The Place For My Writers Notes

Original Posting Jan. 31, 2016

Over here

http://madgeniusclub.com/2016/01/27/mysteriously/

Sarah Hoyt talks about mysteries. No, not the sweet mystery of life, although if you haven't seen Young Frankenstein, you should. But in this case, we're talking the mysteries of novels, or actually, novels that are mysteries! Yes, the cozies, the hard boiled, the private detective, the police procedural, and anything else where whodunit is a key question. Puzzles! There's a dead body in the living room, and instead of just stepping over it, we want to know who did it, how, and all those fun questions. Sometimes we just want to know how to catch the rascal, but that's a question for Elmer Fudd.

Cozies go for the hearts and minds, focusing on the pain of death. Hard boiled gets into the bloody nuts and bolts (okay, intestines, broken ribs, and other body parts) along with a good hard stroll through gritty alleys and such. Police procedurals are how we wish the police did things, more or less. (and yes, Sarah skipped the PI subgenre. Guess what, there's a private eye somewhere in there!).

Strictures on structure? We've got a few...

1. A dead body (aka murder!) as close to the beginning as possible. If they don't stumble over that dead body up front, at least give us a foreshadowing or other hint that nastiness hides in the nasturtiums, okay?
2. Normally, mysteries revolve around a murder. Yes, there are plenty of other crimes, but... the canonical mystery starts with a dead body.
3. There's a reason for the character to be involved. Friend, discovered the body, the last act was to call or write, something links the character and the death.
4. The murderer appears early in the book. Not usually as the murderer, but... visible.
5. A timer! Something counting down to horrible keeps things moving.
6. Watch out for interviews and other boring hunts for a clue. Use a timing device, make some of the meetings dangerous, or maybe someone is trying to kill the character? Or even all three!
7. The private life of the character (detective) often is rocky, providing extra thrills to keep things moving.
8. Give the readers all the clues. You can bury them in various ways, but give them a fair chance. Detectives who suddenly figure it out because they have information the reader doesn't usually get thrown across the room.
9. Tie up everything! If you don't tie it up, highlight it so we know it was deliberate.
10. Let the reader see that everything has gone back to normal, order is restored.
11. Plenty of other genres can (and do) use mystery structure.
12. Mystery shorts ... go read Sarah's description.
13. Make sure the bad guy(s) get punished!
14. Make your villain motivated. Give them a good solid reason for killing.

So, there you have it. Plenty of how to write your mystery advice around. Do be aware that mystery readers tend to be very picky, and want you to do it right if you're going to do it. So read some of the stuff!

Then go ahead and kill that sucker. In the kitchen with a pipe? Okay...

tink

Hum. Over here at
http://johndbrown.com/writers/

John Brown shares some of his thinking about writing. It's kind of interesting, and since I'm trying to ignore my back right now (this has been a holiday week, and somewhere in the process, I did something that has caused my lower back to get upset. But I'm trying to ignore it, hoping that it will settle down again soon... so...)

In the meantime, let's take a look at what John Brown thinks about creating suspense for a reader, in regards to the problem. Now, from the top page, John reminds us that writing really isn't about a bunch of rules. Writing is about story. And the point of story, what you're trying to do, is make something happen in a reader. What do you think that is?

Yes! Bonus points to the fellow in the back who yelled out, "Suspense!" Right you are. Readers want to feel suspense. And in the pages on problem, character, plot, and structure, John talks about what conditions make the reader feel suspense.

At which point, we should take a look at how problem and suspense interact, right? Right! So over here
http://johndbrown.com/2010/10/the-key-conditions-for-reader-suspense-part-1-problem/

John talks about that. He gives an example -- starting with a man turning on his sprinklers. Boring! But... add in a little action in the background, with an intruder pointing a gun at the man's daughter, and threatening something... and pretty soon, there's some real suspense there. What's going to happen?

John looks at stories, and points out that what we really want is to feel hope and fear for the character. Curiosity, sympathy, worry... and that wonderful cathartic release when we find out what happens. It's not really action, explosions, chases, and so forth in the text that does the job. It's something that happens in the reader. Dramatic tension can happen in a very quiet scene, IF the reader is worried about the character.

Okay. So how do we get dramatic tension? Basically, we want to hope and fear for a character. We want to feel as if something might happen, and feel tension about the possibilities. So there are really four ingredients: a character that we like, uncertainty about what will happen, hope for desirable outcomes, and fear for undesirable outcomes. Pretty simple, really. Give us someone that we empathize with, and put them in a situation where we don't know what will happen.

So what kind of problems do we throw at our character?

John Brown suggests that there are three main types of problems in stories that he likes.

1. Danger/Threat. Something poses a significant threat to the character's happiness. We hope that the character will avoid or overcome the threat, but we fear they may not. What kind of threat? Well, life, security/well-being, relationships, meaningfulness, freedom, and possessions are obvious things that could be threatened. Take a look at John's page for more details, he describes each of these. Basically, though, someone or something threatens some aspect of the character's life. Plenty of stories focus on what happens when things go wrong, and can the character handle it?

2. Lack/opportunity. With a danger or threat, someone or something is going to take away something important to the character. Lack and opportunity problems are the other side of this -- the character has never had money, a chance, happiness... and now they might! Rags to riches, Cinderella, there are lots of stories that use this kind of problem. We like to watch someone struggled to achieve their happiness.

3. Mystery. This is a little more intellectual problem -- the puzzle, the mystery, the challenge to our curiosity. Here, the character acts as our surrogate, trying to solve the mystery. Fairly often, there are some other problems -- threats or lacks -- also involved.

Now. One of the filters for good stories is that the problems need to be hard to solve. To build the fear, worry, and uncertainty, the problem needs to be significant and hard to solve. The character has to really work to win!

John suggests that there are four things that make a problem really urgent. Basically, we want it to seem probable -- not a long shot. Very often, stories show us several people failing, and then the main character tries. We also want it to be immediate -- something that's going to happen soon. Time limits, ticking clocks, really help to make the problem urgent. Third, it needs to be significant. The mugger who wants two bucks for coffee at Starbucks -- hey, toss it to him and go on. But the robber who wants every penny of your life savings? Ah, now that's serious. Make the threat significant (other discussions often talk about raising the stakes). Finally, the problem needs to be specific. Sure, generic drugs are cheaper, but for your story, you want specific, detailed problems. Make the threat specific and tied to the character.

Okay? So you've got a problem, and you've sharpened it up so that we know it seems probable, immediate, significant, and specific. What about uncertainty? What makes things uncertain? A hard problem, limits on the characters, interference from other problems and desires... and surprises! Revelations, twists, turns. Don't let the reader go to sleep. Think about what they expect, then give it a twist. Surprise us

All right? That's a summary of John Brown's discussion of suspense and the story problem. To make the story really sizzle, look closely at the problem. It needs to be a hard problem, whether it's a threat or lack or mystery, and it needs to be urgent, because it seems likely, has a time limit that is soon, involves high stackes, and has the details that we love! Then make sure there are enough twists and turns to keep us reading.

Dramatic tension -- a reader in suspense is worth two cliffhangers?

Original posting 3 May 2009

Writer's Digest, September 2004, pages 42 to 45, have an article by Stephen D. Rogers with the title, "Mean Streets & Friendly Editors." Stephen starts out by suggesting that private eye short stories represent a sense of justice, feeding the desire for heroes that people look for in times of stress. So how do you write one?

First, figure out what a private eye does. This is someone investigating crimes for pay -- kind of a mercenary detective? They talk to witnesses, gather background information and clues, and hopefully solve the mystery. Unlike policeman, no one has to talk to a private eye, so they need to bluff and charm to get people to talk. The stories need to be exciting and authentic, even though real private eyes do a lot of dull routine work.

Private eyes are often a last hope. The system isn't handling things, so someone hires a private investigator.

The private investigator's character is critical. They need to be a person first. Well-rounded, real. Pay attention to how their business works. Are they independently wealthy, or struggling to make ends meet?

Plotting? The private investigator gets hired and start running into trouble. Witnesses aren't available, everyone lies, the authorities don't want the private investigator stirring things up. What's your P.I. going to do? Along with the mystery that's at the core of the story, private investigators are a lot like football players, trying their best to run up the field with everyone out to get them.

There are books and online groups. The article suggests http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Shortmystery/, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/crime-writers/, and http://groups.yahoo.com/group/DetecToday/ or perhaps http://www.thrillingdetective.com/

The sidebar lays out the structure of a private investigator short story:

• 3000 to 6000 words
• characters typically include the private investigator, the client, and three interviewees. Interviewees are a mix of witnesses, experts, and suspects.
• the plot is discovery, with the private investigator searching for the truth. Use this search to explore settings and subcultures.
• reversals include lies, refusal to talk, and other attempts to sabotage the investigation. Make sure they are motivated. Use threats of violence to raise the stakes.
• the climax comes when the private investigator overcomes the obstacles and achieves some kind of justice. Stories end at the moment of solution, or may have a closure scene with the client.
• among the variations are untrustworthy clients, private investigator focusing on one prime suspect to break the case, and bleak endings

Michael Bracken, an anthology editor, says, "What I look for above all else is good storytelling. Beyond that, I want to see characters with a sense of veracity who appear true to their profession, true to their setting, and true to their professed morals."

So who did it? Only the private investigator knows for sure.
Write a story.

Original posting 7 March 2008

Before we go to far, you might want to think about how you, as a writer, like to set up your mysteries. Or suspense.

How do you get a reader interested, how do you keep them reading, how do you convince them that somewhere down the way, you are going to reveal something interesting?

'saright? Something to contemplate on a weekend in March, eh?

Over at http://nancyfulda.livejournal.com/195030.html Nancy raises the question, and talks a bit about what doesn't quite make it (leaving out stuff? Just skipping right over important info? Nah, that's not a mystery, that's just a mistake, isn't it?).

My first response was that as writers, we need to raise questions - and then answer them. Part of what we do in the first part of the writing is to show that we can be trusted, that we will not leave the reader dangling on the edge of the precipice without sooner or later throwing them a rope, bringing in the helicopter with a skyhook, or somehow getting them out of that predicament. And having built up their trust, we can take them on a deeper dip over the edge of the cliff - and then raise them up again. Kind of like a roller coaster ride, give them a glimpse of what's coming, and then chug up the incline for a while, and . . . zoom down the incline . . . then around the curve! And then do it again.

Hum. Let's see. Mystery by expectation? Suspense in the interruptions?

How do you create that air of mystery, anyway?

When we write, we learn about ourselves.

original posting: Fri, 8 Jul 1994 18:35:01 JST

or: How Can A Story Convey Internal Struggles

Hi, all. Michael raised an interesting point which I have been pondering. It wasn't really central to his discussion, but noting his concern with portraying psychological depth and techniques of writing, I started to think about just what part the old theme of "man against himself" has in writing, and how the "standard techniques" present that struggle.

Grant me a thousand words or so (a picture and a half?) to pound that point into the dust?

[since I suspect many of you are still recovering from an extended weekend, you may postpone reactions for a while. I hope you enjoyed the 4th--and brought back memories of fireworks and hot buttered corn and all that jazz!]

I suppose I should start by noting that many discussions of literature attempt to loosely divide the set of possible conflicts into three major groups--man against himself, man against man, and man against nature (the book where I learned these wasn't up to modern standards--please feel free to change man into homo sap or whatever nonsexist term you prefer, and correct other sexual references as needed).

So I start with the recognition that psychological struggles--man against himself--are a very common playground for writers. In most cases, they use a variety of techniques to play out their plots.

Perhaps one of the most common is "projecting" the internal struggle onto external life, sometimes even converting the whole internal conflict into an "external" one. For example, Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde (sp?), most or all of Shakespeare's plays, Dracula, and many, many other "oldies" and even some "newies" clearly use the tired-and-true techniques as backdrops for this oldest play of old--man struggling with himself (check out the Bible and other ancient historical sources--cripes, even the mythologies are very little more than "external" projections of man's struggle with himself).

[or perhaps our best analogies and metaphors for what's going on inside are built from those outside ourselves? which one is the mirror, which the image?]

On considering the matter carefully, I'm not at all sure that there is any kind of story that does not involve the struggle of an individual to understand and deal with him or herself. Even the purest adventure-action story usually involves at least some minor (and often rather major!) internal struggle by one or more of the characters trying to deal with personality flaws, fear, hatred, etc.

There are a number of "plotting systems" that focus on identifying a "critical flaw" (or similar personality trait or problem), developing the conflict and rising tension to aggravate and display that internal problem, and then using a shift, reversal, or other method of resolving the external and internal conflict that has been constructed. Since these systems focus on the purely internal as the driving force underlying the entire plot construction and selection, it seems obvious that these are quite focused on internal struggles--even when the result is a hard-bitten detective madly chasing cares and dodging Freudian slips as they close in on the suspects...

Let's see--some of those old tired-and-true techniques:

Mystery--the presentation of parts and clues in an order which "teases" the reader into reading, then reveals the "hidden secret"--while it has obvious uses in almost any kind of writing, its appeal to the reader and challenge to the intellect seem peculiarly appropriate as a component of writing that deals with psychological conflicts and truths. After all, the depths of the mind (and especially those quirks of the unconscious, right and left brain, and other intrigues of the psychological world) are perhaps the most resistant of mysteries even to those of us who live with one all of our lives. We may be the foremost experts on that mind--and how mysterious it is!

[which is one of the delightful dilemmas of life--I must chose, yet I know precisely how little I know! and I thrash onward, struggling with that limited self I know too well...]

Suspense--the deliberate delaying of closure to maintain interest--also seems quite well-suited to writing that deals with internal thoughts, desires, and drives. After all, the tool is rooted in those desires and needs, and--when used to direct and heighten interest, or even in twisted ways to frustrate and mislead the reader--is one of the most psychological of writers' tricks.

Pandora, Love, Dilemma, Revenge...most of the old "tricks of the trade" seem rooted rather solidly in psychological caprice. The proper study of man is man--and seemingly that's what the writers have been up to for a long, long time.

Resolutions--lord, that's an on-going discussion. Join the confusion. For the nonce, let me just note that Randy's point about the basic need being the reader's psychological closure (versus resolving the conflict) is extraordinarily good (if I can ever pin it down enough to use it). Randy also made the excellent point that the end of the story and the resolution of the story are not at all identical, and can occur in various combinations (e.g. resolution before end, coincident, and resolution well after end). [points freely translated by me--if there are errors, they are mine]

[I have several files from Randy and Chris which I am still mulling over dealing with "endings" and "resolutions" and such fine points.]

I think Michael's point that most resolutions are not truly final may also provide some enlightenment for our continuing discussion.

Let me see - a quick checklist:

1. scenes - character, dialogue, action, setting
2. avoid narrative summaries - the narrator speaks
3. show, don't tell
4. let character emerge through action, reaction, and dialogue
5. limit flashbacks, analysis, and history
6. don't use dialogue or interior monologues to feed info to your reader
7. introduce us to the character through how they act and talk
8. 3rd person, past tense - except when 1st or omniscient or others do a better job
9. make dialogue show emotion, don't tell us
10. kill -ly adverbs -- use the right verb!
11. not "He wondered..." -- use "Why did he..." (more natural)
12. use beats -- little actions between dialogue lines
13. short paragraphs, scenes, and speeches
14. avoid repetition
15. watch proportion and balance
16. avoid cliches

hum--seems as though these old techniques are focused on bringing out character--that hidden psychological beast, with all its claws and varied furs, that hides beneath the external details and reveals itself in such maddeningly incomplete and fragmentary glimpses. Admittedly, it is not as simple and easy as sliding into the brain of the person might be--but most of us aren't telepaths anyway, and find even "stream-of-consciousness" writing to be relatively unfamiliar, not at all similar to the babbling brook that runs inside our cranium in the instants when we are not occupied with various disturbances outside and inside our skin.

Even when I look at attempts like Georges Polti's to categorize the various fragments out of which we "build" plots (or stories), the focus is on internal drives--sometimes being played out in the outside world--and the psychological thrashing of those conflicts. Polti makes a point of stating that one of the key ways to vary the basic building blocks of his 32 plot elements is to "collapse" two or more of his "essential characters" into a single person who embodies the inherent conflict and characteristics of those multiple "actors." I'd argue that one of the ways we can most easily display an internal struggle is to separate out the actors and give them at least fictional independence to "show off" their dispositions...

Perhaps this whole discussion really belongs with our recent notation that the writer's and readers' emotions are involved and "touched" by truly great writing. While not overtly identical, in the same way it might be said that part of the basic plot in great writing is always a human struggle with him/herself--coming face-to-face with the fact of our individual humanity in one guise or another, accepting it, and learning to deal with it in some way (note that being defeated by it is one way to deal with it--not perhaps the currently accepted mode, but quite common in older tragedies).

I did want to thank Michael for his quote:

- "Once upon a time, a man complained that the shoes he was trying on were
- much too tight. To which the seller replied: `You have no right to
- complain unless you yourself can make a better shoe.' So the man went
- out and found himself a better shoemaker..." --Pierre Elliott Trudeau--
- Canadian Prime Minister (1968-1979, 1980-1984)

Interesting quote. As I read it, it is talking to the craftsperson about making sure the product fits the customer--or in our terms, that the writing suits the audience.

Who is your audience? What do they expect? Nasty questions that cut to the core of writing...

thoughtfully,
tink

original postings: Tue, 13 May 1997 11:17:50 EDT

just for a little zing in the thinking...

(p. 115) "...we might begin with the proposition that mystery arises at that point where different kinds of beings are in communication. In mystery there must be strangeness; but the estranged must also be thought of as in some way capable of communion. There is mystery in an animal's eyes at those moments when a man feels that he and the animal understand each other in some inexpressible fashion."

"While the mystery of sex relations, which leads to the rhetoric of courtship, is grounded in the communication of beings biologically estranged, it is greatly accentuated by the purely social differentiation which, under the division of human labor, can come to distinguish the 'typically masculine' from the "typically feminine."

"Similarly, the conditions for 'mystery' are set by any pronounced social distinctions..."

"And all such 'mystery' calls for a corresponding rhetoric, in form quite analogous to sexual expression: for the relations between classes are like the ways of courtship, rape, seduction, jilting, prostitution, promiscuity, with variants of sadistic torture or masochistic invitation to mistreatment. Similarly, there are strong homosexual analogies in 'courtly' relations between persons of the same sex but of contrasting social status...."

From A Rhetoric of Motives
Kenneth Burke
University of California Press 1969

original posting: Thu, 3 Aug 1995 14:46:24 EDT

[for those who haven't had the pleasure before--first, a few words from me. then the answers you might have thought you would find here. and, if we're lucky, something to end it all...with a BANG!]

the smoke hovers. your eyes sting.

the ancient figure that ushered you into this strange cavern of shadows seems to have vanished while you were blinking.

and...

in the east, sunrise blares up from the darkened hulks of sleeping mammoths and other detritus of the city. streaks slide in and up, widen, and slowly feed blood into the dark sky, beating it into blue life for another day.

in the west, a hungry thunderstorm slavers and scratches across the quivering backs of foothills. from time to time, it roars out a challenge to the world, afraid of nothing and showing it. do not tease it, for it is cornered and sorely fearful, and its bite is worse than its bark.

in the north, the frozen wastes quietly snore their way into crystalline dreams of glory. They glint, remembering the ancient days when ice gripped the wide spaces to the south in a clean white glove of tender glacial calm. They crackle in the cold air, as ears ache and noses drip, with sympathy for the poor enslaved relatives forced into cubes by human technology. They snort, nightmares recurring, as they think of being dunked in soda or alcohol at the hands of a human. Imagine! melting, melting, turning into mere water, just for human tastes.

in the south, outlaws cuss, horses rear, and other quaint relics of a mythical past fan their six-guns and stand tall, no matter how short they may be...

all this, while in the mystical write direction, words tumble and shimmer, coating ideas with fractal colors and incoherence, cracked! and limited by punctuation, mere passing letters on the river of ink...

in the center, spinning slowly inside a tangled web of grammar, lies...

[oh, heck, let me put down my tropes and yack at you.

this is writers. glad you could drop by. feel free to take part in the continuing mailstorm, and don't feel too surprised if things aren't exactly what you expected. just keep on writing, keep on reading, and you may be surprised to find that while it isn't what you thought you wanted, it may be exactly what you needed...:-]

and with a flashing clash of ? and !, he brought the wild sentence to a .

and there was a submission:

the beginning.
by a. writer

(next, your words, please?...yes, fill in the blank and send it soon!)

tink
+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
[Please feel free to print this FAQ and keep a copy for when you have questions! In fact, the author would be pleased if you did that.]

The meat in this sandwich - v. 17, July 4, 1995

[long out out of warranty, and so removed]
-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-
the end with a bang?

well, ignoring the bad jokes which the phrase may suggest, let me recommend:

Write until it hurts.
Then write about the hurting.
Submit, and submit again.
And bang!

they sold happily ever after...

that's it!

original posting: Wed, 16 Oct 2002 22:09:00 -0400

(from watching an ad about life insurance, no less!)

Here's the plot.

First, pick a likely gaggle of characters.  Feel free to use the ones you're working with on something else.

Second, pick one of them.  For their own reasons (what are they?), they have recently:

1. Drawn up a last will and testament
2. Bought additional life insurance
3. Gone out to check graveyard plots
4. Drawn up a "living will"
5. Checked out the local mortuary
6. Bought a coffin

Now, let's assume that this recent activity becomes known to the other characters (feel free to invent ways for them to learn about this).

What do they do?  What questions do they ask our pallbearer?  What kind of response do they get from the person who is looking at the trappings of mortality?

Write up that scene.  Let them argue about the appropriateness of buying your own coffin, while sitting in the local pizza parlor.  Or perhaps the airport is the background for a chit-chat about investing in a grassy spot in the cemetery?

Anyway, let the cold wind blow a little shiver up your characters' lives, and tell us about how they react.

Original posting: Wed, 17 Nov 1993 18:00:04 JST

Hi, Allen, jc, et all. I think we're doing "it's been done before" again, with the focus on twist endings. Anyway, let me add my usual endless babbling to the good words jc had to say.

I think maybe the best place to look at how to handle "twist" endings is over in the mystery genre. They are probably the most conspicious and blatant about the story being a puzzle - almost a struggle - between the writer and the reader, with the writer presenting all the pieces and (in the best mysteries) the reader still wondering just who did it, how, etc.

The great mysteries, though, as jc suggests, can be read a second or more times, and still are interesting, even though you know exactly who did it. Some of the keys seem to be in providing a depth of characterization, "other information", and "extraneous plotting" that provide enough other interest that the underlying puzzle really isn't that important.

The mystery genre is fairly harsh about requiring that all the clues and information needed to solve the puzzle be available to the reader, preferably well ahead of time. Frankly, the readers also require it - there is nothing worse than having a writer "pull a rabbit out of the hat" at the end and thus solve the mystery. It is almost as bad as having the writer pull a god out of the blue and resolve the drama that way (deus ex machina, anyone?).

On the other hand, IF the clues and information have been there all along and the reader still doesn't know the solution, then they are delighted when the detective fits it together and catches the criminal. There's a kind of intellectual pleasure in watching the great detectives winnow through exactly the same clues and information you had and show you how to fit it together and solve the mystery.

Part of the trick for the writer is "burying" the clues ahead of time. (I think I've seen articles on this - Mystery Writers Handbook, maybe? Didn't take the time to dig it out, you'll have to settle for notions off the top of my fevered id...)

Some of the ways I can think of to bury clues:

1. buried in rubble - simply include the information as part of a massive amount of information. e.g., the police surgeon details the clothing, etc. and contents of pocket including A, B, C, D, E, and F. Found near the body... D turns out to be the crucial clue, but since it is simply presented without emphasis, most readers skip right by it.

2. the dog that didn't bark - absence of G is crucial. Sherlock Holmes made this famous, but it still throws readers regularly - missing keys, etc. are noticed by the detective, but not by the reader. Be a little careful, because readers can get upset. The best thing is to provide them with the information that G would normally be present in another part of the story or another context (capture a thief and turn out his pockets, including the keys that weren't in the victim's pocket...)

3. purloined letter - hidden by obviousness. knives in a kitchen, the doorman that no one notices, the mailbox that no one checked, etc. if presented as part of the background without special emphasis, the reader skips right by such normal items... until the detective points out that George, the doorman, was there that night too, even though no one has included him as a suspect...

4. misinterpretation by the reader - this is tricky. basically, it involves deliberately leading the reader into implications and suppositions that hide the true meaning of the clue(s) from them. unless it is carefully done, it is very likely to convince the reader that you have misled them as a writer. a good way to cover - use your "Watson" or other minor character as a foil - let them misinterpret it, and be baffled by the detective, then the reader can chuckle at their own mistake because obviously Watson also goofed.

If you want an example - lots of jokes depend on this. consider almost any of the ones about "the doctor" doing something - reader/listener jumps ahead, thinking the doctor is a man - and then revealing that "the doctor" was a woman.

5. Unusual usage - the ice cubes used to lift the table the necessary two inches, the nylons used as a fanbelt (which let her drive the car even though the fanbelt was broken), etc. - the trick is to present something that can be left and described in plain view whose normal use misleds the reader. popular mechanics used to have lists of these "emergency tricks" and I think there are books of them now. part of the trick of getting away with this is making a fuss about the water around the table legs or the condition of her nylons - which clues the reader without giving away the trick.

6. Bits and pieces - presented separately and clearly, but in an order that makes it difficult for the reader to recognize how to put it together into the rube goldberg sequence that makes it work. this is the MacGyver or A-Team or even Mission:Impossible puzzle - you've seen all the pieces, but until they show you how to put them together, they seem insignificant. Notice that while these shows use this kind of puzzle, they normally don't use this resolution as the main plot climax - it is a subplot, playing along with the main part.

The key to all these tricks (IMHO), though, is to start at the end - what are the pieces that the detective puts together to solve the problem? then go back through the story and find natural hiding holes for all these. For example, a lipstick might be an important clue. ok - can you have the criminal passed out? then the detective can go through her purse, looking for ID, and incidentally (haha!) finding the lipstick and ignoring it (as the reader ignores it, since it is perfectly ordinary then).

I suspect the writer may also be the best judge of whether the story has enough depth to stand, even when the trick is known. After all, the writer knows the trick, knows where they've stuffed every clue - all they need to ask themself is whether the story is interesting even ignoring that part. Is there background, changes or revelations about the characters, and action to make the reader come back even when the trick is well-known?

Incidentally, if you want to see a set of SF stories that fall pretty flat the second time around, try the Star Surgeon stories by James White. The first time through, the focus is on figuring out what is wrong with the patient, and the reader puzzles with the protagonist. The second time through - blah!

For a contrast, try Borders of Infinity by Lois McMaster-Bujold. The puzzles are there, and the reader tries to guess. But even after that, you can read and reread the stories for the depth of characterization and emotion, for the sheer fun of the roller-coaster ride.

I think if you grab this ( http://community.livejournal.com/writercises/49414.html TECH: Well-Worn SF Ideas ) I listed the "common slushpile twists" one of the SF editors provided.

Be aware that Card, for example, in Ender's Game, breaks one; Footfall (Pournelle and Niven) runs over well-trod ground - alien invasion; and other writers have made their name deliberately taking on ideas like this that have been done a few too many times - but not the way they did them!

A notion for the birth idea - suppose you assumed that fetuses, unknown to science, actually form a telepathic link with the mother's brain, and experience everything in the womb. And suppose that it is only the trauma and shock of birth that destroys that link and the already well-developed patterns of thought. The patterns of thought imprinted during this time are actually what later develops into the individual...

Heck, you could even postulate that all fetuses are linked - until birth. Imagine being torn from a telepathic community. no wonder they yell!

Anyway, now you have a good reason for a thinking, feeling baby - who may even know that birth will be the end of this life! You've also got a significant struggle - the baby knows this telepathic life, and knows it is ending.

Go ahead and use it - if you want to. I don't think anyone has done that one yet...

and even if they have - put your own spin and depth into it, so that the story doesn't live or die on the twist, and it will be your story.