A Profusion of Plots

By
Thomasnovels

People are always telling me they could not write a book because they could never come up with all those plots and how do I ever manage to think up all those stories. I usually mumble something, pretend I see someone I know on the other side of the room, move off and don’t try to explain it because I don’t look good in white (as in a straight jacket). My problem is too many plots and ideas. I won’t live long enough to write out all the story lines I have in my head. I have filing cabinets full of notes even I cannot decipher anymore.

So I am going to try to answer the question of how I come up with an idea that develops into a book by using the plot of my current novel (and not give away the who-done-it because even I don’t know … yet) as an example. Please remember, this is what it looks like inside my head. It’s sort of like those math word problems I can never figure out. If a plane leaves Boston and the sun is shining and a train leaves Richmond when it's raining, I take the bus cause it’s cheaper and carry an umbrella because it will protect me from both. Good luck in following the trail and I’ll see you on the other side … hopefully.

Two hints. I live in Virginia and I write romantic mysteries.

One night, I dreamed about a skeleton being discovered behind a wall. (I watch way too many true crime shows on television.) There was a large open space behind it, water was running in from somewhere and there was a lot of mud. When I woke up, I wondered, if someone had all that space, why bury the skeleton right up next to the wall, where was the water coming from, who were they before they became bones and how did they get there. That’s the mystery part.

Around this time, a relative had trouble with a broken water pipe and did not have water for two days except where it filled up their dirt floor basement. Perfect. A broken pipe leaking water, creating mud, damaging a wall and exposing the skeleton was a great idea. And as a survivor of the 2009-10 winter season in Virginia, I could reason our freezing temperatures, heavy snows and melt offs would have damaged any underground, secret enclosure.

My heroine would wake up to no water and have to deal with all the dilemmas that created. And being the independent, capable, single woman that she is, she would have to call in a hunky male plumber to work on her pipes … her problem. That’s the romantic part.

Back from my days of helping my father do repairs around the farm instead of being inside with a good book where I really wanted to be, I remembered to backtrack a leak, you can color the water with food coloring to indicate flow direction and source. (See, Dad, I was listening and not daydreaming.) Now my heroine is running around allover the house with a bucket of red water, dumping it down drains and commodes (bet she never gets those stains out) while the hunky plumber watches the water coming into the basement.

Several years ago, a friend of mine found a mummified arm on his property. (That one is real and not made up.) Turns out his home belonged to a doctor during the civil war. (I am writing this in April which is Confederate History Month and our governor is still wiping the shoe polish off his teeth where he stuck his foot in his mouth.) Owning pre-civil war homes in the Shenandoah Valley means you have status and can hang a big ole plaque out on the front gate for everyone to see. But what if her house was built during the war? No plaque, no status, lots of repair problems and the bones in the basement could be modern or just some really old guy whose been hanging around.

And has he been hanging around? Does she have ghosts? (When I’m not watching true crime, I’m watching true paranormal shows.) Civil war plus ghosts equals (see, math) a local battlefield near where I live that’s reported to be haunted. One form this haunting takes is a knocking on the front doors of all the houses on the battlefield. Okay, she just might have an infestation of ghosts (or ghost singular) as well as plumbing problems. Right after I decided to include a haunting knock on her front door, I read (when I’m not watching television, I’m reading) something I’d never heard of before. Three knocks on the door (when no one’s there) is an omen of death. So now she has someone rapping on her door three times.

Anytime you find a skeleton on your property, it’s probably a good idea to call the police. I have a job in the justice system and have just finished working a missing person’s case with a totally dreamy detective. Guess who’s going to show up in answer to her 911 call of finding the remains? I promise to change the names to protect the good looking.

So my heroine has a broken pipe, no water, a flooded basement, a secret underground enclosure, a ghost rapping (not a music genre), a hunky plumber and a dreamy detective. And people say they can't find anything to write about. I just want to see her explain why the skeleton has been dyed red with food coloring.

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