Chapter Four: Your Essential Story

What happened, and why it mattered

In the previous chapter, we talked about how to give your Sleuth character traits that are going to make her feel unique, admirable, and comprehensible to your reader. But that’s not enough to make the reader truly fall in love.

In fact, let’s lean really hard into this “fall in love” metaphor we’ve got going here. Imagine your reader as a desirable woman, and your Sleuth as a man who wants to win her heart. Right now, your Sleuth is “good on paper.” Sure, he’s got a great job, pearly teeth, and he even knows how to fold his napkin—that’s enough to get him a date. But if he wants this relationship to blossom into something special, he still needs to show your reader a good time.

And what’s a good time, for your reader? A good story. Not just a good case—we’ll be getting to that presently. But something deeper. A good story will force your Sleuth to do more than unmask the killer—she’ll also have to change and grow. By the end of your first book, your Sleuth will have dug deep and made difficult decisions. And she’ll be standing in a place she couldn’t have imagined reaching when the novel began.

What we’re talking about here is your Sleuth's Essential Story.

The Essential Story is composed of two issues your Sleuths will face: a Chronic Issue, that is, a long-standing problem that is diminishing her life. And an Acute Issue, a problem happening right now, that demands action. The relationship between these two issues is simple: the Acute Issue gives the protagonist the push she needs to finally face up to her Chronic Issue—and conquer it.

To see how this works, let’s look at a story I’m pretty sure you’ve read (or, more likely, seen): The Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens.

Ebeneezer Scrooge is a greedy old man who has spent his life amassing a vast fortune at the expense of his fellow man, through legal, but predatory, lending practices. On Christmas Eve, he is visited by three spirits, who give him the opportunity to learn from his mistakes and change. The Ghosts of a Christmas Past, Christmas Present, and Christmas Yet to Come show Scrooge the events of his life, and he is able to look at them with a fresh perspective. Through his experiences, he comes to appreciate the true value of Christmas, along with everything that comes with it—charity, goodwill, community, and love.

So, how does Scrooge's story conform to the Essential Story format?

His Chronic Issue is his greed. Although Scrooge is unaware that it is a problem, his greed is poisoning every aspect of his life. It isolates him from his family, it makes him cruel to his employees, and it even prevents him from enjoying the wealth he has so hungrily accumulated—despite his fortune, he remains too miserly to spend even a little money on his own comfort.

His Acute Issue is the visitation of the spirits. He will have to endure the visions they show him, decide how to respond to them, and ultimately choose whether to allow these visions to change him.

Scrroge's progress in coping with his Acute Issue is what ultimately allows him to conquer his Chronic Issue. The Ghost of Christmas Past shows him the mistakes of his youth, the Ghost of a Christmas Present shows him the warmth and community that could be his in the here and now, and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come shows him the sad fate that awaits him if he does not change. When the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come shows him his own tombstone, snow-covered and disregarded in a bitterly cold graveyard, Scrooge is finally overcome with the will to change. And, because of the visions given to him by the Ghost of Christmas Present, he knows how.

The Essential Story format works so well, it can be expressed as a formula:

Once there was a (protagonist) who (Chronic Issue). One day, (Acute Issue) happened. This forced him to (protagonist's actions). Therefore, he changed, and (protagonist's new status).

So, we might write up Scrooge's Essential Story like so:

Once, there was a man who was greedy and lacking in compassion. One day, he was visited by three spirits. This forced him to comprehend the damage his greed had wrought in his life. Therefore, he changed, and became generous instead.

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This works for internal issues, like Scrooge's greed. But it also works for external issues, like Cinderella's servitude to her step-family.

Once there was a girl whose family treated her like a servant. One day, the prince announced a ball she wanted to attend. This forced her to go against her step-mother's orders for the first time. Therefore, she changed, and broke free from her abusive family.

It works for dissolution arcs, where the character makes a negative change, like in The Godfather.

Once there was a man who hoped to break free of his family's crime syndicate while maintaining family ties. One day, another crime family attacked his father. This forced him to commit crimes to protect his family. Therefore, he changed, and became a hardened mob boss.

And it works for Disney blockbusters, like Encanto.

Once there was a girl who believed she wasn’t special if she didn’t have magic. One day, her family's legacy was threatened. This forced her to learn more about magic. Therefore, she changed, and learned she was special all along.

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Ok. But how does it work in MYSTERIES?

In mysteries, part of the work is done for you, because the Acute Issue is almost always “a murder occurred, and the protagonist felt compelled to solve it.” Solving the case won’t just force your Sleuth to be clever, however—it will also force her face down her Chronic Issue. To solve this case, your Sleuth may have to change her perspective, conquer a personal flaw, make new allies, or completely reinvent herself. Whatever she has to do, it’s going to be frightening, and painful. And it will leave her standing, in the final scene, in a place she couldn’t have imagined on Page One.

Let's take a look at how this works by examining the Essential Story from A Girl on the Train.

Rachel Watson is an alcoholic obsessed with her former life, when she was married to Tom. Every day, she mourns her lost marriage as she takes the train past her old house, where she lived with Tom. She also watches Tom's neighbors, Scott and Megan, whose marriage she has come to idolize.

One day, Rachel wakes up from an alcoholic stupor, covered in blood, with no memory of the previous night. When she learns that Megan was killed that very evening, she is compelled to investigate. This forces her to uncover secrets about her own past, eventually learning that many of the things Tom told her she did while drunk never happened. He has been gaslighting her for years. Furthermore, Tom is Megan's killer; he had an affair with her, and killed her when he learned she was pregnant. In a terrifying showdown, Rachel if forced to kill Tom. With her newfound knowledge, she feels ready to move forward into a new life.

So, here’s the Essential Story:

Once there was a woman who was unable to move forward in life, due to her regrets. One day, a murder occurred and she felt compelled to solve it. This forced her to uncover secrets about her own past. Therefore, she changed, and began looking forward instead of back.

So, great. If you’re writing a traditional murder mystery, you’ve got your Acute Issue down. But how do you create a good Chronic Issue?

• Examine your Image Bank

Remember that section at the end of your Image Bank, where you listed the moral issues that your Hook gives you the opportunity to discuss? Read over that, and imagine how these moral issues might emerge in Sleuth’s Chronic Issue. For example, in my Image bank for my Catholic high school Hook, I wrote that my book might deal with peer pressure and conformity. Perhaps my Sleuth will need to break free from community expectations in order to solve the case.

• Think about your Sleuth’s backstory

Consider how your Sleuth came to live in the world of this Hook, and whether there might be issues from her past that need resolving. My Sleuth might have come to attend this Catholic school (1) because she just moved to this area, (2) because she has been part of this parish for years, or (3) because she has recently converted to Catholicism. Any of these backstories suggests potential Chronic Issues she may have to deal with in this plot. Perhaps she needs to find a place within this community, or perhaps she needs to challenge her long-held assumptions about it.

• Consider major character flaws

In many books, in order to save the day, the character must rise above some great character flaw. Above, we discussed The Christmas Carol, a quintessential example of this type of story. My Sleuth may be dealing with greed, self-righteousness, or narrow mindedness. She may also have a flawed personal perspective, a belief that she needs to challenge, such as “I can’t ever be allow myself to be vulnerable,” or “No one would love me if they knew the real me.” In order to solve the case, she’ll have to grow beyond her personal flaw.

• Examine the issues closest to your own heart

Your book doesn’t just have to tell a story that’s merely entertaining; it may also tell a story that is meaningful. The issues that mean something to you as a human being are going to provide great grist for the issues that mean something to your Sleuth.

Still stuck? Well, you might want to think about these four issues that very frequently form the backbone of the first novel in a new mystery series.

• The Sleuth needs to find her place in the world

The Sleuth isn’t satisfied. Maybe she knows exactly what’s wrong, or maybe she simply has an intuition that she’s not living her best life. Over the course of this case, she’s going to try on a new identity, or a new community, and find that it suits her very well. This may involve her entering the world of your Hook for the very first time, by moving to a new town, getting a new job, or embracing talents that she’s never appreciated before. Maybe she’ll envision herself, for the first time, as a detective. At the end of the book, she’ll be living a brand new life, and the subsequent books of the series will revolve around the cases she takes on in that role.

• The Sleuth needs to connect with others

The Sleuth’s life is lacking, because there is someone missing from it. Maybe your Sleuth has no friends at all, and the case will force her to open herself up to someone else. Or maybe she has plenty of people in her life, but a specific person is missing—a love interest, a sleuthing partner, a sister from whom she’s estranged. She’ll have to reach out to that person in order to get the case solved. She might have to repair a relationship, or she might have to simply open herself up to love. When using this Chronic Issue, the person with whom your Sleuth connects is likely to become a major character in the series.

• The Sleuth needs to recover her confidence

Life has really thrown your Sleuth for a loop recently. Maybe she’s feeling dejected and lonely after a bad divorce. Or maybe she’s a former law enforcement officer who failed to solve a recent case, with tragic results. Whatever is going on, your Sleuth is shaken, and feels like she needs some time to lick her wounds. But time is not what she’s going to get. Instead, she’s going to get a difficult case that will force her to push herself to the limit and rediscover how much she truly has to offer.

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Once you’ve figured out your Chronic Issue, you’re almost done creating your Essential Story. But you still need to think about how your Sleuth’s Acute Issue (the case) will force her to confront that Chronic Issue.

Let’s imagine how I might do this. In my Image bank for my Catholic high school Hook, I wrote that my book might deal with peer pressure and conformity. Perhaps I’d decide that my Sleuth is a high school student who is on the fringes of the popular crowd—she gets invited to all the right parties, but she doesn’t have the confidence or clout to hold onto her social position if she starts to go against the crowd. She needs to learn that status isn’t everything, and that she can be happy going her own way.

The next thing I’d ask myself is, how would the case force her to do this? This is a good time to use my List of 5 technique to come up with a variety of ideas. In order to solve this case, my Sleuth might have to:

• Face off against the most popular girl in school, who she suspects is guilty

• Enlist the help of geeky kids who have the information or skills she needs

• Embrace a skill that makes her stand out in an uncomfortable way

• Challenge her beliefs, which are those shared by the popular kids

• Admit to an embarrassing secret

I really like that last one, having to admit to an embarrassing secret. I can see it being something that eats at my Sleuth throughout the book, creating a powerful tension that will allow for a wonderful moment of catharsis when she finally admits to the truth. But what’s her secret? Well, I could try another list of 5…

• She cheated to get admitted to the school

• She’s been selling essays to other kids at school

• She is related to someone who is considered a social pariah

• She took the fall for a more popular girl over some disciplinary issue

• She is secretly writing a gossip column about the other students

But to be honest, I don’t really need to know all the details at this point. In fact, I encourage you to keep things a little lightweight as you begin putting together the very first pieces of the puzzle that will be your mystery.

Why? Well, eventually, everything about your book—your Essential Story, your plot twists, your clues—will have to work together in concert. You can think of these plot elements as the individual parts of an engine—the pistons, the gears, the hoses. They have to fit with each other, in order to keep the engine of your plot running smoothly. If you swap out one, you may have to swap out others to prevent the grinding of gears.

Right now, you are at the part of the engine development where you’re just finding parts and laying them down on your workbench. As you do this, you’re going to get a clearer picture of what the finished engine will look like—and some of the initial parts may not belong in this final vision. So my advice is that you don’t spend a great deal of time polishing up any particular story element and screwing it into place. All you really need is enough detail to fill out the Essential Story:

Once there was a girl who longed for social acceptance. One day, a murder occurred, and she felt compelled to solve it. This forced her to reveal an embarrassing secret about herself. Therefore, she changed, and realized that she valued justice more than fitting in.

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But what if your book isn’t based on a murder?

No problem! Some mysteries aren’t based on murders, but on lesser crimes: kidnappings, corporate sabotage, fraud. Middle Grade and Young Adult mysteries, in particular, tend to focus on non-violent crimes: thefts, missing animals, cheating at school.

For our purposes, this is a distinction without a difference. The motivations that prompt people to commit murders are the same ones that spur non-violent crimes too. As long as your book is based on some sort of crime or malfeasance, the need to solve that crime will become your Acute Issue.

Does your Chronic Issue have to be solved in Book One?

In a word, yes. A Chronic Issue is a matter for a single book. That doesn’t mean that your series can’t have several Chronic Issues that are thematically linked, or that carry your Sleuth along a pathway toward greater and greater change, as in this example:

• In Book One, the Sleuth learns to trust another person for the first time

• In Book Two, she opens her heart to romantic love

• In Book Three, she becomes willing to sacrifice for the person she loves

But when it comes down to it, the Chronic Issue is a one-book affair. And it’s my belief that the first book in your series should come out of the gate with a very strong Chronic Issue that changes the Sleuth’s life in a deeply meaningful way. It creates an amazing moment of catharsis for the reader, and makes her feel as though a story has been told, and a life has been changed. It also makes her feel intimately connected to the Sleuth, who she’s watched overcome such a staggering obstacle.

Whenever I say that a Chronic Issue is for one book only, there are two main objections I hear:

• I don’t want my Chronic Issue to be solved. It’s a major flaw that I want to be part of the character throughout the series.

• My Chronic Issue can’t be solved in a single book. It’s a case from my Sleuth’s past, and I want it to unravel over several novels.

To both of these objections, I say the same thing: Great! But that’s not your Chronic Issue.

We’re going to see why, using a Sleuth to show us the way: Adrian Monk, of the USA show Monk. When the series begins, Adrian is dealing with crippling Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. While his OCD has always been a part of his personality, it became extremely severe after he suffered a nervous breakdown following the murder of his wife, Trudy. In fact, it’s so bad that he has to employ a full-time nurse, Sharona, to help him get through the day.

It would be easy to look at Adrian’s OCD and call that his Chronic Issue. After all, it’s certainly a problem of long-standing, and it’s certainly diminishing his life. But it’s not his Chronic Issue. Why? For no greater reason than because it never gets solved. Like Holmes’s arrogance, like Columbo’s untidiness, Adrian’s OCD is simply part of the intrinsic makeup of his character. Since it won’t be changing, we’ll need something else if he’s going to have a Chronic Issue.

To be clear, he doesn’t always have one. TV shows aren’t 100% comparable to books—for starters, they’re a lot shorter, and so they don’t always have time, or a need, for a Chronic Issue. Many episodes of Monk simply see Adrian solve a case, with no Chronic Issue in sight.

But from time to time (especially for big episodes like season finales and premieres), a case will force Adrian to overcome a Chronic Issue. Although he never conquers the OCD itself, the Chronic Issues he faces generally force him to face up to specific problems caused by his OCD, or by his grief over Trudy’s death.

In the pilot episode, Adrian is consulting for the San Francisco Police Department, and eager to prove his value to them so he can be reinstated (he’s been off the force since that nervous breakdown). But even though he comes up with several brilliant deductions, his behavior seems to be completely dominated by his many fears. He just can’t make himself rise above them. At one point, he has the opportunity to apprehend the Villain, but his fear of heights gets in the way—and so he lets the Villain escape.

It’s a devastating blow for his hope of being reinstated to the force. “You want to carry a gun?” yells the police captain. “You want other officers to depend on you? For their lives?” It’s clear that as long as Adrian is mastered by his fears, this can’t be allowed to happen. And Adrian is certain that this will always be the case.

That is, until the episode’s final act, when Sharona is kidnapped by the Villain. Galvanized by the need to save her, Adrian manages, despite great distress, to rise above his fears. He even pursues the Villain into the sewer system (even I would have problems with this one), because that is what is required to save Sharona.

So, Adrian has learned that he can rise above his fears—when the stakes are very great. It’s an extremely small change, but a change nonetheless. And for Adrian, it’s the cracking open of a window. It gives him new hope that his life is not on a fixed trajectory determined by his illness; he hasn’t lost the ability to grow.

So, the Essential Story of that first episode is:

Once there was a man who had lost all hope that he could overcome his OCD. One day, a murder occurred, and he felt compelled to solve it. This forced him to rescue his nurse from the sewers. Therefore, he changed, and learned that he could overcome his OCD when greatly motivated, which gave him hope.

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Most of the Chronic Issues Adrian deals with over the course of the series touch on his OCD and his grief. He has to learn to sometimes allow Sharona to be the one who gets care and sympathy. He has to learn to let some of Trudy’s possessions go. He has to learn that he does not like who he is when he takes drugs to medicate his OCD.

But, although the writers stick pretty close to this territory, that’s a stylistic choice, not a necessity. They could have gone farther afield looking for Chronic Issues for Adrian to conquer.

So, if your character has a massive, longstanding problem that won’t be solved, that’s just fine. Let’s call that a Static Issue, because it will remained unchanged (and because I like to name things!). Look for other problems, which you can solve, to be her Chronic Issue—either problems related to this Static Issue, or problems in other areas of her life.

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Adrian is also going to help us deal with our second objection to the Essential Story structure—”but my Chronic Issue is a case that’s going to take several books to solve.” Lots of mystery series have multi-book cases like this, and it can be incredibly satisfying for the reader to see the Sleuth finally get the answers she’s been craving.

I like to call this kind of case an Overarching Issue, because it lasts for several books. Adrian’s Overarching Issue is the murder of his wife, Trudy. From time to time, he’ll make progress toward solving it, but it won’t be until the series ends that he’ll finally learn whodunit.

What I have to say about the Overarching Issue is pretty much the same thing I have to say about the Static Issue, which is: Go for it! Use it to enhance your series’ continuity and its unique flavor Just don’t confuse it for your Chronic Issue, which is a problem that gets solved in a single novel.

If your character has an Overarching Issue, you can create Chronic Issues that touch on it, like:

• your Sleuth connects with a character who will become an important ally in solving the case

• your Sleuth regains hope that the case can be solved

• your Sleuth conquers an emotional difficulty, such as bitterness or distrustfulness, that is the result of this unsolved case

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Do I have more to say about Chronic Issues? Believe it or not, yes! But we’ll hold it for the end of the book, when we discuss series planning. For now, it’s time to dig into the fundamental question that underlies the entire mystery genre:

Why do people do bad things?

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