One of the easiest mistakes a writer can make in just about any genre, but especially in any story that features a mystery, is to assume that your mystery has to be mind-blowing and convoluted.

The fact is, most mysteries, once revealed, are pretty pedestrian. What makes a mystery work is that the author knows the solution and the reader doesn’t, and that gives the author incredible power. They can mess with the reader all they want. They can deceive, dissemble, and misdirect. And, most importantly, they can heavily imply that the mystery is a brilliant knot that only their weary protagonist can solve, when the mystery itself is actually pretty obvious once revealed.

Even in the most celebrated mysteries of all time, like the Holmes and Christie stories, the solution is usually a bit of a let down. Oh, they all killed him, you say? Oh, it was a poisonous snake placed in the room, you say? I’m not saying these aren’t clever, it’s just that once you know the secret the mystery is usually something perfectly rational and even obvious.

The trick is, your reader doesn’t know that.

The Obvious Child

That means that you really shouldn’t spend too much time trying to come up with a mind-blowing mystery that will shatter people’s psyches. The trick is, any crime becomes mysterious and enticing when it’s not explained. Start with a simple murder—say a husband killing his cheating wife—and then work backwards, erasing clues and coming up with coincidences. By the time you get to the beginning of the story, the mystery will be pretty thick and you’ll be able to sell your reader on its difficulty simply by dint of it being obfuscated.

The simple fact is, 99% of all mysteries are let downs. Once you see how a trick was done, it’s kind of disappointing. The joy isn’t in the solution, it’s in the journey—so stop wasting time trying to be too clever by half, and just work backwards.

Plus, make your detective a ventriloquist. There’s never been a ventriloquist detective. It’s genius. Like Jay-Z says, I’m just trying to give you a million dollars worth of game for $9.99.

One of the toughest things to attain in any story, but especially in a speculative story, is verisimilitude, that sense your reader gets that the universe they’re reading about actually exists. When your story is set in the real world and in contemporary times this is a little easier, of course, but no matter when your story is set if it’s supposed to be in this universe you’re going to run into the Pop Culture Problems.

Pop Culture Problem One: The Times They Are A’Changin’

Smart phones didn’t really become a thing until 2008, 2009. Before the first iPhone, people had cell phones and they were boring, and mainly used as, well, phones. Any story set before the arrival of the iPhone might as well have been written in a different century when it comes to how people live and how they communicate, and if you wrote such a story I’m sorry to tell you you’re boned. The only solution to this is to make all of your stories speculative in the sense that they’re set in an alternative universe that follows a technological history devised by you alone, and good luck managing to convey that to your readers.

Pop Culture Problem Two: Your Main Character, The Weirdo

When I was a youngster my parents allowed my brother and I to get a goldfish, because she hoped it would distract us from our burning desire for a dog or cat. We named our goldfish Topper. Any idea why?

If you answered yes, congrats, you have a knowledge of and possibly affection for 1930s screwball comedy films or 1950s TV series. Topper was a 1926 novel adapted into a 1937 film starring Cary Grant, and spawned sequels and a TV show. My brother and I watched the reruns as kids and there was a brief period of Toppermania in our house. What can I say: In the novel of life, I am the weirdo.

Would you ever use Topper as a cultural signpost? Probably not. Yet in many speculative novels we’re expected to believe that the main characters are super into the pop culture of the 20^th or 21^st centuries so the author can use those cultural signposts despite telling a story set in, oh, the year 3147. Having your SFF characters super into things like Seinfeld in the year 3147 is like having someone be super into Topper in 2017. It will never feel real.

Related: Pop Culture Problem Three: Look on My Works

Of course, all pop culture references should be avoided for the simple reason that they age like old paint: Badly. Having your characters Dab might feel cheeky in 2017 (or, more accurately, might have felt cheeky in 2016). In 2027 it will feel … silly. Or mysterious, if your potential readers are young’uns.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to figure out a way to get a reference to fidget spinners into this scene I’m working on, so I’ll seem cool.

Some of you might know I used to publish a zine, The Inner Swine. For nearly 20 years I self-published four issues a year, 25,000 words an issue.

What was in it? Short stories. Occasional poems. And a lot of essays about whatever happened to be on my mind that month, that day, that year. Some of it has stood the test of time, some of it I’m embarrassed about. It was a lot of fun, though, and I learned a lot about writing simply by, you know, writing. More or less constantly for 20 years, because you don’t crank out a hefty novel’s worth of material every year if you slack off.

I never expected to make any money from the zine, or gain any sort of recognition. It was just self-indulgent and fun. I had a few hundred subscribers, was in a few stores. One of the main things I learned from the zine was this: Sometimes you have to write just for yourself.

The Brand

When your ambition is to make a living from writing, from telling stories, you can lose sight of that, sometimes. There’s certainly nothing wrong with trying to write something that has commercial potential—we all gotta eat. But it’s easy to get caught up in polishing pitches, collaborating and revising to get a book sold, or trying to constantly imagine what people will like and respond to. Sometimes the best thing you can do for your writing is to unplug from all of that and write something simply because you’re excited about it, find it interesting or entertaining, or want a challenge. Put aside any considerations about its marketability—or even if anyone else will “get” it—and just write for the sheer joy of it.

It isn’t easy, sometimes, with schedules. Sometimes you’re lucky if you get to work on anything, much less something just for the freedom of it. But if you can, you should.

Now, I have to get back to my epic poem composed in Esperanto. Which means I have to learn Esperanto, and soon.