When readers dive into my debut mystery novel The Coroner, they often ask, “So… how much of Emily is you?” “And it that you on the cover?” Fair question. After all, Dr. Emily Hartford, the sharp, fearless daughter of a medical examiner, shares more than a few details with me and my sisters, all of us real-life coroner’s daughters. I’ve designed her based on parts of all three of us.
But no, that’s not me on the cover.
Here’s the thing: while Emily’s story draws inspiration from my upbringing around death investigations, her life, her choices, and her troubles are hers, not mine.
I remember the first time someone asked me this question at a book signing. A woman leaned in and said, “You must be Emily! You’ve lived all this!” I laughed and said, “Well, sort of, but Emily is a lot cooler and braver than I am!” The truth is, for every trait Emily and I share, there’s another that belongs solely to her.
For instance, Emily’s sharp instincts in the autopsy room come from my years watching my father perform real death investigations. But her ability to stand over a body, fearlessly searching for answers? That’s all Emily. Me? I’d be the one getting woozy and looking for the nearest exit. Now, my middle sister, Melanie. She went on many autopsies with dad. Stomach of steel!
And let’s be clear. Emily’s fractured relationship with her father is another piece of pure fiction. My dad has always been there for me and my sisters. Is he quirky, yes, but far from estranged. In fact, at 84 years old, he’s still a practicing physician, dishing out prescriptions and medical advice.
So, how much of Emily is fact, and how much is fiction? Let’s pull back the curtain and compare notes. Because while Emily and I share a past shaped by death, only one of us is bold enough to chase killers. (Hint: It’s not me. At least not yet.)
Emily vs. Jennifer: Side-by-Side at the Autopsy Table
Emily Hartford 🩸
Jennifer Graeser Dornbush ✍️
Grew up in a small town (Freeport)
Grew up in a small town (Freeport)
Studied medicine in Chicago
Studied Rhetoric in Chicago
Has long blonde hair
Has long, sandy blonde hair (with lots of help from a bottle)
Stands tall (5’10”)
Also tall, 5’11” (after a chiropractic appointment)
Is a millennial
Is a proud GenXer
Fearless and headstrong
Headstrong, yes. Fearless? Depends on the day.
Unflinching in the face of blood and gore
Majorly squeamish, I avoid the gore if I can help it!
Lost her mother at age 15
Just called my mom, she’s alive and well!
Estranged from her father
I have a strange, but loving and supportive dad
Knows how to repair a knee
I… know how to make a mean quiche.
“Did You Base Emily on Yourself?”
The short answer? No. The long answer? She’s the version I wish I could be.
Emily and I share some DNA, figuratively, of course. We both come from small towns, have tall frames and blonde locks (well, mine’s more “chemical blonde”), and we both know our way around a coroner’s office. But Emily’s world, her heartbreaks, and her battles belong to her alone.
Unlike Emily, I never pursued medicine. While she’s elbow-deep in autopsies, I’m more comfortable elbow-deep in manuscripts. I’ll spend hours dissecting a scene, but the kind with plot twists, not body parts. And let’s be clear, I would never knowingly confront a killer. My approach to danger? “Run now, and let the cops handle it!”
Emily, on the other hand, walks straight into the fire. She confronts her past, faces killers, and fights for justice with a scalpel and sheer grit. I’m fighting for justice, too. But in the fictional world.
The truth is, Emily gets to be the bold version of me, the version who doesn’t flinch at blood, who doesn’t hesitate in the face of danger. And that’s one of the joys of writing fiction: I get to live a little braver, a little riskier, without ever leaving my cozy, overstuffed office chair.
Family Skeletons… and One Named Sam
Now, let’s talk about family, because if there’s one thing fiction writers love, it’s mining their personal lives for drama. Here’s my stance:
No Real Skeletons. Except One.
My general rule for basing characters on real people is simple: Leave the family skeletons in the closet. But… we did have one skeleton. Literally.
His name was Sam, and he was made of real human bones. Sam wasn’t some Halloween decoration or plastic model, he was the real deal, an anatomical model. For years, he was a fixture in my dad’s medical practice where he helped educate patients and occasionally creep out unsuspecting visitors.
My friends and I would dare each other to sneak a peek inside the box, and the bravest among us would crack the lid, only to slam it shut with a shriek seconds later. And I’ll never forget using Sam at my senior class Halloween party.
Sam also became the subject of our family’s morbid sense of humor, something you develop quickly when you grow up around autopsies. We’d joke that Sam had died of lung cancer, pointing to the cigarette my dad once propped between his yellowed teeth. (Because if you can’t laugh about your family skeleton, who can?)
But even skeletons retire. After years of service, Sam moved into our barn, boxed up but never quite forgotten.
Eventually, we decided it was time for Sam to get back to work. We donated him to a high school biology lab, where he could continue to educate, and probably terrify, a whole new generation of students.
And while Sam’s bones may be in a classroom, his spirit lives on in my writing. Because, let’s be honest, when you grow up with a family skeleton named Sam, how could you not write about it?
Fiction Is for Storytelling, Not Settling Scores
I suspect I’ll ruffle some feathers with this, but here’s my take:
Fiction should never be a weapon. I’m not a fan of using novels to settle scores, air dirty laundry, or serve up a side of revenge with a thinly veiled character based on your least favorite relative. It’s tempting, oh, so tempting, and may feel satisfying in the moment, but it rarely ages well, and that skeleton always gets out of the closet.
Instead, write from the essence of real experiences. Use emotions, conflicts, or that uncomfortable family dinner to inspire something new. Change the names, the faces, and, most importantly, the outcome. Fiction isn’t about copying life; it’s about transforming it into something universal. It’s about creating something larger than life.
Trust me, the world is filled with enough heartbreak, joy, and dysfunction to fill dozens of books without dragging your loved ones into it. Forgive. Let go. And transfer your emotions into fictional relationships.
It probably goes without saying, that I also believe in protecting the privacy of real people, especially my loved ones. So, to be perfectly clear: The Hartford family’s scandals, losses, and mysteries in The Coroner’s Daughter series are purely fictional. No one in my family was murdered, framed, or exiled. And my dad, unlike Emily’s, never called me “kiddo” while pulling organs from a chest cavity, though he did once dissect a dog in our house to find out if a neighbor murdered it.
Will I Ever Write My Own True Coroner’s Daughter Story?
Maybe. Someday. Growing up as the daughter of a medical examiner wasn’t exactly normal. My childhood was filled with dinner-table conversations about autopsies, where “Cause of Death” was more common than “How was your day?” Family discussions around the dinner table came straight out of death investigation reports, and I learned early that death wasn’t something to fear, it was something to accept as part of living.
So yes, perhaps one day, I’ll write that memoir. (Though, let’s be honest, Sam the Skeleton deserves his own chapter. Maybe two.) It would be a story about growing up in a world where life and death sat side-by-side. A world that shaped how I see people, pain, and justice.
I do know this. Someday, when I write my story, you will find out that real life really is most definitely stranger than fiction.
Until then, I invite you to meet Emily Hartford, a woman who may have borrowed a few pieces of my life but is, in every way that matters, entirely her own. She gets to be the bold, fearless version of me, the one who walks into the morgue without flinching. So, if you’re curious about my world, you’ll find echoes of it between the pages of The Coroner’s Daughter series.
Start with The Coroner, and then explore the whole series. The truth, the tension, and the twists are all there. I think you’ll find a thrill ride on her journey to chase killers and confront danger head-on! And I know you’ll fall in love with her drive for justice, her determination to uncover the secrets of her family, and her search for true love and belonging.
Writing Emily has been like holding a mirror to my past, proudly reflecting the truth of what it’s like to grow up with one foot in the world of the living and the other in the mysteries of the dead.
And I promise you, somewhere between the fiction and the facts, you’ll find a piece of both of us.
