The Biggest Plot Mistakes First-Time Mystery Writers Make

We made these mistakes so you don’t have to.

There’s a special kind of confidence that hits the first time you say, “I’m going to write a murder mystery game.”

You picture a dramatic reveal. A clever twist. Guests gasping, accusing, laughing, and leaving the party, chanting, “We need to do that again.”

And you can absolutely pull it off.

But here’s the part most DIY mystery writers don’t realize until they’re in too deep: writing a murder mystery isn’t just storytelling. It’s experience design. You’re not writing a plot that gets read, you’re writing a plot that gets played by people with different attention spans, social batteries, comfort levels, and expectations.

At Skills Murder Mysteries, we didn’t start as seasoned mystery game designers. We started as two sisters with a big idea and a whole lot of trial-and-error. In the earliest days, we literally took apart mystery party games we hadn’t even played yet, plus new ones we bought specifically to deconstruct, so we could reverse-engineer what worked and why. That “mystery autopsy” approach shaped our entire format. And it’s also how we learned, the hard way, what not to do.

So if you’re writing your first murder mystery game (or rewriting your first one… again…), here are the biggest plot mistakes that trip up first-time writers and what to do instead.

1) Treating your mystery like a story, not a playable system

This is the #1 trap. A story can survive a slow middle. A game can’t.

In a playable mystery, people need:

• Clear objectives (what are we trying to figure out right now?)

• Moments of payoff (reveals, new information, twists that matter)

• Just enough guidance to keep the room moving

What it looks like when this goes wrong: The plot is cool on paper, but guests start drifting into side conversations because they don’t know what they’re supposed to do next.

Fix it: Build your plot around “player actions,” not chapters. Ask:

• What will guests be doing in the first 15 minutes?

• When do they receive new information?

• What does success look like in each phase?

If you do nothing else, do this: design the pacing before you polish the writing.

2) Overcomplicating the evidence (especially early on)

We have done this. Repeatedly. When we first started, some of our evidence leaned heavily into escape room energy, including ciphers, layered clues, and hidden meaning within meaning. And to be clear: that can absolutely be a good thing. For the right group, this style of mystery is incredibly satisfying. Some players love sitting with a puzzle, cracking codes, and feeling like they earned every answer.

The challenge is recognizing what kind of game you’re building and who you’re building it for.

In our case, that early design choice resulted in one of our most challenging games to date. It also taught us something important: not everyone comes to a murder mystery party expecting (or wanting) a high-difficulty puzzle experience.

Not everyone came to a party to decode like they’re breaking into the Pentagon.

What it looks like when this goes wrong: Players fixate on a cipher for 30 minutes, miss three key conversations, and then feel behind, or worse, feel dumb. Not because they aren’t capable, but because the game didn’t clearly signal that this was a “hard mode” mystery or provide alternate ways to keep up.

How to fix it (without dumbing it down):

• Make early evidence readable at a glance, even if later evidence ramps up in complexity

• Reserve puzzle-heavy elements for optional “bonus” discoveries or advanced layers of play

• If you include a cipher, pair it with a plain-language alternate path (a second clue that leads to the same truth)

This approach lets puzzle-lovers dig deep without blocking more narrative-driven or socially focused players from progressing.

A good rule we now design by: complexity should be a choice, not a barrier. When players opt into the challenge, it feels rewarding. When they’re forced into it unknowingly, it can feel frustrating.

3) Building character relationships that are too fragile to survive real-life casting

This is one we learned from venues the hard way. Your plot might be airtight if every character is cast exactly as you imagined… but in the real world, someone’s always sick, late, swapped, or suddenly doesn’t want to be “the ex.”

At our first venue, they didn’t stick to solid gender breakdowns for casting. That meant relationships we thought would be simple to “smooth over” with last-minute tweaks… weren’t. The result? Confusion, awkwardness, and extra stress on the host.

What it looks like when this goes wrong: You’re rewriting relationship dynamics an hour before guests arrive and praying no one notices.

Fix it: Write relationships that are adaptable:

• Avoid plots that require one specific gender pairing to make sense

• Use relationship “roles” (mentor/rival/old friend/roommate) that can flex

• If romance exists, make it an optional flavor, not the foundation holding the case together

If a relationship must be specific, label it clearly and give hosts a contingency option.

4) Using red herrings that feel like “gotcha” instead of clever

Red herrings are supposed to be fun. But there’s a line between misdirection and betrayal.

In one of our early games, we included an accidental death as a way to throw people off. It absolutely did… and not everyone loved it. Some players felt like the game “tricked” them in a way that wasn’t satisfying.

Here’s the key: the more casual your audience, the less they enjoy feeling played. Seasoned sleuthers may cheer. First-timers may get irritated.

What it looks like when this goes wrong: Guests stop trusting the game’s logic. They start guessing randomly instead of solving.

Fix it: Red herrings should:

• Be explainable after the reveal

• Still add to character motivations or worldbuilding

• Never invalidate evidence that was presented as “true”

And if you’re writing for a mixed crowd, keep misdirection lightweight and focus on clarity and momentum.

5) Killing too many people (and not accounting for the logistics)

We did this in our third game. We got ambitious. It became the deadliest yet: five deaths, compared to our usual three.

And here’s what we learned: more bodies don’t automatically mean higher stakes.

Sometimes they just mean:

• More timelines to track

• More announcements to coordinate

• More confusion about what matters

Also, more deaths can change your minimum player count and how much “manning” the game needs to run smoothly.

What it looks like when this goes wrong: Players forget which death is connected to which motive, or spend half the night asking, “Wait, are we solving this one or the other one?”

Fix it: If you want multiple deaths, do one of these:

• Make one death the main case and the others “context” (clearly labeled)

• Tie every death to the same culprit and the same motive chain

• Use fewer deaths but make each reveal more impactful

Bigger isn’t always better. Clear is better.

6) Hiding key information in places guests won’t naturally look

Mystery writers love subtlety. Party guests love snacks, side conversations, and not reading paragraph six on page three.

If your plot relies on players:

• reading every line

• noticing a single detail buried in a block of text

• remembering a clue they saw once an hour ago…

You’re setting yourself up for chaos.

Fix it: Repeat critical information in different forms:

• A spoken reveal + a printed clue

• A character confession + a timeline entry

• A prop + a summary in the host guide

In live events, we saw how intensely guests took notes, sometimes filling every inch of the note pages in their booklets. That’s literally part of why we created the Detective’s Journal: players were begging for space to track suspects and evidence because it’s so easy to miss things in real time.

Your job as the writer is to make the important stuff hard to miss.

7) Creating a “perfect” solution that only works if players behave perfectly

This one is sneaky.

First-time writers often build a solution that requires:

• everyone sharing everything

• people not lying too convincingly

• no one skipping a clue

• every scene happening on time

But players are chaotic in the most human ways. Some guests will overperform. Some will barely speak. Some will become detectives. Some will become comedians. That’s the joy of it, and your plot has to survive it.

Fix it: Design for mess:

• Build multiple paths to the truth

• Make your culprit’s story collapse even if one clue gets missed

• Use a final accusation structure that helps the room converge

The best mysteries don’t depend on perfection. They’re built to handle reality.

8) Ignoring feedback because “the plot is correct”

If you’re writing mysteries for real people, the plot being technically correct doesn’t matter if the experience feels confusing.

One of the biggest reasons Skills Murder Mysteries evolved quickly is simple: we listen. Players, venues, collaborators. Everyone catches something different. Sometimes it’s a typo. Sometimes it’s a confusing clue. Sometimes it’s accessibility.

A client once told us their group was largely neurodivergent and that loud, vocal voting at the end would be overwhelming after a long social night. Because we had time to adjust, we revised our voting cards into a written, quieter option, and now that inclusive option is permanently part of our materials.

That’s not “extra.” That’s a better design.

Fix it: Treat feedback like playtesting data:

• If 3+ people misunderstand the same thing, it’s not their fault

• If a venue struggles to cast it, your relationships need flex

• If guests feel tricked, rework your misdirection

And if you distribute digitally? Even better. You can update fast, improve continuously, and build trust over time.

The big takeaway: you’re not failing, you’re iterating

If you’ve made any of these mistakes, congratulations: you’re doing the thing most people never do: building something real.

We rewrote our early games multiple times to arrive at the format we use now. We learned from other games. We learned from venues. We learned from guests. We made bold choices that didn’t land with every crowd, and we adjusted.

That’s how you become an authority in this space.

So if you’re writing your first mystery game, here’s the best advice we can offer:

• Start simple.

• Playtest early.

• Design for humans, not perfect players.

• And iterate like your future best-seller depends on it… because it might.

Want a shortcut?

If you’re in the “I want to write one someday, but I want to host a great one now” camp, start by hosting a tested mystery first. You’ll learn more from one night of gameplay than a week of outlining.

And if you are writing, keep going. Just write it like it’s meant to survive a room full of real people. Because it is.