by D. R. Ransdell
I’d been thinking about starting a novel when Andy Veracruz sprang into my head. He was at his usual gig at the restaurant where he was the band leader of the mariachi group, and as usual, he noticed more than he should have. In this case, it was his boss’s wife, who waltzed into the restaurant with her lover. Andy wished he’d closed his eyes because he didn’t want to have to tell his boss that his wife was sleeping around, and yet he didn’t want to keep quiet about it either.
Thus started Mariachi Murder, with Andy in a predicament about how much to say about the alluring Yiolanda. Although I didn’t set out to start writing this book on a certain day, once I got the initial image I couldn’t help myself. I sat down and wrote about a thousand words. That night I regrouped. The next day I wrote another thousand words, and so on and so forth.
But in my mind I clearly knew what I was doing. That is, I wasn’t quite sure of the plot or exactly how Andy would reach the conclusion, but I knew whodunit before I began. I also knew I wanted to write a murder mystery. I knew I would need several dead bodies. These conventions were clear to me. After all, I’d followed Lawrence Block’s sound writing advice: if you want to write a mystery novel, read 500 first. I think I’d gotten up to 321 before I lost track of my notes and switched everything in my life over to a word processor.
Thus my novel followed a discernible pattern. I had a protagonist who became an amateur sleuth because he had trouble on his hands. I had dead bodies here and there. I had clues. But in the meantime, while I was trying to find a publisher for Andy’s book, I was planning a trip to Thailand with a girlfriend. And that kicked my imagination into high gear.
I’d been to Asia once by that time, to Japan., and it was a wonderful experience. I loved the temples and the funny handwriting. I laughed at my misadventures such as arriving at a subway station where every single thing was written in kanji instead of Roman letters.
I figured that a trip to Thailand would include some of the same kind of adventures. After all, I didn’t know much about Thailand’s history, culture , or language. I didn’t know what the food was like. I didn’t know what I wanted to go see. But right from the beginning I vowed to turn my trip into some kind of novel.
When I arrived in Bangkok, I started drafting. I used my varied experiences for plot lines, for humor, for inspiration. I thought I was merely writing an adventure story with a hint of romance. The funny thing is that without trying to, I wound up writing a mystery.
Thai Twist is no murder mystery. I don’t even categorize it as a mystery per se. But it’s the story of two sisters traveling in Thailand. They’re given a mission: to take a gift to a neighbor’s long-lost relative. That sets them on a trail of discovery that made use of my own best adventures. It was also a mystery that carried through from one end of the book to another.
I’ve been told by publishers that mystery readers are mystery readers and romance readers are romance readers and that’s that. However, I disagree. I think there’s often a lot of crossover between genres. And I think that in my own writing, no matter how much I might want to write a romance or an adventure or anything else, I’ll wind up wrapping a mystery inside of it. At the same time, anytime I write a murder mystery, there will be shades of romance and adventure. Otherwise, the result just wouldn’t be one of my stories.