So ‘whodunnit’ eh?
In writing the latest Karno adventure I decided to emulate Agatha. NO, no, no. I don’t mean I’m writing wearing a tweed skirt, twinset and sensible shoes nor do I mean aiming to sell four billion copies of my books in one hundred and three languages, although that would be nice. No, I meant that I’d start with a crime and a list of possible perpetrators then work out ‘whodunnit’ towards the end. At least, that’s what Christie claimed she did in her autobiography. It’s an interesting way of writing and means you have to be something of a detective yourself at the end to actually work out who has done what and why.
I tend to listen to my characters when I write and let them tell me the story rather than me dictate to them what is going to happen next.
When you’ve got a character like Wild Bill telling you how the story unfolds you have an interesting if confusing time of it. So far Bill has woven an inflatable hovercraft, a blowpipe (now the Vodka Martini single puff Longblow), a lost Tour de France cyclist with a limp, a road-legal golf-cart converted to pedal-power and just yesterday a pair of suspect Mormons into the plot. He’s also mentioned in passing, passing the third pint I think, a headless corpse running through the streets of Redruth, a twin snatched at birth, a stealth airship developed by the CIA, the real CIA that is and Jabbar the Shoppe. No wonder Karno is confused, I certainly am.
The final few chapters:
I’m definitely on the home strait now with perhaps five chapters to go.At a chapter a day, more or less, that means a new Karno for Christmas (subject to cover design but no pressure Pauline:)) I’m pretty sure who is responsible for the dastardly crime but Bill bless him has started communing with the Universe and the hills are alive with the sound of singing spheres so anything might yet happen. I’m just going to have to pour myself a large glass of home-brew hooch and go with the flow. At least Missus ‘O’ isn’t cooking for me, I can create my own culinary mayhem with no outside help.
The Poisoned Pastie