Priests - Mysterious People

A Stodghill Says So blog:
I sometimes wonder what it is about the priesthood that has led at least three wearers of the collar to write mysteries. One of them, Andrew Greeley, cranks out a book nearly as often as I change socks. He divides his time between churches in Chicago and Arizona but I can't help feeling that his priestly duties consume very little of that time.
Then there is Ralph McInerney, a priest at Notre Dame and a prolific writer of mysteries himself. Quite naturally, the protagonist of a long-running series is a priest, Father Dowling. Greeley frequently writes about a priest known to his friends as Blackie.
I met McInerney, although briefly, at some mystery writers affair twenty odd years ago. The late Joe Hensley, a good friend but not a priest, introduced us. After a quick handshake I hurried away to chase the late Rosemary Gatenby down a hall.
It seems "the late" applies to most people when you reach my age. However, I should explain that I am not and never have been in the habit of chasing ladies down halls although it is possible it happened sometime long ago. I was chasing Rosemary because in her younger days she lived in Muncie, the city where I worked as a newspaper reporter. I had just read her most recent book and wanted to say, "It was set in Tipton."
She was taken aback. "How did you know? I wanted it to be a secret."
"Because I lived in Tipton for a couple of months and know the layout of Indiana."
Back to priests, or in the case of the late William X. Kienzle, an ex-priest. Bill and I got to know each other not long after his first book, The Rosary Murders, became a bestseller. His protagonist was, not surprisingly, a priest named Father Koesler. Bill had the book nearly finished but couldn't come up with an ending. He was lying on the couch one night while the TV set was on when suddenly the subject of the program, incest, provided the ending he had been searching for.
Years later I was in need of a climax for a short story, Nightmare on North Hill. For no particular reason, Bill Kienzle came to mind and the perfect ending hit me. Not his ending, but close.
Sad to say, Andrew Greeley was seriously injured while getting out of a cab last November. Hopefully it did not put an end to his writing career after 120 books. He is 80, and we octogenarians don't take kindly to accidents.
There has to be a moral to this story. Just what it might be escapes me.

It's a mystery.

Since priests are involved in The Greatest Mystery of All, maybe they
feel the need to write mysteries that can be solved by humans - while
still alive.

They are used to covering things up.

I think it's because they get so much free material from being told so many secrets by people seeking help. With all of that material stored, it must be tempting to change the names and write some good mystery material.

The mystery of inquity--they wonder why people do what they do.
Maybe they get tired of hearing about the little piddly things and want to share a few horrible ideas.

If I were to be a priest, I would want to be one in Arey, NewMexico in the 1950's. Adobe houses and a church on a dirty, rocky incline that went up to the grave yard. When some one died, many people cried and carried the casket up the dusty hill to the grave plot. Someone had worked all night to hack a hole out of the rock to put the loved one down. The dust had a smell of earth that had had no water for a long, long time. Dry adobe,
Dust and rock.

The kind of a place that a church and priest should be. Close to God.

Love,
Betty

I have read some of Andrew Greeley's books. My goodness. They are a bit racy for a priest, but perhaps Betty is right. They hear a lot about life and love.

I heard lots of secrets as a counselor. I got lots of practice writing by writing progress reports and treatment plans. One time I had a very serious case, a life and death situation with a client. I needed help and called a priest. He was fantastic.

Carol

Quote :

If I were to be a priest, I would want to be one in Arey, NewMexico in the 1950's. Adobe houses and a church on a dirty, rocky incline that went up to the grave yard. When some one died, many people cried and carried the casket up the dusty hill to the grave plot. Someone had worked all night to hack a hole out of the rock to put the loved one down. The dust had a smell of earth that had had no water for a long, long time. Dry adobe,
Dust and rock.

I'm thinking you have the setting for a pretty likely mystery novel right there.

I think you are onto something, lin. Now if Betty could write a mystery where the inspector is a mouse, it would all come together!

Lin, Zada, Betty ought to jump on this! What a concept!

OUTLINE:

• Cat, who was mouse's friend, is murdered
  
  
• Mouse, swears revenge and becomes a detective
  
  
• Searches for clues and finally reveals the killer -
  
  
• Whose name is... Curiosity!
  

Curiosity killed the cat.

The final line in that Brew: But satisfaction brought him back!