town it’s all set in. It’s a town with werewolves and vampires in it, so there are going to be things which are different and things which are as you’d expect them to be. It’s fun to find out more about that as I dive into the stories.

Cosy mysteries will always have problems when they reach a certain number of stories. In the end, it might be easier to believe that someone has just stumbled over their tenth (or seven-hundredth — looking at you, “Murder, She Wrote”) body if they also have witchcraft at their disposal or live in a town full of supernatural creatures. If they’re in a profession where contact with crimes is a thing, it’s even more believable for them to stumble over several murders over time. I love cosy mysteries in general and find I can follow series with supernatural aspects for longer without getting all ‘she’s found another body again?’ about it.

Mr. Straight White Dude

Over the course of the last one-hundred-and-twenty or so years, a standard hero has emerged in storytelling: the straight white man. Or, as I call him, Mr. Straight White Dude. Even in many stories not written by white men, the hero is a straight white man or seen as one because nothing is said otherwise and he’s the standard hero figure. Why is that and why is that bad?

I could blame “The Hero With A Thousand Faces” for this, but that would not be true. While the book has had an influence on many writers, it’s not that influential. Yet, the western world as a such is.
As most of what amounted to ‘literature’ and later on storytelling in other media such as stage plays, movies, TV, or computer games was created by people from either Europe or North America, the overwhelming majority of main characters fit with the creators or whom the creators pretended to be: straight white men. The only literature genre where the straight white man normally is not the main character is romantic literature. Here, it is the straight white woman, which is not much better (but a little).
The problem with this is that everyone who is not a straight white man, everyone who can’t immediately see themselves in Mr. Straight White Dude, does hardly feel represented. With the large majority of heroes being incarnations of Mr. Straight White Dude, other people aren’t considered regular hero characters. They can take other roles, such as the damsel (usually the straight white woman), but not the main spot, not outside specific genres.
We can do better than that and we should do better than that. Mr. Straight White Dude has worked long and hard and deserves an extended holiday now.

The overwhelming presence of Mr. Straight White Dude is not doing the stories any favour, as it were. By narrowing down the idea of who can be the hero, the stories limit themselves. Mr. Straight White Dude has a certain set of regular skills (usually martial ones) and a certain way of dealing with his problems. He also has a limited amount of different faces — mostly those of a handful of white male actors who regularly play the action hero.
Diversity doesn’t just mean different skin colours, genders, or sexual orientations. It means filling up the ‘toolbox’ of the author. A fighter has a limited reservoir of skills, as does a healer, a diplomat, a spy, or any other character class (to dip into RPG jargon). Yet, a group made up of all of them will have a wide range of possible solutions for any kind of problem which might crop up in a story. A fighter can defeat a group of thugs. A healer can patch up someone who has important information. A diplomat can get the group past a guarded roadblock. A spy can creep ahead and spy on the evil mage in their lair. Imagine overcoming all of those problems with just one of them.
Mr. Straight White Dude has proven over and over again that he can handle saving the day (or the world). Considering there’s many other people in the world, it is time for him to take a break and let others get to the day- (or world-) saving.

There is no change, however, until people make it happen. This means that instead of relying on Mr. Straight White Dude, authors would do well to choose other heroes for their stories. Every story which is not focused on him is a story which broadens the idea of what a hero can look like or what it means to be a hero in the first place.
There are authors (and especially production companies) who shy away from that, rather going with what ‘has always worked.’ They play it safe. Don’t be one of them, though. A lot of people will enjoy books with a more unusual hero, with a hero who, perhaps, is closer to them than Mr. Straight White Dude. There is a market for it and it’s easier for your story to stand out that way as well.
Replacing the standard hero with another one — someone who has not been through a million stories already —, not only gives the author something new to work with, but also gives the audience something new to get into and enjoy.

One argument against using someone else than Mr. Straight White Dude is often ‘there were no [enter other social groups here] in this place,’ especially in historical fiction. Yet, even changing one aspect of Mr. Straight White Dude (the straight, the white, or the male) helps. A straight white woman is a step in the right direction. A straight black man is a step in the right direction. A gay white man is a step in the right direction. There are choices, even if some might be minor ones.
The more aspects you’re able to change, the better — and every fantasy or science-fiction setting should allow you to change many aspects. Yet, every change is good. Using a female main character makes changes to the story. Using a POC character makes changes to the story. Using a gay character makes changes to the story. Each of them also makes different changes to the story.
Every change undermines the idea that Mr. Straight White Dude is the only hero out there and nobody else can take his place. Every change makes it more likely for Mr. Straight White Dude to be able to take a much-deserved sabbatical.

First and foremost, even if it’s the last point here, remember that characters are characters. Not male, not female. Not white, not POC. Not straight, not gay. They are characters and should be created to fit with the story. Or they are characters and the story should be created to fit them, depending on what comes first for you, the story or the main character.
Don’t make stereotypes but fully-realised characters and you’re already mostly in the green. The more you step away from the standard, the more you will take your character and your story in the right direction.
Mr. Straight White Dude deserves a long holiday.

Mr. Straight White Dude has had a long and successful career. He still can have a lot of work in the future, too, but it is time to move past him and discover a wide world of other heroes who do things differently and are part of different social groups. Expand your writer’s toolbox and dive into a more diverse set of heroes. Expand the range of your stories and allow them to stand out.

My Writing Process

First of all, a disclaimer: This is my writing process, it doesn’t have to work for everyone. It probably won’t work for everyone. It might not even work for me in a few months or years. Things change.
Currently, though, it works well for me and allows me to write quickly (in most cases) and efficiently, to plan out my stories and get them done well.

For quite a while, I was a discovery writer or ‘pantser’ (I like the first term better). I just set out writing without a real plan. I had an idea where the story was going, I had a character or a scene or a basic plot I wanted to incorporate and the story would just grow out of it.
This isn’t a bad way of writing per se — I have completed quite some stories that way. It is, however, a way which means a lot of revising afterwards to get contradictions and continuity errors out of the story. Plotting makes that part easier.
These days, my process includes a lot of steps before the writing (and just one afterwards), which makes the writing as a such easier to do. Yet, when I started out, I wouldn’t have been able to get the stories written after that much preparation. Life can be weird.

My writing process goes like this: first, I gather ideas, then I draw up a rough outline, then I plot the scenes and sort them into chapters, then I write the story, and finally I revise and edit it. In addition to that, there’s research which can come in at any point in the story. I do most of it during the plotting process, but sometimes I do it earlier and sometimes I still have to do it while I’m already writing or in the editing process.
The process is longer, but also means that by the time I have to sit down and do the writing — the longest part of it —, I know exactly what will happen when. That doesn’t mean I never make changes to the scenes as they’re plotted, never change them, move them, or break them up into two or more smaller scenes. It means that I have a good idea of how the story will run and can see any problems with the plot long before I start the writing process. It saves me a lot of time in revision and editing.

My writing starts in Scapple, a whiteboard software from the same company which also does Scrivener, my writing software. That’s not the main reason why I use that one, though. I simply like quite some of the features such as easy stacking and transfer of formatting.
In Scapple, I open a new file and simply throw down my ideas for the story as notes — whatever I have, be it characters, scenes, specific plot ideas, a summary of what the story should be about. Once I have them all down, I can then sort them out.
I make notes for the main characters and, perhaps, give them names already. Sometimes, I work with descriptions like ‘detective,’ ‘murderer,’ ‘damsel,’ or ‘villain.’ For finding names all through the process, I love using the Random Names Generator online. There are a lot of different settings and you can get five suggestions at once, too. I do take more time with main characters, but there’s also a lot of side characters to name and there the generator definitely comes in useful. I might also make notes of what to research if I need to get deeper into a topic (such as, for instance, the exact wording of how to get Baba Yaga’s house to turn around and open for you).
Once I know the characters and have sorted out the basic plot, I sit down and write a rough outline of the story, putting down what I want or need to happen when and sort it out until I have a narrative, unpolished as it might be.

At this point, I usually switch from Scapple to Scrivener (or at least I also open Scrivener). For a stand-alone project or a project which might become a series, I open a new project and put everything in. I have my own template for Scrivener which offers all I need and nothing I would have to delete anyway. If it’s going to be part of a series I’ve already worked on, I simply add it to that project. That’s one thing I love about Scrivener — the possibility to make large projects with a lot of data work.
In Scrivener, I put down all I have in Scapple, usually starting with the characters. At this point, if not earlier, at least the important characters get their names. Those get a character sheet of their own from me whereas side characters get a space on a list. I make notes for my research or put down what I have already. At this point, I might also download pages I need for reference — like monster pages from the Lovecraft wiki for “The Crew”. Like this, I begin to fill up my notes and research folders.
After that, or sometimes parallel to it, I write down the scenes, referencing the rough outline as I do. Every scene gets a short description in the synopsis and a place in the narrative. I sort the scenes into chapters and build up the structure of my project like that. By the end of this, the story is ready for writing, even if I might not get to it immediately.
At this point, most projects get a bit of rest, whereas I usually go through the process so far in a relatively short time of either days or hours. Not all research might be done, but I’m mostly clear on what I will be writing.

The longest and most tedious part of the process comes next: Actually writing the story, of course. I can write reasonably fast and I write full-time, so I can definitely get a project done in a good time, provided all goes well (with “DI Colin Rook” it didn’t).
I usually try to write one to two chapters a day — my chapters are between 2,500+ (novellas) and 3,000+ words (novels). I normally take the weekend off for other things, so that’s five days a week and usually eight to ten chapters per week, too. In a week, I can write between 24,000 and 30,000 words of a project.
Most of my projects clock in at between 60,000 and 90,000 words as the target and usually a few thousand words above that once written. I can, therefore, produce a book in a month if nothing bad happens. That doesn’t mean it always works. I usually calculate two months for a project, what with real life and other things happening. Some days, I don’t get down to writing, some time every month I don’t really feel like it (other women may understand why).
I end the writing process by compiling the first draft for personal use and then letting the project rest some. It is never a good idea to go into a big project and edit it right after you’ve finished writing. Distance is good for the judgement.

The last step then is the revision, editing, and release of the book. After a few weeks or months (the latter is better), I pick the book up for the last part. I release a book four times a year and use the months in question (February, May, August, November) to edit the project in question.
First, I go over the text in a content edit and revise what needs to be revised. Usually, there’s only small things coming up, but I’ve had a few cases where chapters had to be added or rewritten.
Once this is done, it’s time for three rounds of copy edit to check for wrong words (misspelling usually isn’t a problem because of the spellchecker in Scrivener), weird sentences, and other grammatical issues. I have to keep an eye on my sentence length as well and I know it. I do the copy edit backwards, starting with the last scene and working my way to the first. Like this, I’m less likely to be distracted by the story and can focus on the actual words much better.
Afterwards, the book gets another general check and the release version is compiled. As I only do digital books, I don’t have to do a line edit. Somewhere within the editing process (or sometimes earlier), I also produce my cover design which is then added to the release.

This is my current process for writing my books. It’s not set in stone, of course, in a year it might be completely different again. Yet, for the moment, this split between Scapple for the early work and Scrivener for the rest works well for me, as does doing a rough outline and then the synopsis for all scenes so I can see the development of the story. Nothing is set in stone there, either, though, as I might find I need another scene or need to move a scene during the writing or the editing process.