Yes, I’m writing a mystery novel. No, it’s not progressing well.
I’ve hit upon the stumbling block that I haven’t done forensic research in a while, so I’m frustrated and reading as many books as I can get my hands on. Apparently my mind has come up with a victim, and a motive. But I don’t know the killer yet, nor do I know the detective. Also, the story changed enough that I can no longer use the title I had in mind. I’m thinking I should just let this one write itself before I get too caught up in the smaller pieces.
At the same time, I think I’ve been reading too much Sherlock Holmes because I’m finding myself increasingly annoyed at the lack of deductive abilities on other people. Then I have to take a step back and tell myself that I am not in fact Sherlock Holmes. If I were, I would not be working in museums. I would be working in a crime lab somewhere.
But it is not the first time I have sighed at every day deductions… You just have to read this post from six years ago to see that this is apparently an on going thing. I can deduce some things just by paying attention to detail. And do it so regularly that I just assume everyone else is too.
So, I just have to remember not to get frustrated when people take a minute to catch up I think. Either I’m reading too much Sherlock Holmes, or I relate to the man more than I’d like to think.