Charlie and I are huge fans of Death in Paradise, a British mystery series set on a beautiful Caribbean island. Now that I’m not working full-time, I’ve discovered that Charlie has a knack for discovering terrific shows we enjoy watching together. Lately I’ve been analyzing some of them to see if I can pass on some hints to writers who read my blog. More about that in a moment.

One of the rare shows that he likes but I don’t is Midsomer Murders. I have lots of complaints about it. There are too many characters, and most of them aren’t likable. The detective in the episodes I’ve watched – Tom Barnaby – is a nice-enough guy, but there’s nothing special about the way he solves the crimes. Worst of all – and here comes a confession – the plots are too complicated for me.

It gets worse. Charlie and I have been watching Death in Paradise for years, and of course we’ve seen every episode. We started watching them a second time and discovered that we often couldn’t remember who the murderer was. And then – sigh – we started watching the show for the third time, and I still almost never get the murderer right. (Charlie remembers about half the time.)

In a feeble attempt at defending myself, I’m going to point out that Death in Paradise  – like all good mystery shows – follows a formula – one that was a favorite with Agatha Christie. She used to populate her books with multiple suspects who seemed equally smarmy until the true killer was finally revealed.

Oddly enough, I don’t like Agatha Christie’s mysteries either. (I guess I’m hard to please!) But the mysteries that happen in Death in Paradise are different from Christie’s – and better, I think. The ensemble is wonderful – every person is likable and fun. The settings are gorgeous. The music and local culture give every show a party atmosphere. There’s a lot of humor in the show.

And there are two other formula elements that I think work very well. Always, as the show draws to a close, there’s an ordinary happening that triggers an aha! experience and solves the crime. One time it was ants on a windowsill. In another episode it was a bottle of ketchup.

The other formula element is one found in every one of Rex Stout’s mysteries about detective Nero Wolfe. (I’m assuming Death in Paradise stole it.) Nero Wolfe always assembles everyone connected to the murder and dramatically reveals the guilty party. Each episode of Death in Paradise ends exactly the same way. (Funny how a show – or book – can be so predictable and yet so entertaining!)

But what I really want to talk about today is my own idiocy in not remembering who the murderer is, even on the third go-round. Here’s what’s really strange. Charlie and I just started watching a new series, The Coroner, that we’re also having fun watching. But about a third of the time, I can identify the murderer just five minutes into the show.

Did I suddenly acquire a brain? Sadly, no. The Coroner is built from a different formula, and it happens to be much easier for me to figure out. (Perhaps that’s why the show was canceled after only two series.)

If you’re writing a short story, novel, or memoir, some of the points I’ve made in today’s post may be helpful to you: Have a recurring set of likable characters. Create an inviting and engaging atmosphere. Don’t overcomplicate your story (Midsomer Murders). Don’t oversimplify your story (The Coroner).

But there’s one exceptionally useful piece of advice that too many writers are slow to discover and employ. Here it is: Develop a watchful brain. Notice your own reactions – positive and negative – and dig into them for lessons you can apply to your own writing. In Death in Paradise, Detective Inspector Humphrey Goodman used a bottle of ketchup to solve a murder. Surely your brain can be equally innovative!