When I started seriously writing fiction over a decade ago, I imagined myself as a literary novelist. Seriously. I was a snob who pooh-poohed mere “genre” fiction. I dreamed big: the Pulitzer, the National Book Award, I saw myself graciously accepting the prizes. My arrogance was astounding. But it wasn’t long before I realized three things:

My writing didn’t belong in the literary category.

My 3rd attempted novel fit more in the suspense genre. Though I resisted it (“I don’t want to be pigeon-holed!” I told my patient husband), two-thirds of the way through the 1st draft, I knew this was true.

I didn’t want to write literary.

I enjoyed mysteries and psychological suspense more than I’d suspected. The books I checked out from the library? More genre than literary.

Creating suspense forced my brain to work. Hard.

It had to stretch and bend in strange directions, like a contortionist in a circus act. I read about plot. I read mysteries and suspense and thrillers and crime novels. I still do. Creating true suspense is difficult, which leads me to the next point . . .

2. Writing a mystery gives you more respect for the masters in this genre.

For someone who had imagined her writing to be “literary” and had a background in literary criticism (thanks to my master’s degree in English), it was hard to curtail my impulse to over-describe insignificant objects or explain away needless passages of description as symbolic of this or that. Oh, aren’t I so clever, I think, only to realize that my authorial cleverness doesn’t serve the story. Story trumps all else. (Want proof? Read Steven James’ book Story Trumps Structure.)

It’s difficult to decide where and how to work that clue or that red herring into the narrative. I worry over inserting information into dialogue. I question whether it is too much, too soon or too little, too late or, worst of all, too obvious. The payoff has to be substantial but realistic, character-driven, inevitable and surprising. No deus ex machina. No cheap melodrama. No easy outs.

Confession time. I’m not certain I’ll ever be able to write suspense or mystery well.

How the heck did Agatha Christie, P.D. James, and all the other masters do it? More than once? Every year? My admiration rose for every writer who writes a publishable mystery on a regular basis. Which brings me to my next point …

3. Writing a mystery teaches you how to create and sustain suspense, which all novelists need to learn.

Suspense doesn’t apply only to this genre.

Suspense is what keeps the reader from tossing aside your book. There’s a million other things your future readers could be doing: laundry, exercising, watching cat videos on YouTube. Why keep reading?

Because they’re hooked on your writing.

What hooks them? Suspense.

It won’t look the same from genre to genre. But it’s still there.

(For tips on creating suspense, read this blog post from Sophie Masson on Writer Unboxed. Check out WU’s other posts, too, and you’ll find helpful resources for all types of fiction writing.)

4. Writing a mystery gives you the opportunity to face your own fears and darkness.

This wasn’t a welcome discovery. When I scrapped novels #3 and #4 and decided to rebuild both novels from the ground up, I knew that my antagonists were weak points. Too cartoon-villain-ish. To re-imagine these characters, I had to delve deep inside them. What I found troubled me. It still does.

I have things in common with both characters. I did with the protagonists, too, but somehow it’s different when the characters are a man addicted to child porn who rapes his girlfriend and a racist white police officer who kills her street informant. Both manipulate people. Both are capable of violence. Both hold deep prejudices, deep fears. Both struggle against their own natures. Both have things in common with me.

When I wrote these characters, I was holding a mirror up to my own heart. It is a chance to examine myself and then confront the evil inside. Only then is redemption possible.

This doesn’t sound appealing. But which would you prefer: self-denial or self-examination?

The same goes for fears. Have a deep-rooted fear? A worry that nags at your mind at three a.m.? A memory of childhood fear that you just can’t shake? Try turning it into a mystery.

I’m making plans for another novel based on a nasty split my childhood church experienced. I’ve been through two other such conflicts since. Even typing the words “church split” makes my heart react. It’s negatively affecting my life and relationships, so I want to confront these memories. Writing a suspense novel seems like a logical thing to do with them.

You’ll probably worry and cry and initially, everything will feel worse. (Waves hand of experience.) But somewhere in that manuscript, you will realize that your own words help. You’ve put words to those fears. You’ve put the disaster on fictional characters, tortured them, forced them to find their way out of the mess. You might find that you’ve led yourself out of the mental mess, too.

Maybe it won’t be a bestselling mystery or even a publishable novel. But it may help you.

5. Writing a mystery is a heck of a lot of fun.

After that last point, this one sounds absurd.

Fun? Meredith, how can you say that?

It is, though. It’s fun to make a puzzle for readers to piece together. To build tension, the kind that makes your heart race. To lead the readers on rabbit trails and toss them red herrings. To create an exciting space for readers to disappear into, capturing their attention while moving their hearts and minds.

It’s gratifying when you know you’ve succeeded.

Readers, have you written a novel? What’s holding you back? What other reasons should I have added? Add your reasons in the comments!