O.k, so I've been working on a murder mystery story, of sorts, revolving around the world of Lucha Libre (Masked Mexican) wrestling.
The good thing is that I'm enjoying the exercise. A lot. It'll be no more than a short story, at best, but I find myself thinking about the plot and characters....even when I'm doing other things. I'm taking that as a good sign of interest.
The bad thing is, I want to try to make it as authentic as I can and, not being from Mexico...or a Lucha Libre wrestler....that could mean some research. I'm not sure just how much I want to do for a short story (at best!). I guess it would make for A). a better sotry and B). a better writing exercise, so we'll see. One of the definite advantages of not having a deadline.
I'm also hesitant to try to use "dialect" as I don't want it to sound cliche' or even hokey but I want the reader to have a real feel for the background of Lucha Libre, even if they've never heard of it beforehand.
Any tips/hints on how I should proceed?
While I'm mulling things over, I'll leave you with a small sample...the opening of my little tale.
The large, burly, man ducked under the glossy yellow tape that read ‘Police Line: Do Not Cross”. As he crossed the threshold, a uniformed officer was already approaching.
“Sir, I’m sorry this is a…..oh…”
Wearing a pair of pressed, black, slacks, a matching
sports coat and a crisp, white, t-shirt underneath, the burly man didn’t look
too out of sorts. That is, until you went above the neckline. Doffing his black
fedora, a shiny white mask covered his head with a thick, black, outline around
his eye and mouth holes. The burly man stood tall after ducking under the
tape….to around 6’4”.
The officer quickly stood aside. “Sorry sir, didn’t realize
they had called you.”
“No worries, amigo”, the big man said, “would you like to
see my i.d.?”
The officer smiled weakly and shook his head, waving the
masked man in.
“El Ojo! About damn time you got here!!”
“My apologies, Inspector Martinez, my training class went
long.”
“Trainin’ class? What sort of trainin’?”
The masked wrestler grinned, “Cooking. Today was flan.”
Inspector Martin just sighed. “Problem with you, Eye, is
that I never know when you’re kiddin’. Anyways, what we got here is a corpse
and five suspects. Each one has a reason that they’d like to see this here
Prince Charmin’ six feet under.”
