The other day, I was thinking about how much the way we write has changed in the last 100-odd years. Obviously there are the obvious changes to the process. Few modern authors write long-hand, or use a typewriter, and largely that has made our craft easier and more stream-lined. Computers are a God-send to people like me. Even as I bash out this blog post, I benefit from the ability to delete or change words, sentences or even paragraphs. The kindest thing one can say about my handwriting is that I have my own font; if I was limited to a pen and paper, the waste bin would soon be over-flowing and whoever I employed to turn my final manuscript into typeset for my publisher would need the skills of an archaeologist deciphering ancient cuneiform runes (case in point, my computer has just corrected the spelling of cuneiform - it has an 'e' in the middle. Who knew?).
In recent years, I have started using the specialist writing package Scrivener (#TuesdayTip80). I'm not saying that Agatha Christie would have written better stories if she had used it, but it may have made her life easier and she might have had a better work-life balance.

Then there is the internet - a tremendous time-suck that probably decreases my productivity in many ways. But on the flip-side, having so much information instantly available certainly saves me hours or days of traipsing to the library or writing to experts to make sure I have small details correct.
But there is one thing that modern writers have to consider that perhaps was less important at the turn of the last century - namely needing to consider what happens when the book leaves the page. I'm not talking necessarily about TV, stage or film adaptations. Or even radio dramas - few books are ever translated to those media. But audiobooks are a huge growth area. I've mentioned before some of the challenges that audio narrators faced - take a look at my summary from a discussion with my long-time narrator Malk Williams (#TuesdayTip69). But there are a few other things that you need to consider, should your book ever be translated into a different format.

First - it is extremely common for writers of crime fiction and thrillers to describe the crime or murder that has taken place and then spend the remainder of the book trying to solve the crime. I often put mine in the prologue. In prose, the culprit's identity is easy to conceal.
"The killer stabbed the victim, screaming 'I hate you', repeatedly."
gives nothing away. But this subterfuge is obviously harder to pull off when the killer has a distinctive voice - how will your audio narrator hide the fact that the murderer is the only female Scouser in the book? This is even more tricky on screen, or in a dramatic performance. How do you conceal the identity of the actor?

​Second, what about unreliable narrators (I mean the character, not the highly-skilled professional reading it aloud)? Or books that rely on the reader assuming that one character is the person being described, when in fact it is another? In audio, this can be solved by asking the narrator to simply do a straight reading, rather than using different voices or actors for each character. But again, this is a lot more tricky in dramatisations, especially visual. I can think of at least one thriller where the big twist at the end is that the first-person narrator is actually somebody different to who the reader thinks it is. It's done amazingly in the book, but how do you portray that on screen without giving the game away?
​
There are no easy answers here. My advice is that you simply write the best book you can, and let others worry about if the story is filmable. Only a tiny percentage of books will ever be dramatised, so don't worry too much. That being said, there are lots of clever tricks that writers can use to conceal a character's identity in a way that will also work on screen. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to comment here or on social media!
Until next time,
All the best,
Paul
If you are a writer with a tip to share, or fancy writing a fictional interview between you and one of your characters, please feel free to email me.

If there is one thing I really love, it's a mid-point twist.
This brilliant device is when about halfway through a book, the writer completely upends the story and smashes all of the readers assumptions, making them start again from scratch.
Those who have read Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl, or seen its film adaptation, will know exactly what I mean.
Without giving away any spoilers from specific books or films, a classic example might be that the entire narrative is based on something apparently happening and then the writer suddenly reveals that it never took place, or it was just a figment of a character's imagination.
For it to have been pulled off successfully, and for the writer not to be accused of cheating, the reader MUST be able to stop at that point, go back and reread, and realise that yes, everything still works even if what they assumed was true isn't.

The secret to a good mid-point twist is the set up.
I've already discussed the use of Red Herrings TuesdayTip#153 and how to whittle down the suspect list TuesdayTip#154, and both of these are possible tools. Other examples of twists might be a person assumed to be dead/alive not being so. A crime that never occurred. A supposed motive that turns out to be completely off base.

I call it a mid-point twist to differentiate it from the twists that often occur towards the end of a book. And for me, it has to be a big twist. Not so much an elimination of possible suspects or the closing in on the real motive, rather a complete game-changer.
For many writers, the mid-point twist is often the focal point of the book and is conceived right at the very beginning of the writing process. In the author's mind, the book is then composed of two parts - the before and the after. Many writers work outwards from the twist, making sure that both parts are compatible with that twist.
Of course it isn't easy. Since the twist is perhaps the most memorable part of the story, it is vital that the writer balances the need to completely catch out the reader (and characters), with the need to ensure that all the clues were there from the beginning. This means the author needs to hide them or disguise them. It is not enough for the reader to simply exclaim "I didn't see that coming!". They need to be able to retrace their footsteps with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight and realise that it caught them out because of their assumptions.
Again, without giving away spoilers, I can think of several recent books that caused me to actually gasp out loud or swear at the author's audacity.

In a way, it is analogous to the brainteasers that you sometimes see.
An old chestnut (that is far less effective these days, thank goodness) is this puzzle

A man and his son are involved in a serious car accident. The man dies and his son is seriously injured. When the son is wheeled into the operating theatre, the surgeon proclaims "I can't perform the operation, that's my son!" How is this possible?

Of course the answer (which would have caught out far more people forty years ago) is that the surgeon is the son's mother. It plays on the outdated assumption that a senior doctor, such as a surgeon, must be male, thus the boy's dead father. An alternate solution, using more modern attitudes to family structure, is that the son had two fathers, one of whom died, the other being a surgeon.

Of course this can be fraught with challenges.
First, as we see from the above example, readers' assumptions change over time. It's hard to imagine modern audiences being fooled by a twist that relies on most surgeons being male.
Second, if you have your eye on your book being adapted for the screen, you need to consider that it can be much harder to hide crucial details and clues on the screen than on the page. In a book, the reader only gets the information that we want them to see.
Third, you have to decide if other characters are in on the secret, or they to are fooled. If they already know about it, then you also need to craft their interactions with the reader and other characters in such a way that they don't give the game away, or you don't have to jump through too many hoops to make it plausible that they knew all along but said nothing.
Finally, you still have to be fair. Just as introducing the culprit right at the very end of a book can be frowned upon, turning everything on its head without giving the reader at least a chance to work it out beforehand is cheating.

Remember, you can mislead, distract or fool your readers, but you must never lie.

What do you think of the mid-point twist?
As always, feel free to comment here or on social media.
Until next time,
Paul.
​
If you are a writer with a tip to share, or fancy writing a fictional interview between you and one of your characters, please feel free to email me.

"I guessed who did it halfway through!"
This triumphant statement, often featured in reviews, is enough to chill any crime fiction writer's heart. For months - if not years - you've slaved away at your manuscript. Meticulously plotting a twisty narrative designed to keep your readers guessing; carefully devising and placing red herrings to divert your audience away from the real solution and crafting memorable characters as a distraction from the actual culprit.
All for nothing! All your hard work is in vain and your beloved book baby is going to crash and burn.
Fear not! Take a deep breath! It doesn't matter.
First of all, let's look at what they've actually said.
"I guessed who did it halfway through!"
That's right, guessed.
There are few hard and fast rules about writing a crime novel. But one that is generally accepted, is that the culprit should appear early in the book, probably within the first quarter or so. Introducing a last-minute twist involving a brand new character a couple of chapters from the end is generally regarded as unfair to the reader. Therefore, you will probably want to introduce a few other reasonable suspects early on as well.
Let's assume that by the midway point there are five or so plausible people who could have done the deed. All things being equal, if you were to stop your reader now and demand to know who they thought might be guilty at this point, then they have a one in five chance of being right!
If a hundred people read your book, twenty will guess the right person. If ninety guess the right person, perhaps you have a problem, otherwise it's all down to  the laws of probability.
Nobody likes to admit they were wrong.
Crime readers, especially those who read a lot of books, like to play along as the story unfolds. They are going to try to work out who did it. For many of us, working out the solution before it is handed to you in the denouement is immensely satisfying. Dare I even say it's a wee ego boost? That's just human nature. On the flip-side, getting it wrong is less satisfying. That's not to say we can't enjoy being fooled by a clever writer. Far from it, and there are plenty of kind and generous reviewers who will recommend your book because you hoodwinked them. But I would suggest, that human nature being what it is, more people are likely to publicly crow about getting it right than getting it wrong.
Flip-flopping doesn't count.
A good writer keeps you guessing. In some of the best books I've ever read, I've chosen my pick pretty early on. But then there's been a twist and I've changed my mind. Sometimes more than once. Even if it turns out I was right in the first place, that's not a real win. Because the writer still fooled me for at least part of the book. So they have done their job.
So they figured out who did it? So what?
OK, let's assume that a reader does decide upon the correct suspect early on and sticks with them to the end. Well here's the thing - they won't be sure they've got it right until they read the last page. It's very unlikely that they are going to put your book down because they made a guess on page 150. Furthermore, the classic TV show Columbo literally told you who did it in the opener. Yet millions stayed tuned in, because what they really wanted to see was Columbo solve the mystery. To paraphrase the old cliché, it's not about the destination, it's about the journey.


What are your thoughts on trying to guess the culprit?
As always, feel free to comment here or on social media.
Until next time.
Keep on guessing,
Paul.
If you are a writer with a tip to share, or fancy writing a fictional interview between you and one of your characters, please feel free to email me.

For this week's #TuesdayTip, I am going to explore the difference between TV and novels.
My wife and I enjoy a good mini-series. The sort of thing that consists of 4 to 6 episodes, each 45-60 minutes long. Sometimes they are adaptations of novels and other times original stories.
Now, before we start, I am a novelist NOT a screenwriter. I have no direct insight into the world of TV making, so these are purely my own uninformed observations.
I Don't Remember That Happening.
A common complaint made of TV adaptations of existing novels is that the TV show differs from the original.
Common variations include:

• Parts of the original novel missing / new material added.
• The casting of actors that don't resemble the character as described (this can be explicit, where they have openly contradicted the description in the book, or more subjective where readers had an impression of what a character was like and found themselves surprised at the casting choice).
• Changing the dialogue.
• Excising/adding/merging characters.
• Changing parts of the plot.
• Re-ordering the plot.
• Changing the ending.

Opinions vary on whether a particular TV adaption is better or worse than the source material, or just a different way to enjoy the story. Typically it's subjective and a matter of opinion. The only comment I'm prepared to make on this thorny topic is that Amazon Studios' Harry Bosch and Jack Reacher adaptations are in my opinion excellent. They aren't slavish retellings of the original novels. They aren't better or worse than the books. Instead they are their own version and I can enjoy both the books and the TV series alongside each other without feeling it necessary to compare and contrast.
Speaking to friends that have had books adapted for TV, the author rarely gets much of a say. Some big-name authors such as Michael Connelly may get to help executive produce the series, but most authors don't.
Some authors actually adapt the book themselves. But again, you will usually find differences.
The reason is quite simple: TV and books are very different forms of media. TV productions are constrained by budget, time available to broadcast the story, availability of suitable actors and what can be practically shown on screen. Furthermore, there is a need to split a TV series into discrete episodes, each roughly the same length and each with a cliff hanger. Although novels have turning points and cliff hangers that serve as natural breakpoints, where a reader can put the book down but is keen to return, they are rarely conveniently spread out. I notice that some streaming services have experimented with different lengths for each episode, so that the story's telling isn't dictated by the need for an ad break or the length of a TV slot, but I think it'll be a long time before that becomes the norm, if ever.
There are also other, less tangible differences. For example what about inner monologues or character's thoughts? The Jack Reacher shown in Amazon's Reacher series is rather more chatty than the one portrayed in Lee Child's original novels. He has to be, because Reacher in the novels rarely speaks out loud. Instead we get a running commentary of his thought processes. That's easy on the page; for the small screen, we need either a voice-over or another character that he can speak with. What about conversations via phone messages? Some TV shows do this really well, others make a bit of a mess of it, with viewers struggling to read the messages on screen, and thus missing important information.
Another difficulty faced by TV series, is that it is sometimes easier to hide something on the page than on the screen. I recently read a book where a whole chapter appears to be told from the perspective of a particular type of person. The big twist at the end of that chapter (and it is a stroke of genius) is that it is actually being told by a completely different type of person. I can't see any way of filming that without giving away that twist within the first two seconds of the camera panning across. If it is ever made for the screen, that scene will have to be rewritten or cut (fortunately, there's enough in the rest of that book to make it worth filming anyway).
That's Not How I Would Have Done It.
One of the things about being a writer is that you often find yourself analysing another writer's choices. I can't stress enough that it is rarely about thinking, "I could have done that better". Rather it is about the direction that your own imagination went at a crucial point in the story, and how it differed from the author's. In fact, sometimes it's the exact opposite to feeling superior. I've lost count of the number of times I've read or watched something and thought "Damn, that's good! I'd never have come up with that in a million years".
When watching TV, I often have that feeling and I realise that it's probably because I am thinking as a novelist. If I was writing the story, I would have my character go and do X or think Y. But then, when I think about it, I realise that the decision made by the screenwriter is far better suited to the screen than my idea, which would work better on the page.
Don't Diss The Screen.
Looking back over the previous two sections, I am uncomfortably aware that what I have written fuels those who smugly proclaim "of course books are always better than TV". I've never been happy with that argument. TV and novels are both complementary and discrete forms of entertainment and you can't make such a sweeping statement.
So to redress the balance, here are some of the advantages that TV has over novels.

• Description. A good novelist can fire the imagination with beautiful descriptions of a scene, a landscape or a character. They can conjure up images in the reader's mind. But they need to do so concisely to keep the pace brisk and they can't keep returning to that description without becoming repetitive or slowing things down. Furthermore, a surprising number of people have a condition called aphantasia - an inability to visualise images in their mind's eye. TV on the other hand is a visual medium. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and it's undoubtedly true. A skilled cinematographer can convey a whole scene with a single sweep of the camera, freeing up the screenwriter to get on with telling the story.
• Sound. Again, TV is also an aural medium. Dialogue is more than just words, and whilst a good novelist can describe the nuances of speech it can be difficult to convey the subtle undercurrents. In the second episode of season three of Star Trek: Picard, there is a huge revelation (I'm not going to spoil it). The entire scene is communicated with nothing more than the changing expressions on the actors' faces. The viewer experiences the same dawning revelation as the character. It is a sublime piece of TV. In a novel, the revelation would have to be explicitly stated on the page. It could be done of course, but I feel it would have been a poor second best.
• Atmosphere. A good writer can conjure atmosphere. But again, a skilled cinematographer and sound designer can convey in just a couple of seconds what a novelist might need two paragraphs for. Well-chosen music can manipulate the viewer's emotions, and isn't that manipulation what it's all about?
• Background. By this I mean what's happening behind a character, perhaps something they are unaware of. In a book, we need to tell the reader everything that happens. We are often told as writers 'show don't tell'. TV can often have an advantage here. Imagine a scene in a restaurant, where two characters are having a private conversation. That conversation is overheard by someone at the next table and then used against them. In a book, the writer has to figure out how to tell us that happened. There are a dozen ways to do this of course, but they require an explicit acknowledgment of what took place. In TV, the characters can finish their conversation and the camera can zoom out and reveal the eavesdropper with a cunning look on their face. Obviously there are situations where a novelist has the upper hand, as they can delay revealing that there was a third person there until later in the book. This is another example of where the two media can have different strengths and weaknesses when telling a story, and how the same story may need to be told differently on the screen and page.

What do you think about the screen versus the page? Can you think of any examples where the same story is told differently, yet both are as good as one another?
As always, feel free to comment here or on social media.
If you are a writer with a tip to share, or fancy writing a fictional interview between you and one of your characters, please feel free to email me.
Until next time,
Paul.

This week's #TuesdayTip is inspired, in part, by the epic conclusion of the BBC drama, Happy Valley. First off, rest easy that there won't be any spoilers!
It occurred to me as I watched the series that one of the key strengths is the characterisation, in particular the way in which even the worst characters have qualities that make the readers empathise with them.
I've written before about how protagonists (the 'hero') and antagonists (the 'baddie') can often be two sides of the same coin, and how the same character can switch between the two (Tip#113). Today, I want to focus on the antagonist and discuss why the most memorable 'bad guys' have positive traits interwoven between the evil.
It's very easy to write a pantomime villain - a character that is all bad. They have no redeeming qualities, and the audience loves to hiss and boo as they make their entrance. But I find that one-sided approach to be ultimately unsatisfying.
Human beings are complex creatures. We accept that no person is wholly good. We all have flaws, some big, some small. Dig deep enough into your personal heroes and you'll find aspects of their personality or things that they have done that you disagree with. Similarly, the tabloid newspapers are experts at presenting killers and rapists as monsters with no redeemable qualities. But look beneath the surface (sometimes very deep, admittedly), and you will always find something that is good or likeable about that person. It doesn't excuse their actions, but it is there.
Furthermore, it is this contrast that often makes them more scary. How often have you heard shocked neighbours describing the quiet man at number 42 who turned out to be a serial killer as 'an ordinary family man'? Aside from the uneasiness from realising that evil-doers often hide in plain sight, the juxtaposition of a person who outwardly appears affectionate towards friends and families with an individual that is capable of great cruelty, magnifies the horror we feel at what they do. That contrast amplifies the impact of their crimes.
In Happy Valley, the writer Sally Wainwright, and actor James Norton, crafted a memorable antagonist that kept millions of viewers hooked for three seasons, spread over almost a decade. Tommy Lee Royce was capable of tremendous cruelty and violence. Yet in the final episodes he evolved from a wicked bogey monster to a complex, damaged individual. Many viewers were left discomfited by the fact that whilst none of his actions could be justified, they could be understood on some level. They found themselves feeling a degree of sympathy towards him, that means he will linger in their consciousness long after the series has ended.
Humanising The Bad Guy.
As writers, we want our characters to not only leap off the page through cleverly-crafted descriptions and memorable actions, but we also want our readers to experience emotion as they read about them. In the case of our antagonists, we want the over-riding feeling to be negative. But if we truly want them to feel authentic and to make them memorable, we need to tap into that inner contradiction that human beings are both good and evil. In other words, we need to humanise them.
Now first of all, humanising is not the same as condoning. Empathising with a character is not the same as forgiving them. Hitler was no less evil because he was a vegetarian who loved his dogs.
So how can we humanise our antagonists to make them more rounded, memorable and effective villains?
To do so, you need to give them traits that we can empathise with, or motives and desires that we can understand (and perhaps even agree with, even if we would never countenance how they set about to achieve them).
The first tranche of Marvel comic book movies built towards an epic showdown between the Avengers and Thanos, a god-like creature who, with a snap of his fingers killed 50% of all living beings. Evil incarnate.
Yet look at his motives: to simplify greatly, he believed that the universe was being destroyed by over-population. His drastic solution was to halve the number of lifeforms. Few would agree with his methods, but his goal, the protection of the universe, was on one level laudable. Fundamentally, he believed he was making a sacrifice for the greater good. Add to that his love for his adopted daughters and you have a character that is a lot more memorable than at first glance.
Back on Earth, I was faced with a conundrum when writing The Common Enemy, the fourth full-length novel in my DCI Warren Jones series. The victim in this book was the leader of a far-right extremist party. Tommy Meegan was racist, homophobic and violent, as were his friends. However, I needed the reader to empathise with the victim, otherwise they wouldn't care if Warren brought his killer to justice or not. They didn't have to like him, or agree with him, but they did need to see him as a human being.
You can do this for your own characters in a number of ways.

• Most powerfully, show that they are loved. Despite their failings, give them family and friends who enjoy spending time with them and miss them when they are absent.
• Show why they are loved. An easy way to do this is small acts of kindness or loyalty. Does your murderous, psychopathic serial killer do a bit of shopping for their elderly neighbour? Do they ring their grandmother or visit a dying relative every day without fail?
• Show that they can love. Maybe they have a family that they would do anything for? Or a beloved pet.
• Give them traits that make them likeable under the right circumstances. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, they are unlikeable. But do they have a sense of humour? Or everyday interests and hobbies and opinions that you or I may share? Hannibal Lecter is a charming, erudite and cultured individual. If it wasn't for his murderous impulses, I dare say he'd be enjoyable company at a dinner party.
• Give them flaws that the reader can empathise or sympathise with, because the reader shares them or knows others who do.
• Give them a motivation that we can understand (or perhaps even agree with to a certain extent). Do they kill for revenge (they or a loved one have been hurt)? Are they so obsessed with always being in control because they had a childhood where they felt powerless? Do they commit acts of violence because that is the only way they were taught how to solve a problem? Do they just want to share their inner pain with others, so they aren't alone?

How can you humanise your antagonist? Can you think of any good examples in fiction or real-life?
As always, feel free to comment here or on social media.
If you are a writer with a tip to share, or fancy writing a fictional interview between you and one of your characters, please feel free to email me.
Until next time,
All the best,
Paul

In the last #Tuesday Tip (Tip#119), I examined a debate regarding whether making your protagonist the target of a killer is an exciting plot device, or an over-used cliché. Today I want to look at another debate. The balance between backstory and plot.
This is probably more relevant to ongoing series than standalones, but it can apply to both.


A complaint that I've seen both in online discussion forums and reader reviews for particular books, is that readers felt there was too much of the characters' history and personal lives, and that they just wanted the detective to get on and catch the bad guy. They've picked up a mystery or thriller; they aren't interested in the lead detective's ongoing marital strife.
On the flipside, I've also seen readers enthusiastically talking about the characters' tangled private lives, and speculating about where things will go next. I have a few regular readers who are kind enough to message me about my books and ask for hints about what will happen to Warren and his wife Susan. Naturally, I politely thank them but keep my cards hidden.


Ordinarily, I usually suggest writers try and find a balance between the two - but really that advice is about as much use as a chocolate teapot. Because where is that balance? Every series is different. At the two ends of the spectrum, there are series where readers come back each time to see how their favourite characters - who are now more like friends - are getting on. The grisly murder at the heart of the book is almost an afterthought. Then there is the opposite end of the spectrum, where it's all about the mystery. The characters' private lives are an unwelcome distraction, and they are emotionally constipated.
Then there is everything in between.


The simple fact of the matter, is that you are never going to please everyone. That's life. I have read reviews of award-winning authors, lauded by readers and their peers, where somebody has given the book 3 stars and grumbled that it could have been half the length if only a good editor had cut the fluff about the detective's dying wife. There are also highly-regarded writers that have stood the test of time, that are criticised for the lack of characterisation in their books.
So I am going to give you one bit of advice:
Write what feels right; write what you want to read. Find your own balance.
By all means listen to constructive criticism from those you respect (over the years, my editors have variously told me to cut paragraphs that don't add to the main plot, or expand upon aspects of a character that readers may find interesting.) But ultimately, the balance between the solving of the crimes at the centre of my books and the trials and tribulations of DCI Warren Jones and his team at Middlesbury CID is what I feel comfortable with.


What are your views on plot vs backstory? As always feel free to share your thoughts in the comments or on social media.
Until next time,
Paul

I was recently an interested observer of a debate on a Facebook group about the practise of writers placing the main character of a series at the very heart of the action. Specifically, making the detective that series revolves around the target of a serial killer.
The original poster stated that they were sick and tired of reading books where it transpires that the bad guy was targeting the lead detective personally. They felt that it was an overused trope. And that got me thinking.
In my DCI Warren Jones series, I have made Warren the target in a couple of books. Given that the series currently runs to 12 entries, I don't think I've done it too often, but it is argued by some that there are series where it is becoming a bit of a cliché. So I thought it would make an interesting discussion point


Now first of all, there are series where the central theme is the detective's ongoing involvement with organised crime, or their shadowy past. In that case, whatever else is happening in that book, readers are probably going to want that story arc to advance. It's a central pillar that the series rests upon.
I think the criticism is aimed more at 'episodic series'. Series where the primary storyline is a different case each book, like individual episodes of a TV series. In which case, how realistic is it that the motive for the killer is to make the lead detective suffer? How realistic is it that more than one book involves different, unrelated culprits gunning for our hero?
It's a valid question. Can it be overused?

I guess there are Pros and Cons.
In favour of the practise, ask why the writer is doing it.
There is no denying that it can really raise the stakes. If the reader feels that the detective is in mortal peril, because they are the specific target of the killer, that can make the audience feel the tension more than endangering a character that they have only just met. It's even better if the killer has the detectives' loved ones in their sights.
This is because the reader might feel that the detective the series is named after is 'protected' - especially if they are back in the next book. But what about their spouse, or their children? I can think of a couple of series where the author actually killed off the most significant person in the protagonist's life. It was shocking and unexpected and it completely upended the status quo. One famous writer actually used the acknowledgments to direct readers to a letter, hidden on their website, where they confirmed that it wasn't sleight of hand. Yes, they really had killed off that character, and no, they wouldn't be coming back. Absolutely magnificent!
I can also think of another writer that supposedly killed someone off, only to bring them back a few books later and reveal that it was all a ruse. I don't think that worked as well.

On the other hand, the original poster in the social media debate made a valid point. It can become a cliché. They asserted that it was a sign of desperation or lazy story-telling. I don't hold much sympathy for that argument. I think that a writer can become somewhat over-enamoured with the device, since they are incredibly fun stories to write, but I see little evidence that it has become a fall back position for a writer short of ideas. I guess the biggest argument against it is that it is a little far-fetched. How often in real life would even the most well-known detective become the target of nutters and killers, who want to either murder them, or prove that they can beat them? Sure, it's fiction, and the suspension of disbelief is part and parcel of the genre, but if it happens more than a couple of times, that seems to be stretching things a little.

My personal view is that it is a very strong story-telling device, but one that should be used sparingly. One way to dodge this might be to shift the killer's focus to somebody close to your detective. Because of that, they become more embroiled in the case than they might normally. For example, rather than having the detective in the sights of the killer, because of something murky that happened in the past, why not make their sibling the target? This also has the added advantage that you can string readers along - will the killer succeed, leaving our hero devastated at their failure, or will they save the day?

What do you think? Over-used cliché, or a heart-stopping narrative choice?
As always, feel free to comment here or on social media.
Until next time,
Paul.