Kris Neri's Blog - Posts Tagged "funny-mystery"
The amateurs and the pros
Like many authors of amateur sleuth mysteries, I’m also a fan of reading them. That’s not to say I don’t read many other sub-genres as well, and in my writing, I write a magical series that features both an amateur sleuth and an FBI agent, so that one straddles the fence between amateur and professional sleuths. I also write an occasional standalone thriller, which is a whole different category. But as both a writer and reader, I’ve always felt a particular fondness for amateurs who solve crimes, going way back to the time when Nancy Drew first led me into this life of crime.
Some years back at a signing, a reader asked me whether, like the protagonist of my Tracy Eaton mysteries — a writer and detective wannabe — I secretly harbored a desire to solve murders. Nope, not even a little bit. I bet that’s true for most writers of amateur sleuths as well. But that I don’t long to follow Tracy down the path of actually solving crimes, doesn’t in any way lessen my love of amateur sleuth mysteries, especially fun ones.
Besides, I think we learn from their examples. To my mind, some of the appeal of amateur sleuths is that, when we see them take on the impossible in their lives, we’re inspired to tackle the looming obstacles in our own, even if ours involve something less life-threatening than solving murders.
Of course, in amateur sleuth mysteries, it’s the amateurs that have to shine. But that’s not to say the police don’t play important roles. They do create stabilizing presences, even if, in the end, it’s our amateurs that save the day.
I’ve always loved the police detectives I’ve created in my Tracy Eaton mysteries. Each has been different, some more rigidly official than others, more resistant to Tracy’s free-spirited antics, and they’ve all made unique and engaging foils for her. But none have been more fun than the police presence I created for my new release, Revenge on Route 66.
Roy Fricker, the Chief of Police of the small town of Tecos, New Mexico, where much of the action occurs in Revenge on Route 66, makes an immediate presence on the page, although maybe not the one he might have wanted.
Here’s Tracy’s first impression:
In the doorway stood the world’s most glittery Rhinestone Cowboy, an African-American man, whose embroidered Western shirt and decorated leather spats sported so much fringe, he had drastically reduced the world’s supply of it. There must have been clackers hidden within that fringe, too, because when he strode into the place, he jangled.
Even more colorful than his dress is Chief Fricker’s speech:
He tipped a gigantic white hat, which matched the accents in his black shirt and spats, and said, “Ma’am. Hear tell someone blew out poor Woody’s light.”
That was just the beginning of Chief Fricker’s colorful lingo. Every time he spoke more of his Western gibberish came out:
Fricker removed his hat and ran a large hand over his closely shorn hair. “Can’t say I’m all that surprised someone flipped Woody’s hash browns. He’s always been like someone riding ’round with a wasp in his bonnet. Always looking for a pig to kick.”
Tracy’s reaction was predictable enough:
Huh? Was his getup and lingo a joke? If we’d been back in L.A., I’d have assumed this guy to be an actor in some Western movie parody. Here, I figured he’d been yanked from his other job, rodeo clown.
But she soon learns that his looks and lingo can be deceiving. Chief Fricker is actually a wily investigator, a former big city homicide detective simply living out his long-held Western dream, albeit in a pretty dramatic way.
He and Tracy continue to lock horns. He might be all about living his dream, but he’s not about to let some wacky amateur sleuth just passing through the flaunt the law and cut corners in his town.
Isn’t that the way it often goes when amateur sleuths and cops tangle? Amateur sleuths are all about the spirit of justice, while the police get tangled up in the letter of it.
However the struggle goes in the course of a mystery, it’s always fun for those of us who love amateur sleuth mysteries. Revenge on Route 66
Some years back at a signing, a reader asked me whether, like the protagonist of my Tracy Eaton mysteries — a writer and detective wannabe — I secretly harbored a desire to solve murders. Nope, not even a little bit. I bet that’s true for most writers of amateur sleuths as well. But that I don’t long to follow Tracy down the path of actually solving crimes, doesn’t in any way lessen my love of amateur sleuth mysteries, especially fun ones.
Besides, I think we learn from their examples. To my mind, some of the appeal of amateur sleuths is that, when we see them take on the impossible in their lives, we’re inspired to tackle the looming obstacles in our own, even if ours involve something less life-threatening than solving murders.
Of course, in amateur sleuth mysteries, it’s the amateurs that have to shine. But that’s not to say the police don’t play important roles. They do create stabilizing presences, even if, in the end, it’s our amateurs that save the day.
I’ve always loved the police detectives I’ve created in my Tracy Eaton mysteries. Each has been different, some more rigidly official than others, more resistant to Tracy’s free-spirited antics, and they’ve all made unique and engaging foils for her. But none have been more fun than the police presence I created for my new release, Revenge on Route 66.
Roy Fricker, the Chief of Police of the small town of Tecos, New Mexico, where much of the action occurs in Revenge on Route 66, makes an immediate presence on the page, although maybe not the one he might have wanted.
Here’s Tracy’s first impression:
In the doorway stood the world’s most glittery Rhinestone Cowboy, an African-American man, whose embroidered Western shirt and decorated leather spats sported so much fringe, he had drastically reduced the world’s supply of it. There must have been clackers hidden within that fringe, too, because when he strode into the place, he jangled.
Even more colorful than his dress is Chief Fricker’s speech:
He tipped a gigantic white hat, which matched the accents in his black shirt and spats, and said, “Ma’am. Hear tell someone blew out poor Woody’s light.”
That was just the beginning of Chief Fricker’s colorful lingo. Every time he spoke more of his Western gibberish came out:
Fricker removed his hat and ran a large hand over his closely shorn hair. “Can’t say I’m all that surprised someone flipped Woody’s hash browns. He’s always been like someone riding ’round with a wasp in his bonnet. Always looking for a pig to kick.”
Tracy’s reaction was predictable enough:
Huh? Was his getup and lingo a joke? If we’d been back in L.A., I’d have assumed this guy to be an actor in some Western movie parody. Here, I figured he’d been yanked from his other job, rodeo clown.
But she soon learns that his looks and lingo can be deceiving. Chief Fricker is actually a wily investigator, a former big city homicide detective simply living out his long-held Western dream, albeit in a pretty dramatic way.
He and Tracy continue to lock horns. He might be all about living his dream, but he’s not about to let some wacky amateur sleuth just passing through the flaunt the law and cut corners in his town.
Isn’t that the way it often goes when amateur sleuths and cops tangle? Amateur sleuths are all about the spirit of justice, while the police get tangled up in the letter of it.
However the struggle goes in the course of a mystery, it’s always fun for those of us who love amateur sleuth mysteries. Revenge on Route 66
I get my kicks...
Some years back, the publicist for my first two Tracy Eaton mysteries, REVENGE OF THE GYPSY QUEEN and DEM BONES' REVENGE, suggested I consider setting a Tracy Eaton novel on Route 66, calling it REVENGE ON ROUTE 66. She told me the title and idea had come to her in a dream (which meant her dreams were way more useful than mine!). She backed up the idea by telling me how many millions of people visit the Mother Road, as John Steinbeck dubbed Route 66, each year. That certainly supported its great marketing potential. The trouble was that, while I’d heard of people touring Route 66 and had a vague idea of what they found on it, I didn’t really get its appeal.
Then I moved to Northern Arizona, where Route 66 cuts a significant swath. Even before my husband Joe and I began conducting our own Route 66 trips, we discovered the fun of seeking out old Route 66 roadhouses, such as Miz Zip’s, in Flagstaff, AZ, where the food is good and reasonably-priced, and the décor is strictly something from yesteryear.
Finally, I started to get what Route 66 was all about. Those slices of Americana preserve little pockets of time from the days before everyone became so cool, from the time when we were comfortable with being offbeat and unique. When individuality rocked more than sameness, before Anytown, USA became Everytown, USA.
I also discovered that my former publicist was right — it was the perfect place to set a Tracy Eaton mystery. (I thanked her for the great idea in the acknowledgements.) This madcap series, which features the unconventional daughter of eccentric Hollywood stars, along with a cast of loveable loonies, celebrates quirkiness as much as the road. Not a drop of sameness in the entire daffy bunch.
And so, REVENGE ON ROUTE 66 came to life. Since it venerates a time past, I decided some of the characters would have a history with the road, and the seemingly divergent mysteries that make up this storyline, would be linked to it as well.
Quirky spots that I could make part of Tracy’s road trip began to occur to me, such as the Biker Bunny Bin. That’s an odd self-storage yard, which is guarded by a hellish pair of giant plywood rabbits that make the whole place seem like Disneyland on acid. Or the signs that might catch the eye of motorists along the way, not just those for “Burma Shave,” which you really do see, but also “New Dead Things.” And the restaurants that lure them away from the anonymous fast food stops, like the diner that promised, “Warm beer, lousy food.” Tracy insisted to her husband Drew that they had to reward humor like that, though it turned out that all they rewarded was truth in advertising.
I hope I did justice to the spirit of Route 66. Not just because that road has stolen my heart, although it has, but because it might be our last hold on a time that’s all but vanished. Because it celebrates the people we used to be. And maybe, deep down, still are.
Revenge on Route 66
Then I moved to Northern Arizona, where Route 66 cuts a significant swath. Even before my husband Joe and I began conducting our own Route 66 trips, we discovered the fun of seeking out old Route 66 roadhouses, such as Miz Zip’s, in Flagstaff, AZ, where the food is good and reasonably-priced, and the décor is strictly something from yesteryear.
Finally, I started to get what Route 66 was all about. Those slices of Americana preserve little pockets of time from the days before everyone became so cool, from the time when we were comfortable with being offbeat and unique. When individuality rocked more than sameness, before Anytown, USA became Everytown, USA.
I also discovered that my former publicist was right — it was the perfect place to set a Tracy Eaton mystery. (I thanked her for the great idea in the acknowledgements.) This madcap series, which features the unconventional daughter of eccentric Hollywood stars, along with a cast of loveable loonies, celebrates quirkiness as much as the road. Not a drop of sameness in the entire daffy bunch.
And so, REVENGE ON ROUTE 66 came to life. Since it venerates a time past, I decided some of the characters would have a history with the road, and the seemingly divergent mysteries that make up this storyline, would be linked to it as well.
Quirky spots that I could make part of Tracy’s road trip began to occur to me, such as the Biker Bunny Bin. That’s an odd self-storage yard, which is guarded by a hellish pair of giant plywood rabbits that make the whole place seem like Disneyland on acid. Or the signs that might catch the eye of motorists along the way, not just those for “Burma Shave,” which you really do see, but also “New Dead Things.” And the restaurants that lure them away from the anonymous fast food stops, like the diner that promised, “Warm beer, lousy food.” Tracy insisted to her husband Drew that they had to reward humor like that, though it turned out that all they rewarded was truth in advertising.
I hope I did justice to the spirit of Route 66. Not just because that road has stolen my heart, although it has, but because it might be our last hold on a time that’s all but vanished. Because it celebrates the people we used to be. And maybe, deep down, still are.
Revenge on Route 66
