Why I Write Mysteries
By Kay Kendall
I don’t give a fig how a car works. Or electricity. Or a
computer. They all could be black boxes, as far as I’m concerned, inside which
mysterious things happen. Poof! The car turns on. Poof! Electricity powers the
air conditioner. Poof! The computer recalls everything you type into it.
computer. They all could be black boxes, as far as I’m concerned, inside which
mysterious things happen. Poof! The car turns on. Poof! Electricity powers the
air conditioner. Poof! The computer recalls everything you type into it.
What I really care about is how people work. Why they do
the things they do. I discovered this passion one teenaged summer when my
boyfriend dumped me and I drooped into churlishness. After a week my mother
tired of my moods and suggested I work at one of her charities.
the things they do. I discovered this passion one teenaged summer when my
boyfriend dumped me and I drooped into churlishness. After a week my mother
tired of my moods and suggested I work at one of her charities.
I began volunteering at the county’s psychiatric clinic,
helping with rudimentary clerical tasks. As I typed up forms and patients’
reports, I was shocked to see so much pain appear on the pages. But later I was
gratified to see the clinic’s psychiatric social worker help some of those patients
whose woes I learned about. Sometimes they left our office with springier steps.
I fancied I could see their anxieties and depression lift.
helping with rudimentary clerical tasks. As I typed up forms and patients’
reports, I was shocked to see so much pain appear on the pages. But later I was
gratified to see the clinic’s psychiatric social worker help some of those patients
whose woes I learned about. Sometimes they left our office with springier steps.
I fancied I could see their anxieties and depression lift.
That same summer my favorite cousin began exhibiting
behavioral problems. Merle was super bright but troubled. I never saw him act
out or be mean to someone, but I began to hear stories. I wanted to help him but didn’t have the
skills. Ah-hah, I thought! I’d study psychology in college and become a
psychiatric social worker so I could fix him.
behavioral problems. Merle was super bright but troubled. I never saw him act
out or be mean to someone, but I began to hear stories. I wanted to help him but didn’t have the
skills. Ah-hah, I thought! I’d study psychology in college and become a
psychiatric social worker so I could fix him.
Please note that I never aspired to be a psychologist or
psychiatrist. Perhaps that was because I’d only seen a psychiatric social
worker in action and therefore could imagine being one. Betty Friedan had just published
The Feminine Mystique. I hadn’t read
it, and it would be years before I became an ardent feminist.
psychiatrist. Perhaps that was because I’d only seen a psychiatric social
worker in action and therefore could imagine being one. Betty Friedan had just published
The Feminine Mystique. I hadn’t read
it, and it would be years before I became an ardent feminist.
When I started college in the sixties, I loved all my
classes—even for a short time geology and astronomy, subjects taken only to
fulfill liberal arts distribution requirements. Much to my sorrow, however, psychology was a letdown,
a huge bore.
classes—even for a short time geology and astronomy, subjects taken only to
fulfill liberal arts distribution requirements. Much to my sorrow, however, psychology was a letdown,
a huge bore.
I wanted to learn about people. But all we studied were
rats. While two friends in my class did manage to cope with rodentia behavior, I
couldn’t. These women went on to earn
their doctorates in psychology and help countless people. For me, however, the
gap between the actions of rats and people was too great a leap. I never took
another course after Psych 101.
rats. While two friends in my class did manage to cope with rodentia behavior, I
couldn’t. These women went on to earn
their doctorates in psychology and help countless people. For me, however, the
gap between the actions of rats and people was too great a leap. I never took
another course after Psych 101.
I toyed with various majors, but English literature was my
mainstay. Fiction encompassed everything about humanity, and I’d always been a
ferocious reader. Writing was a joy. After getting a graduate degree in history—real
crimes that happened in the past, I now say—I fell back on writing and developed
a solid career as a corporate communicator. However, I never felt I’d found my
niche. My heart did not sing.
mainstay. Fiction encompassed everything about humanity, and I’d always been a
ferocious reader. Writing was a joy. After getting a graduate degree in history—real
crimes that happened in the past, I now say—I fell back on writing and developed
a solid career as a corporate communicator. However, I never felt I’d found my
niche. My heart did not sing.
When I began writing fiction a decade ago, I finally responded
to an inner compulsion. What I had to explore is why people do the things they
do. Character development and plot are almost synonymous to me. It’s like attending
another high school reunion and seeing old friends again after ten years. I’m
reading the newest chapters in their lives. People are walking and ongoing stories.
Curiosity drives me to learn everything I can and then fictionalize it—showing behavior
and uncovering motives.
to an inner compulsion. What I had to explore is why people do the things they
do. Character development and plot are almost synonymous to me. It’s like attending
another high school reunion and seeing old friends again after ten years. I’m
reading the newest chapters in their lives. People are walking and ongoing stories.
Curiosity drives me to learn everything I can and then fictionalize it—showing behavior
and uncovering motives.
The mystery comes in when good people do bad things. Each
of us is a mysterious black box. Inside are so many factors all jumbled up—memories,
desires, huge grievances. How can others hope to understand us? How can we hope
to understand ourselves?
of us is a mysterious black box. Inside are so many factors all jumbled up—memories,
desires, huge grievances. How can others hope to understand us? How can we hope
to understand ourselves?
Yet still we try. We must try. Sadly, I never deciphered
what made my cousin Merle derail. I was helpless to alter his sad trajectory. Alas,
after living for years in a hospital for the criminally insane, he
wandered off into a field while on furlough and simply lay down and died. He
was forty.
what made my cousin Merle derail. I was helpless to alter his sad trajectory. Alas,
after living for years in a hospital for the criminally insane, he
wandered off into a field while on furlough and simply lay down and died. He
was forty.
As a mystery author, though, I can put characters into
extreme peril and see how they react. Can they sort out their own complicated
lives? Can they figure out who has done what vile thing to whom? Solving the
puzzles of people living only on pages (or in E files) is now my full-time job.
After I figure out one set of interconnecting lives, then I go on to develop
another set, another, and another. This is a job I relish.
~~~~~~~
extreme peril and see how they react. Can they sort out their own complicated
lives? Can they figure out who has done what vile thing to whom? Solving the
puzzles of people living only on pages (or in E files) is now my full-time job.
After I figure out one set of interconnecting lives, then I go on to develop
another set, another, and another. This is a job I relish.
~~~~~~~
 |
| Author Kay Kendall |
Want to read the first 20 pages of Kay Kendall’s second mystery, RANY DAY WOMEN? Go to her website http://www.austinstarr.com/ That book won two awards at the Killer Nashville conference in August 2016—for best mystery/crime and also for best book. Her first novel about Austin Starr‘s sleuthing, DESOLATION ROW, was a finalist for best mystery at Killer Nashville in 2014. Visit Kay on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/KayKendallAuthor
Enjoyed this post, Kay. Thanks for letting us know more about you.
Kay, I am so happy you love to write mysteries and that you do it so well. I hope that means you will write many more. I sure do enjoy reading your work.
Dear Anonymous, thank you for your kind words. I write to express myself and hope to connect with other people. You make me happy when you say I have done that. I have a new mystery I'm happy with and will let you know when it is ready!
Dear Marjorie, thank you for your comment. I left a comment earlier but now I see it did not post.I appreciate your support so much. Xoxo
Kay
( it may say anonymous but that is because the software has an issue)