How to Plot a Mystery Using Red Herrings and Big Reveals

You and I both know the mystery genre’s been around forever. We’ve all outlined plots, crafted puzzles, dropped clues. But here’s the thing: readers are smarter than ever. They’ve seen everything. So the old tricks? They don’t land unless we do something really intentional with them.

I wrote this piece because I’ve seen too many otherwise great mysteries fizzle—not because the twist was bad, but because the setup didn’t earn it. Red herrings were random. Reveals didn’t hit emotionally. And worst of all? The audience felt it. You can’t afford a reveal that breaks the trust you’ve spent 300 pages building.

So, this isn’t Mystery Writing 101. This is about using red herrings as narrative pressure and big reveals as character evolution—not just plot devices. Let’s dig in and see how to pull that off without insulting your audience’s intelligence.

Making Red Herrings Work for You (Not Against You)

A weak red herring is worse than none at all.

Why?

Because it makes your audience feel like you’re wasting their time. It’s the storytelling equivalent of saying, “Gotcha!” without actually having a point. And no one likes to be toyed with, especially mystery fans. They’re reading you as much as your characters.

So here’s how I’ve learned to think about red herrings: they’re not there to hide the truth. They’re there to shape how the truth is perceived.

Red Herrings Should Be Built on Emotional Logic

One of the best ways to make a red herring stick is to tie it to something a character cares about. Let’s take an example from Knives Out (Rian Johnson’s original, not the sequel).

Marta’s vomiting-on-lies condition becomes a sort of inverted red herring—we believe she must be innocent because she physically can’t lie. It’s brilliant because it emotionally manipulates us into trusting her completely, and it distracts from the deeper game.

But if you just drop a clue (like, say, a mysterious glove) with no emotional weight behind it, readers clock it as filler. They start scanning for the “real” clue—and worse, they stop believing in the story’s world.

So when you’re planting red herrings, ask: Whose truth does this mislead, and why would they believe it?

If it’s just a decoy for the sake of a twist, you’re weakening the whole narrative.

They Should Advance Character, Not Just Confuse the Plot

I love when a red herring actually reveals more about a character than about the mystery itself. Let’s say your detective suspects a grieving son because he’s behaving erratically.

But what if his behavior isn’t tied to the murder—it’s tied to guilt about something else?

Say, he cheated on his father’s last will. That’s compelling. It feels like motive, but it isn’t murder.

And now the reader’s asking: “Wait, what else don’t I know about this guy?” The false trail deepens character and complicates relationships, which is always a win.

Use red herrings as a lens to expose character contradictions. When they do that, even the reveal that “he didn’t do it” feels earned—because we learned something that mattered.

They Need to Thematically Fit the Story

This one’s subtle but powerful: the best red herrings mirror the story’s central theme. If your mystery is about trust, then every red herring should force the protagonist (and reader) to question who or what can be trusted.

Take The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. There are plenty of misdirections, but nearly all of them play into the central tension of hidden abuse, corporate secrets, and power dynamics. That’s why the false leads don’t feel cheap—they echo the thematic question the story’s asking.

So before you plant your next red herring, ask: Does this mislead the reader in a way that supports the story’s core tension? If not, it might be a distraction, not a device.

Don’t Forget: Red Herrings Should Be Satisfying in Their Own Right

Here’s a practical tip I live by: if the red herring ends up being false, make sure it’s still rewarding.

Think of it like a side quest. Even if it doesn’t lead to the killer, it should feel like it added value—revealed a secret, heightened tension, exposed a new motive. That way, readers don’t resent the misdirection. They appreciate it.

Look at Broadchurch (Season 1). So many false leads—but each one expands the world, the town, the trauma. Even when they’re wrong, we feel more invested.

TL;DR: Red Herrings Are a Tool of Trust, Not Deception

If there’s one thing I hope you’ll take from this section, it’s that the best red herrings don’t just mislead—they teach. They complicate, deepen, and enrich your mystery. And when the truth finally comes out, they make that moment feel earned, not like a magic trick.

Coming up next: how to make the reveal itself land like a gut punch and feel inevitable.

Let’s go.

How to Make the Big Reveal Actually Land

So let’s talk about the moment everything turns: the reveal.

That final twist, that “Aha!” or “Oh no…”—it’s what mystery readers live for. But here’s the secret: it’s not the twist itself that blows people’s minds. It’s how earned it feels when it drops.

I’ve seen tons of smart writers build a clever twist only to watch it fall flat. Why? Because a big reveal without proper scaffolding is just a fact. It’s not satisfying. It doesn’t resonate emotionally or thematically. And that’s a death sentence for a story built on suspense.

Let me walk you through what I’ve found works consistently—and what trips even experienced writers up.

Start Laying the Foundation Early—But Subtly

I’m not talking about Chekhov’s gun. I’m talking about layering your reveal into the story’s DNA in a way that’s invisible on first read but obvious on the second.

A perfect example? Gone Girl. Flynn doesn’t just drop the twist that Amy’s alive. She builds it into the voice, structure, and theme from page one. Nick’s detachment? The diary entries? They’re all slightly off. You just don’t notice until she wants you to.

Good reveals reframe everything, not contradict it. And that’s key—because if readers feel like they were lied to or manipulated, they won’t be impressed. They’ll be mad.

Reveal the Truth and Change the Stakes

Think about the reveal in The Sixth Sense. Sure, we find out Malcolm was dead the whole time. But that moment isn’t just a plot solution—it changes everything we thought we knew about his relationships, his goals, and his arc. It redefines the story’s emotional center.

So when you’re writing a reveal, ask yourself:

What truth am I revealing?
How does it change what the characters want or believe?
What does it cost them emotionally?

If your reveal is just “X did it,” and nothing else shifts? You’ve written a clue, not a climax.

Make the Reader Feel Before They Fully Understand

This might sound counterintuitive, but trust me—you want the reader to feel the impact of the reveal before they piece it all together intellectually.

Emotion drives memory. Logic catches up. If you time it right, the reader experiences something like grief, shock, or awe before their brain starts checking for plot holes.

An example that nails this: Sharp Objects (the book, not just the series). When we find out the true killer, it’s not just a twist. It’s horrifying because of the emotional groundwork laid earlier. The reveal lands in the gut, and then the mind scrambles to put the puzzle pieces together.

Use the “Double Layer” Reveal

Some of the best reveals happen in two parts:

The character realizes something (often too late).
The audience realizes something else just before or just after—usually with greater clarity or horror.

This layered approach lets you play with tension and timing. A great recent example is in The Night Of—we get the truth about what happened in pieces, from different characters’ perspectives, and it keeps shifting our understanding right until the end.

Think of it like a camera slowly zooming out to reveal the full picture. Let readers think they know where they are—then give them a wider lens.

End the Reveal on a Feeling, Not a Fact

The final moment of the reveal shouldn’t just be “Here’s who did it.” It should land on a feeling: betrayal, catharsis, devastation, vindication.

Facts don’t linger. Feelings do.

So if your reveal solves the mystery but doesn’t move the reader?

It might be time to rewrite—not the twist itself, but how you deliver it.

How to Structure a Mystery That Actually Pays Off

Let’s shift gears now and talk structure. You’ve got red herrings, you’ve got your big reveal—but where do you place them? How do you weave them in without tipping your hand or dragging the pace?

Mystery plotting isn’t about hiding the answer—it’s about controlling the timing of when and how the reader asks the right questions.

Here’s how I break it down across a four-act structure that keeps the mystery tight and the tension climbing.

Act I: Build an Illusion of Clarity

This is where you establish the world, tone, and the “surface problem.” Give readers something to hold onto—some version of events they’ll believe, even if it’s wrong.

Introduce a compelling red herring here. Make it personal. Make the protagonist care about chasing this false lead.

Pro tip: Don’t be afraid to let the protagonist be wrong. It builds tension and gives you room to flip the narrative later.

Act II: Escalate Through Conflicting Clues

Now the protagonist is fully engaged—but things start to not add up.

This is your opportunity to stack red herrings, character motives, and misleading truths. But each one must:

Advance the emotional stakes
Tie into theme
Deepen character tension

This is also where you seed the truth. Just one or two clues—but downplayed enough that readers miss them the first time.

Think of this act like tightening a noose. Every new discovery narrows the options while increasing the confusion.

Act III: Shatter the Illusion

Now we start knocking down false assumptions. This is where your big red herrings unravel—not all at once, but methodically.

A good way to pace this is by giving the protagonist (and reader) just enough information to feel like they’re close—but still missing the final piece.

Place the actual reveal at the end of this act or the start of Act IV—depending on whether you want to end with truth or consequence.

Act IV: Fallout and The Final Shift

Now it’s time for your reveal to reshape everything. But don’t treat it like an answer sheet—this act should still feel dynamic.

The best mysteries use this space to:

Show how the truth changes the protagonist
Deliver emotional or thematic closure
Reveal the why, not just the who

It’s okay if the audience saw the reveal coming—what matters is that it lands emotionally. If it feels like “of course”—and not “wait, what?”—you’ve done your job.

Bonus Tip: Use Subplots as Structural Mirrors

If you want your red herrings to feel meaningful, try building subplots that reflect or contrast the main mystery. It makes misdirection feel like storytelling—not trickery.

For example, in Broadchurch, the central mystery is supported by mini-arcs of loss, secrecy, and guilt. Every red herring feels plausible because the world is emotionally consistent.

Subplots are the unsung heroes of a great mystery structure.

Before You Leave…

If there’s one thing I hope you take with you, it’s this: mysteries aren’t about what’s hidden—they’re about what’s earned. Every red herring should teach the reader something, and every reveal should echo through character, theme, and emotion.

You’re not just delivering a twist. You’re guiding someone through a carefully designed emotional experience—one where, ideally, they don’t just gasp… they feel something real.

Anyway—go plant your clues, fake your trails, and drop your reveals like a pro. Just remember: the best mysteries respect the reader’s intelligence and their heart.

You’ve got this.