A classic mystery revolves around the solving of a murder -- literally a "whodunit," in which the reader doesn’t learn the identity of the murderer until the final scene or at least near the end of the story. A thriller is primarily driven by suspense, not detection. In Thomas Harris’ Silence of the Lambs or Michael Connelly’s The Poet, for examples, we know fairly early on who the killers are; the story is about the hunt, the danger, and the ticking clock ("Will they be stopped before they kill again?"). Sometimes, these genres are blended into a hybrid, and not clear-cut.

Yes, because there are certain conventions or elements germane to every classic mystery. You generally have a body (victim), a sleuth, a suspect or suspects, clues, red herrings, misdirection, foreshadowing, and so on.

Mystery sub-genres have their own conventions, though writers are taking greater freedom and feeling less restricted these days by "rules" of the genres and sub-genres. Some of the more common mystery sub-genres are cozies (small town or confined settings, genteel in style); hard-boiled (tough, sexy, gritty, violent); police procedural (with specific details of police detection the main feature); didactic ("academic" or "teaching" mysteries that educate the reader, such as archaeological mysteries loaded with facts and findings from that world); private eye (licensed private investigator as the main sleuth); forensic; amateur (the sleuth is not a professional investigator but is from another field, such as law, journalism, or psychiatry); and historical (the mystery is set during a specific period in history). Again, these sometimes overlap or become hybridized.

In general, mystery readers are smart, well-read and demanding. If they are reading a police procedural, for example, they expect the details to be both accurate and realistic, based on thorough research or first-hand experience. If they are reading a forensic mystery, the writer better know forensics, inside and out. If the author has created a private eye character, he or she needs to know the details of the private investigator’s world (training, licensing, weapons, income, et al), specific to the region or city in which that character is working . Mystery readers are incredibly loyal to writers they like, but they also expect the writer to deliver what he or she is promising when working in a certain sub-genre.

Absolutely. You can’t get away with just "making things up" or "writing off the top of the head." Anyone can do that; writers get paid not only to write well, but to bring substance to the work. Lazy, sloppy, superficial writing doesn’t cut it.

Working with characters you care about and who intrigue you, and giving them a compelling enough plot to keep the reader turning the pages.

From my perspective, believable plots evolve from characters and their motivations, not vice-versa. I feel that without characters who are complex and credible, you’ll just be pushing stick figure characters through a plot contrived by the writer, rather than creating plausible actions and reactions based on who they are. My view is that plot must come from both the author and the characters he or she envisions. There was a time (decades ago) when an author could get away with purely plot-driven mysteries, but it’s rare that those get published today. Most mystery readers today, I think, want and demand more, not just a "whodunit," but what some editors call a "whydunit". Plot, however, must never be given short shrift -- a compelling puzzle remains the key ingredient to any successful mystery novel.

A complex character has layers that unfold and reveal his or her personality and/or background as the story evolves. A complex character has contradictions, conflicts, flaws, struggles of conscience, weaknesses as well as strengths, and so on -- just like any human being. A complex character can still be a hero or heroine, just a more realistic and believable one. And, I would argue, one that is more interesting to the reader. Think of your characters as real human beings, and write them that way.

Sure. Some writers pile on "quirks" and behavioral gimmicks (a nervous tic, a stutter, chewing gum, loud ties, profanity, etc.), mistaking them for real character. A quirk or two is fine, but overdoing it becomes distracting and contrived. You can also give a character so much "dimension" and "complexity" that he or she detracts from the plot and the solving of the puzzle, or murder. I sometimes worry that I may have gone too far with Benjamin Justice, who is an extremely dark and troubled character. I’ve tried to establish more balance in the latter books by paying more attention to plot. Now I’m getting concerned that my plots are getting a bit too outlandish, over the top. You have to write for yourself, but write for the reader at the same time. It’s a tricky business, one that I’m still learning.

Be careful not to neglect your villain or your victim. Who they are has a huge impact on the plot, and the detection. Remember, most of the clues come from, or at least begin with, the victim. If your villain is not formidable enough to challenge and present obstacles to your sleuth, you won’t have much of a story. Less important characters are a little more tricky, because you want them to be distinct enough to be interesting and remembered, but not so "big" or complex that they detract from the more important characters, or from the story itself.

I think subplots are what really make a story interesting, and, in particular, allow the writer to reveal character. But too many subplots, or too many twists and turns in the main plot, can be almost as bad as a storyline that lacks surprises or suspense.

I tried writing for years in the third person, and found it constricting and artificial; it never worked for me. The moment I wrote the first line of SIMPLE JUSTICE in the first person, using the pronoun "I", I found my narrative voice, and just kept writing. It seemed to put me in touch with my emotions and memories, and the writing really flowed. It felt more honest and real, almost as if I was talking to the reader. However, after four Justice novels, I’ve just finished a thriller in the third person, writing different chapters from different ("multiple") viewpoints. It was a nice change, though difficult until I got the hang of it. That omniscient, third person perspective gives you a lot of advantages over the first person -- with the third person, the (invisible) narrator can literally be anywhere, inside any character’s head and heart, all-knowing and all-seeing. In the first person, you are limited in some ways; you must always be where your narrator is, seeing and knowing only what the narrator does. I’d recommend experimenting with different viewpoints, to find what works best for you, or suits the material.

1) Ignoring the issues of plausibility and motivation in their characters while just pushing the plot ahead for plot’s sake (having their characters do things that don’t make sense). It starts with choosing and developing fascinating characters, who must have a reason to be involved in a murder, or its solving, which is an extraordinary event for most people. Ask of your characters: Would they do this? Why? What is in their personality and background that makes this plausible?

2) A poor grasp of storytelling structure, which is a craft in and of itself. It’s more than just beginning, middle, end. It has to do with the rhythm, pacing, and development of a story. Just as a great river rises, falls, twists, slows, hits rocky and calm stretches, and suddenly speeds up dangerously, so does a story (if it’s compelling). How and when significant events or turning points occur in a story is the basis of structure, which is inextricably linked to character development, in my opinion. Like a good house, a good story is constructed on a strong foundation, from a blueprint that is solid, tightly put together, with surprising touches.

3) A lack of detail and concreteness in the writing, and too much writing that is vague and general (see Strunk and White’s Elements of Style on this point). I give my students an exercise: underline every adjective and other useless generality in your manuscript (beautiful, tall, big, deep, fast, etc.); then circle every vivid or concrete detail (eighty miles per hour, emerald green eyes, seventeen stories high, slower than a snail on Valium). If they have more of the former than the latter, they have a serious problem in their writing. Concrete detail is necessary for credibility and believability. Vagueness and generalities contribute to flat, dull writing. This is related to that old dictum: show don’t tell. Don’t tell me someone is unhappy, which means nothing. Show me with details of behavior (tears, a trembling lip, angry driving, a coiled fist). Don’t tell me a man is tall. Show me, as he ducks under an awning, or curls up to get into a small car. Anyone can write that someone is tall, lonely, beautiful, scary. Writers get paid to do more than that.

4) Showing off instead of writing well. This is a personal battle I fight every day as I write. Too many of us want to show the world how brilliant we are, how much we know, what wonderful phrases we can create, what clever metaphors we can come up with, what important political opinions we have (one of my worst weakness, I’m afraid), et al. That kind of writing is invariably precious, pretentious, and unappealing; it slows, distracts, and detracts from the story. Learn to "kill your little darlings," as Dorothy Parker put it. Often, we finds ourselves working hard to keep a line, scene, or even a chapter in a manuscript; that’s often a sign that we love it too much and it should probably be tossed out. Each word and line in your manuscript should serve story or character development; otherwise, cut it. Don’t sacrifice mood or description when it contributes to the quality of the work. But learn to read your rough drafts as if you are a customer who has just paid $25 for this book and demands tight, skillful prose that is not slovenly and self-indulgent.

5) An inability to rewrite and polish their work, bringing it to a publishable level. In today’s marketplace, editors no longer have the time to spend weeks or months working with inexperienced but promising writers, helping them learn the craft. You have to become your own editor, bringing your work up to that next level on your own, by putting your work through revision after revision, pruning out anything that doesn’t belong, from single words to entire chapters, if necessary. Your writing, line for line, must be sharp, tight, clean, yet still effective, even vivid and evocative, when appropriate. You have to choose the best word (or words) for the job, and keep searching for the best words, ruthlessly. Remember the old adage of the professional writer: You don’t get paid to write -- you get paid to rewrite!

In the writing trade, hard work is far more important than great talent. As Ross Thomas once said, anyone who can write a simple declarative sentence has the potential to be a successful writer. Courage, imagination, discipline, a passion for the craft -- that’s what really counts. Beware of being too enamored of your own genius or "gift" for writing, which was God-given, not earned. "Brilliant" writing in rough draft form is like a diamond in the rough; it needs cutting, shaping, honing, polishing, and skillful mounting -- if you want to sell it. Rewriting (craftsmanship) is what separates the merely gifted writer from the published professional. If your writing also happens to be brilliant and artful, so much the better. But without the craftsmanship, it’s not worth much to anyone except your doting mother.

Reading, reading, reading and writing, writing, writing. Classes and teachers can help, but ultimately you can only learn to do it by doing it, day after day, month after month, year after year. It takes time, patience, discipline, and extraordinary focus and concentration. Writing well is a craft, after all, like carpentry, surgery, or playing the guitar. All the answers you need are in the mystery novels you are already reading - plotting, structure, effective dialogue, pace, character description, etc. But you must learn to read like a writer, examining what the good writers do, what works in their mystery novels and why, what tricks and techniques they use. Then copy them as you develop similar skills. If you write enough, day after day, eventually you’ll find your own voice and style, implemented by those skills. Don’t expect to "master" the craft; none of us ever does, we just keep learning. And don’t expect your writing to please every reader or critic. It never will.

It’s probably a good idea, but choose carefully who you show your work to. If possible, it should be an experienced writer or teacher, or someone with a particularly keen eye for effective writing, who has no personal ax to grind with you. Beware of asking the opinion of someone close to you who may be too motivated to like it -- or to hate it. It’s possible that you are already writing with at a high level of confidence and skill, and are able to revise without feedback, especially if you have a great deal of writing experience behind you, from another writing field.

I find it really helps to read my writing aloud as I rewrite, "acting" out the parts, listening to the dialogue to see if sounds real or contrived, listening to the flow and rhythm of the sentences and paragraphs, then rewriting accordingly. Think of yourself as a composer at the piano, repeatedly playing and singing your song aloud, and revising and fine-tuning until it feels like every line is just right.

I’m sure some of these well-meaning teachers can help aspiring writers at a very early stage to loosen up or get "unblocked" creatively. But how many of these "free-writing" apostles make a living from their own writing, as opposed to teaching, or writing books about how to write? My guess is, very few and possibly none.

Writing well, especially fiction, comes not just from craft, but from knowing who you are and writing from that unique and special place. That’s what will give your writing its special distinction. It helps if you’ve developed the confidence to stop worrying about what people think of you, to stop living your life to please others. (Or, as Anne Lamott put it in Bird by Bird: Learn to write as if your parents are dead.) I think that kind of self-knowledge contributes to a stronger, more confident and authoritative writing voice. It doesn’t mean that you have to be a perfect or even a nice person. It has more to do with self-awareness and acceptance, flaws and all. If you’re timid, for instance, make use of that quality in yourself. Tap it, let it find its way creatively on to the page, let it motivate you and perhaps even shape your characters and your story. Another good tip, again from Bird by Bird: Permit yourself to write shitty first drafts! Don’t write your first draft worrying about spelling, punctuation, grammar, flawless prose, etc. Don’t censor yourself as you write, as if someone is looking over your shoulder, judging you. Just get the story written, as honestly and powerfully and spontaneously as you can tell it. Turn off your brain when you write your first draft and write from your gut and your heart. Use your brain (and your dictionary) later, during revisions.

That’s how you’ll develop your natural writing voice, rhythm, and style. Dedicate yourself to the craft of writing. As Karen Kijewski (the Kat Colorado series) once said, she became successful only after she went from being committed to obsessed. If you write only five hundred words a day, something almost anyone can manage if they really want to be a writer (try turning off the TV set!), you will have completed a novel-length manuscript in half a year. Set a daily writing goal for yourself, then stick to it. If you don’t, the novel will never get written, period.

When you sit down to write each day, facing the great blank page, forget about writing a book. Just think about writing one great chapter. Or one great scene. Then the next, and the next, and the next. They’ll pile up, and pretty soon, you’ll have a book. But you have to stick to it.

If you really want to write, stop talking about it and thinking about it and do it. Time’s running out. Sit down, start writing, never stop. It’s worth it.