How to write mystery stories and whodunnits: detective story starters and mystery writing prompts

March is National Reading Month. Mystery readers, are you tired of cracker-bland mysteries you put down in sheer boredom? Mystery writers, are you sick of writing dull-as-plain-toast plots that readers barely nibble at? Here are mystery story starters for tales readers will gulp down whole and beg for more before the first even digests. Use these writing prompts and mystery story starters to write can't-put-down stories. This article covers detective stories and mystery story starters for crime fiction, affectionately called the whodunit. 

Basics of mystery story starters. Every mystery story needs an introduction, characters, plot, climax, denouement and conclusion. Detective stories are all about detail and sequence. But crime fiction doesn't necessarily need resolution and closure--a very effective literary device is to leave mystery unsolved. Charles Dickens was known for writing several endings and letting the readers choose (!) Ending on a cliff-hanger has the advantage of paving the way for sequels and more sequels. 

Plot development for detective stories. There are different school of thought on whether mystery fiction writing prompts should start with character or setting creation. Settings seem the best as they give a framework to place other elements in. Regardless, always write what you know. If you grew up in Michigan in the 1940's or Mozambique in the 1990's, write to that specific knowledge. Use your cultural or religious background or family history. Don't try to write about what you don't know unless you plan to do a barge-load of research. 

Choose a known time period and locale. You can set your story in any time period or place, as long as you know enough about it to make your mystery story credible. If your idea of medieval life is Game of Thrones, probs best to avoid the middle ages. This author once tried to write a 1930s English country house murder mystery like her hero Ngaio Marsh. Without having lived then and lacking enough research, the result was a schmaltzy pastiche. Mystery story starters require a specific setting. Where did the whodunit take place? 

Write mystery stories outside the hackneyed setting. So having said know the terroir, don't use overused places. Thinking of Scooby-Doo here--an abandoned mental hospital, a disused school, onboard a ship, country mansion are common (dead common) places. Try to get away from stereotypical mystery settings if possible. Tie it to your own locale so you can envision the details better (the disused factory on Third St that you drive by every day, the historic St. Adalbert's Catholic Church you attend, for example). Be precise but not trite in description--setting drives mystery stories more than any other genre. 

To detect or not, your choice. Mystery fiction stories may or may not include a detective character. Agatha Christie's best-loved mystery story "And Then There Were None" is crime fiction with no solver of the crime. Whodunit detective stories obviously require a detective-type main character. But it may or may not be a police officer or private eye. Start thinking characters, beginning with the investigator if there is one.. Match an appropriate person to setting. Your detective can be of any age, strata of society, occupation or nationality as long as you can write with some authority. 

Mystery Writing prompts for detective stories main character. How will your detective interact with official authorities? Is he a policeman or a PI? Is she an amateur crime-solver like Miss Marple? Does she solve mysteries as a hobby, but assist with investigations? Maybe he hasn't always been on the side of justice., such as Father Brown's friend Flambeau once the greatest jewel thief in Europe, turned detective. Perhaps your detective operates separately from public investigators or is too young to work professionally (like the Three Investigators, Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys). Your detective may have a different occupation altogether: librarian, cleric, rabbi, pharmacist, garbage man (trash collectors see lots of dirty secrets). Lillian Jackson Braun's series "The Cat Who..."features a cat detective! 

Plot writing prompts for detective mystery stories: Frame the crime. It may involve a celebrated murder, international heist or art theft or it may be a local incident that affects only certain people. Maybe it's just an odd occurrence that unravels a larger problem. It could be a victimless crime fiction but victims make it more interesting. Details about what happened should come out little by little. The detective should be lead on a few wild goose chases by "red herrings" finding out whodunit. 

Outline and sequence the problem. Create a timetable for personal reference and draw a map of the crime scene and environs. These become the plot, but you can also add your map to the book. This mystery reader loves it when authors provide maps. Even if it's just a map of the study showing doors, furniture etc. I have trouble visualizing from verbal directions so this really helps me "see" the scenario. 

Detective story characters writing prompts: People the story. Who are the dramatis personae? Flesh out characters. Determines criminals, witnesses, suspects, accessories and assistants. Perhaps it's passengers and airplane crew, or members of a club or secret society in which the whodunit occurs. That narrows the field. Again, describe with accuracy and details but avoid stereotypes and tropes: beautiful, curvy blonde, hard-bitten detective, frail old man. Also keep the cast of suspects down to about 8-10 max. It's too difficult to keep plot lines clear otherwise. 

Detail writing prompts. Scatter some clues. Toss in subtle details that a witness may notice and mention to the detective, but not understand. Don't have the detective pick up on it right away. Readers love to catch things the detective originally misses but don't make it obvious. General clues are okay but try to spice them up. Tire marks could be from certain vehicle. Character clues--unique buttons from uniforms, grandfather's cuff links, Mrs. Highbrow's jewelry, a girl's personal perfume--could lead in one direction but be left by someone else. A smell of curry might have been planted to frame the Indian gentleman. These are called a red herrings and are useful if not too obvious. Also, don't make clues so complicated that only an expert would understand them. Don't dumb down or get too rarefied. 

Identify the MMO: Every crime is based motive, method and opportunity. The motive is the reason a character might have for committing a crime (money, jealousy). The method is how the crime committed (think Clue here--in the garage with a tire iron). The opportunity means who was available to have committed the crime. 

Identify the alibis (or lack thereof) for characters. According to the timetable, decide who was where and when at the time the problem occurred or crime was committed. The detective may remove someone from the suspects list and then re-add them as she finds new information. It really does work to make the criminal the least likely person, perhaps someone hovering in the background or someone who isn't who she claims to be. 

Write a climax. Generally, something intense happens which brings all the events together. It's usually an event of some drama, seemingly unrelated, with some element of surprise. You might include death, danger or disaster. It is this event that ultimately explains the mystery. There should be an explanation for why she did it, but it doesn't have to make sense. Grudges, scores settled, paybacks usually have deep roots. As the saying goes "old sins cast long shadows." 

Allude to solution, earlier on. Once you have your conclusion, be sure you hinted at it previously, but in a not obvious way, such as by something a character said or let slip. It's not fair to the reader, who is trying to solve the puzzle themselves, to have something completely unforeseen resolve the issue. It's cheating. My favorite plot devices are when children or previously discounted people (visually impaired teen, "senile" elderly person,, developmentally disabled man, "hysterical" woman) have said something that the detective overlooks (Miss Marple wouldn't) which come back to be helpful. 

Write your denouement: This is the resolution of the mystery. This is when secrets come out and loose ends are wrapped up. Some details will reveal themselves in the plot and your detective can articulate the rest: the what, who, when, where, how and why. Or, as was discussed before, you can leave some loose ends hanging, some questions unanswered. If the crime is wrapped up, summarize with a short conclusion on the outcome. As readers part company with the detective, you might even give a few hints about her next adventures, Be sure to read a few detective stories for inspiration

They put a black rose on my door

I don't talk about this much but today just seemed right to share my motherache. We lost both our 5th and 6th child, the last of our children, both girls, to separate in utero trauma. I have pictures of them but they are too vulnerable to share. The skin had not fully formed yet, and it makes me feel I need to protect them all the more. 

But they had little wrinkles on their knuckles. Seeing that was like a grapefruit spoon to the heart, or whatever part it is that hurts so bad when you see a tiny helpless being, your being, who you would give the world for and whom you can do nothing to save. A person who should grow up to annoy and worry you, but won't. 

Both little ladies were ironically the same gestational age when they passed away. But their causes of death were different. And we never found out what exactly happened with either. Here's more on that and a poem I wrote for Mary Therese. 

I got an infection, I think Strep B, no one ever said, with my Mary Therese. My water broke. She was alive and kicking right up to the end as my fluid leaked out and there wasn't a thing I could do to stop it. The doctor didn't catch it in time and it was mostly gone when he did. 

I felt when the fever broke and Mary Therese kissed me goodbye. I almost voluntarily checked myself out of life that day. I had a loving husband and darling children. But the pain burned so bad I thought it would devour me. Then Our Lady sent St. Teresa of Avila to talk sense into me. 

I know, it sounds insane. But I saw them both, plain as day. Maybe it was the delirium of the fever. Or the pain. It wasn't the drugs because I couldn't keep anything down. They would have let me have it because she was going to die anyway, they said. That could have been more tactfully said but I was past caring. 

And she did pass, but only after patiently keeping her mama company all that long, horrible night. The whole family was there, all night to say goodbye to baby sister. Big Sister Molly stayed awake the entire time and only fell asleep when Mary Therese left us to go to heaven. 

Maybe I just want to believe that heaven cares, that this is not the end, that I will hold my children again. You're darn right I do. Not much point in anything otherwise. 

They put a black rose on my door, in the maternity ward. To say, no baby here, nothing to see, just move along. 

Here's a poem I originally wrote for Associated Content for my little Mar. I wasn't ever going to name a baby after me, but somehow that name just seemed to fit her. Daddy wanted her to take part of Mama to heaven. Mary Therese's birthday and death day were January 5, 2001.

Waterlily Rose Maid

her eyes, green-gray, still waters, do not cry
not mirror nor window of soul-dark spaces

guardians hold prisoner, secrets shy
in soft tranquil deep and twilight traces

her skin, like dogwood blossoms translucent 
rose petal fair and water-lily pale 

heaven-bound as nimbus, storm-cloud spent 
fresh as a lamb, nested quiet in vale

no tears descend this tender, pallid cheek 
no sorrow escapes this unworldly maid 

no companion shares nor solace does seek 
perfect in slumber, unmoving and staid

Silent in her grave, somber and death-cold 
Never to feel pain, nor warmth of mother's arms enfold.

I wrote this a few years ago, in a darker place. Now I know that you will feel our arms, baby. I think in some way you already do. 

Love always, mama. 

Quirky verse of write and wrong

(This is Mord. Mord judges. He also forgets to wind in his tongue. We like Mord, judgmental dweeb that he is.)










wrong or right 

good or bad

down or up

happy or sad


upside right

wrong side out

topsy turvy 

smile or pout


why'm I asking

what's it about?

seeking answers

or confirming doubt?


maybe answers 

aren't wrong nor right

perhaps the questions 

aren't black or white?


lets flip queries

so answers come round

or we may find no 

answers to be found


what say we mix 

contrasts a bit

reframing them not

as polar opposite 


the snarky zebra

in a poem by Shel

parsed the dilemma

I thought quite well


on color of stripe

was he white on black

or black against white

he retorted back


are you good with bad 

or mostly the latter?

Happy with sad times

and does it matter


I'm a bit of both

in my wide open mind

and all of the above

plus some undefined


rage with spendour

sun alongside rain

round with sharp edges

going against the grain


angst and sangfroid

going slowly fast 

arrive to depart

first things come last


then the puzzle of

lexicology 

rewording rightly

to order priority


not right or wrong 

but help or harm 

within or withheld

left cold or kept warm


of conjunctions 

carefully choose 

and, but, or matter

which one you use


safe and secure

cherished and dear

mother and child

no room for "or" here


to bring it all round

let's end with fun

in silly contrasts 

here's the first one


pond scum green, do not drink

child's tights in sky blue pink

plaid jumper with odd socks

day-glo night of diamond ink


so much for my write and wrong

here ends sermon and the song

I'd more to say but I forgot

next time won't you sing along











The ceremonial supper summoning dance

All is calm in the house

save keyboard klackety-kiss

no creature was stirring 

ah sweet peaceful bliss



then thump-whump tippy tap

pitter kitty -pat-pats

meorowy serenade 

of two hungry little cats


Their litany opens with 

ritual dinner dance

summoning food gods with

tandem ceremonial prance 


paw two three four swish

up two three four bump

minor fall,  major lift

the arabesque counter jump


gratuitous reminder nips

and clawing of the knees

less of the Grand Guignol

dear brutes if you please


snapping "it's only half past"

you cant' be hungry yet

if I feed you early 

that is all that you get


oh, very well, have at it

in life three things abide 

death, taxes and needy cats

from them you cannot hide


slipper shuffle scuffle 

opening tins with curses 

slop slup-glupped into dishes

shuffle back again to verses  


nom-nom noise of tucking in

to their stinky fish feasts

post-prandial bathing of

two silky furred beasts 


last roundy-round with knead

as they tenderize their beds

twin VW engines snoring 

as they rest weary heads 










Eulogy to today

sun flares in great Amen

as to netherworld she goes

cosmic beach ball on lake

leaving all a flaming rose 


sunset sky afterglow 

puce and vermillion red

solar consolation gifts 

signaling time for bed


Crown Royal purple night

blankets lake back dune

spring peepers greeting 

felt caterpillar cocoon


on mouse pillow willow

from snake eyelash depends

defying laws of gravity

as in mid-air it suspends


in forest fire swamp

gilt embroidered log

diamond crusted snails trail

glimmers in gemstone fog 


molasses deep groans

from velvet butter bells

bidding us good rest 

as the Last Post knells


day neatly folds herself

in envelope of night

never to be seen again

new one dawns with light


So I shall dedicate

this poem to today 

a wholly gestalt self 

thank you for your brief stay






Nightmare Carnival Macabre

don't need no tickets

for these carnival rides 

nor the circus big top

with the heaving insides


three rings of thrills

my own funfair midway

endless freakshow parade 

greets my end of day 


organ grinder monkey

on his hurdy-gurdy 

croons nightmare lullaby 

to the clown's calliope  


show starts the moment

I close my eyes and brain

sleep finds me caged

on circus animal train


swirling tilt-a-whirl 

Hurky, jerking, twerking

wits spun out of order 

by the octopus lurking 


wish it took money

for Ferris wheel seat

So I can get off

and find my own feet


the rides that begin

must come to an end

my mind loop-de-loop

just rounds another bend 


foot stuck on the track

and here comes the train

following the leader

round the carousel again


tartan skirt stuck fast

in spinning bar stool

gladiator winding me

up to play the fool


maybe it's the zipper 

a bolt's snapped at last 

never knowing where I am

or just what has me fast 


trapped by my bad arm

dragged along the ground

oh God here we go

on the Mary-go-round


see the little dolly dance 

and vomit on the floor

has she had enough, folks 

or shall we cry for more?


shout out Himalaya!

if you wanna go fast 

faces melt like cheese toast

in the mob whizzing past


stop the Gatling guns

of the shooting gallery

I want to get out now

no more firing on me


Now playing at cranes 

losing and never won

fed them all my coin

till I have not a one


who said this was fun 

why am in this place?

mirrors only leading to

more images of my face


tiny dancer twirls

for the girl who owns

revolves upon toes

crumbling her bones


ballerina coffined 

in the jewelry box 

entombed by the child

with keys to the locks


clown in the torn skirt

and the Mr. Punch mask

contorting balloon dogs

is his happy task


with this Pied Piper

marionette frog march

down tunnel of love

to hell's marble arch


beckoning with candy floss

so sweetly he does urge

behind Spartacus smile

we don't see his scrouge 


nightmares so violent

they threaten sanity

if I told they'd lock me

up and throw away the key


This started as a nature poem, sigh. 













 


On stopping by a diner with kids

Long road trip overtired crabby kids in need of sustenance, stopping by a diner on a snowy night in the middle of nowhere. A proper greasy spoon,  open 24 hours where the waitress is insulted if you call her a server and wears a proper waitress uniform with the orthopedic shoes. 

She's been serving people since before they put the new highway in, when the place was just called Truck Stop. She  doesn't hover asking how everything is tasting every 6 seconds but keeps your coffee fresh, filled and hot and remembers each order without writing it down. She calls you "Honey" and brings extra napkins and not just one but a dish of lemon wedges for the snooty oldest teen daughter's lemon water. 

Where truckers belly up to the lunch counter, perched on red vinyl covered stools you loved to spin on as a kid.  Chatting with the waitress behind the counter with the bubbler dispensers of of temptingly colored Hawaiian Punch and Orange Hi-C.  And the dessert case with individual pieces of Saran-wrapped cakes and pies. Men apologizing for accidentally making crude references. But no one really minds and when the mouthy behavior police 9 y/o asks why he said that, you say because people just do sometimes. Mind your business, don't stare it's rude and eat your supper. 

Tired men who drive across the country and are just glad they got there in time for a slice of the rhubarb pie, special of the house. Smiling at the kids, offering them quarters for the gumball machine which you would rather they did not take and gum they need like a hole in the head. But you feel obliged to say yes, because no one wants to hurt the feelings of someone with such bonhomie. And golly he reminds you of your kooky uncle Dave, may he rest in peace. 

Most of the kids eating eff all of the canned green beans you insisted they have with their meal. And snooty teen eating NOTHING BUT broccoli to spite you because she's mad you didn't stop where she wanted to. Or some such thing. It's so hard to keep track of what they are mad at you for at that age. 

And the rest filling up on French fries and pancakes drenched and syrup then eating the jelly out of the little plastic cartons that the waitress set out for the breakfast crowd. And kids playing with salt and accidentally spilling it . And copying their father putting creamers in his eyes and saying "take me to your leader!" Worse than the children! Kids begging for ice cream with half their pancakes uneaten. The little one eating French fries off the floor. And snooty one glaring at everyone. 

Mom and dad unwinding over their coffee and hot turkey sandwiches, relaxed by food and warmed by the cozy, grilled onion ambiance. Just kind of letting the kids' chaos happen a little. No one seems to mind. Leaving the waitress an astonishingly big tip to thank her for putting up with you all. And then she comes and tells you you have the best behaved kids she's ever seen and brings them free ice cream anyway. And the kids smirking at you over their chocolate mustaches. 

Hang on to these times. Savor the memories like syrup drenched pancakes. They're gone before you even realized they were there. 

In memory of a diner called Truck Stop along U.S. 2 in Michigan's  U.P. And a waitress named Barb who charged us whole pie price rather than individual pieces which would have cost twice as much. And bringing out a massive commercial size whipped topping thingy, to boot.  And Molly, serves you right your broccoli was overcooked and you went hungry. You should have had the chicken like we said. 

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