The Phantom Puppeteer

In a flurry of possibly misplaced enthusiasm, I decided to read through my childhood Nancy Drew collection this year. I finally finished and, many insomnia-busting mysteries later, I have a few lingering questions:

1. Longsuffering beau Ned Nickerson attended Emerson College, but Nancy apparently spent the longest vacation ever solving back-to-back mysteries. Why didn’t such a smart gal go to college?
2. Acme Villain Supply must have sold chloroform by the gallon jug back then.
3. Why didn’t I ever return Ann Grant’s copy of The Mystery of the Ivory Charm that I borrowed in 5^th grade? Sorry about that, Ann.   

But to me, the most persistent puzzle is how anonymous “Carolyn Keenes” endured the ignominy of ghost-writing some of the country’s most popular kiddie lit.  

Popularity is a hard puppet-master

You probably know Carolyn Keene was a catchall penname for the Stratemeyer Syndicate. This busy hive of authors cranked out the Nancy Drew, Bobbsey Twins, Hardy Boys, Cherry Ames, and Dana Girls (etc) series for bookish kids. Cookie-cutter adventures and characters ensured happy readers, if not happy writers. The tempo at the Stratemeyer fiction factory was a march, not a polka.    

And who pulled the strings for these downtrodden typewriting puppets? Ten zillion young mystery buffs, that’s who. Satisfied readers meant dependable sales, so if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. The cross-stitched motto on the Stratemeyer office walls must have been: Anything for a paycheck. The formula worked for decades. And, it still does.

I mean, I get it. Formula (aka “genre”) books are wonderfully escapist and non-demanding. Like McDonald’s hamburgers or Hallmark movies, you know what you’ll get. When you pick up a sweet romance or a cozy mystery, you’re worry-free until the last page is turned. Everything comes out okay. Perfect for reading in the dentist’s waiting room, when the last thing you want is nail-biting suspense.

When I took up noveleering as my retirement project, I spent a lot of time trying to solve The Formula Fiction Mystery. The majority of “get ‘er published” writing gurus are happy to clue you in (for a hefty fee). Rookie lesson one: Read voraciously in your chosen genre to learn what YOUR readers want. Next, once you’ve absorbed the pattern, simply connect the dots by penning a story that’s different, but not too different. These same experts warn that flouting reader expectations only leads to tears–and obscurity.

So, I read dozens of genre romances, following tried-and-true trope trails to the inevitable, often painfully obvious HEA (that’s happily-ever-after, for the uninitiated). I threw in the crying towel somewhere around my tenth “grumpy-sunshine” love story (not even kidding). I couldn’t help picturing rows of discouraged Carolyn Keenes draped over their typewriters. Didn’t those poor Stratemeyer robots prove that write-by-number plots smother creativity like a chloroform-soaked hanky? Didn’t they want to go on strike until they were allowed to put their real names on the covers?

To my utter surprise–after reading 25+ Nancy Drews in a row–I had to rethink my outrage. Ever heard the phrase: There are no small parts, only small actors?  Turns out it’s true in the writing world, too.

No strings attached

In my yellow-spined stack of Nancy Drews, I came across more than one Carolyn Keene who managed to inject the ho-hum junior mystery framework with verve, fun–even heartfelt drama. Their ambitious plots featured Pennsylvania Dutch hex signs, Scottish tartan lore, the Canadian fur industry, porcelain manufacture history, and more. One especially sparkling tale (The Clue of the Dancing Puppet, cover above) had characters spouting wittily apt Shakespearean quotes and discussing the fascinatingly arcane origins of theatrical puppetry, for goodness’ sake!

Aside from discovering how my chums and I can jounce my teetering sky-blue convertible off a dangerous ledge, re-reading my Nancy Drews showed me how imaginative authors can infuse their own voice into the most predictable premise, the most rigid restrictions.

Although writing non-trope-y romance is more my game (see my post on be-true-to-you authorship), these slightly subversive Carolyns did inspire me to see what I could do with a very restrictive story form called “flash fiction.” I’ve learned to love the focus and discipline of writing these 1,000 words or less uber-short stories. Watch for my first flash fiction holiday romance in your Winter ’24 Marline Mail and let me know if you’d like more of the same in coming issues.

Hypers, chums! Won’t that be keen?

PS–Incredibly, I just got news that a flash fiction piece I submitted this summer was accepted for publication. Marline Mail subscribers will be the first to know the publishing date and get a quick link to the story. How timely is that??

With humility comes wisdom. Proverbs 11:2