One of the questions I get often at signings, in book clubs, and from readers who linger after events is deceptively simple:
How much of your books are based on real life stuff?
The answer always varies… and it can’t be measured in a percentage.
I’m a coroner’s daughter. I grew up around death investigation long before I ever imagined writing crime fiction. I’ve trained in forensic science. I understand how cases are investigated and how they actually unfold: slowly, methodically, often without neat conclusions or cinematic clarity.
That education, background, and experiences shape every story I tell. They bleed out through my DNA.
And true,I often have to keep in mind that novels aren’t autopsy reports. First and foremost, they’re entertainment. And the purpose is to take a reader on an emotional journey through the eyes of the heroine.
They have to move, reveal, and resonate with my readers (and with me!). Which means every book I write exists in a carefully managed tension between forensic fact and storytelling.
Sometimes I follow the science exactly.
Sometimes I bend it intentionally and transparently and with good reason!
It’s not a hard and fast science when to add facts and where to bend fiction. But the thing I keep in mind is that at the end of the day, everything added has to serve the story first.
The Forensic Rules I Will Not Break
There are certain principles I treat as sacred. They form the ethical and procedural backbone of the Coroner’s Daughter series and all my stories.
Cause vs. Manner of Death (Forensic Fact)
In real death investigation, cause of death is the biological cause of death. Like exsanguination or asphyxiation or cardiac arrest. Manner of death has only five classifications: homicide, suicide, accident, natural, or undetermined.
They are not interchangeable. And confusing them is one of the fastest ways to signal inauthentic crime writing.
In The Coroner, Emily Hartford is still defining who she is as an investigator. She doesn’t leap to conclusions. She documents injuries before assigning meaning. She allows uncertainty to exist longer than feels comfortable because she wants to be thorough and sure.
That restraint isn’t accidental. It’s how real death investigators are trained to think.
Readers may forgive ambiguity, but they won’t forgive carelessness especially when the truth about someone’s death is at stake.
Chain of Custody (Forensic Fact)
Evidence has rules. It doesn’t magically appear in the right hands at the right moment.
In Secret Remains, tension often comes from process rather than discovery, who handled the evidence, when it was collected, and what can, and cannot be proven because of those steps.
Could I create faster drama by cutting corners? Of course.
But a broken chain of custody destroys real cases every day. I refuse to use forensic incompetence as a plot device. However, it can be a great character obstacle, but not for my heroine who knows better. There would have to be a very good reason for Emily to knowingly break the chain of custody. And so far, after six books, I haven’t found that reason for her. I want her to be that good!
Where Storytelling Entertainment Takes Over Fact Pushing
Now let’s talk honestly about where fiction earns its keep.
Timeline Compression (Narrative License)
Real investigations are slow like sloths. Autopsy results take time. Toxicology reports take months. DNA findings can be inconclusive and takes weeks to get results. These things rarely cooperate with narrative pacing.
Readers and stories, however, don’t have infinite patience. And frankly, it doesn’t make sense in story world.
In all of my mysteries most of the forensic determinations arrive faster than they would in real life. That choice wasn’t made out of convenience, it was made to preserve tension and emotional momentum and keep the story rolling.
When I compress timelines, I do it deliberately:
- The type of result is realistic
- The results are accurate
- Only the speed is adjusted
Doing this doesn’t mean the reader is misled about what the evidence means, only spared the waiting period that would stall the story and bore the reader. And frankly, what kind of plot can you build while waiting six weeks for a blood test result?
Emily Hartford’s Criminal Investigation Is Bigger Than Real Life
Emily occupies an unusual narrative space. She’s medically trained, raised by a medical examiner, deeply embedded in Freeport, and emotionally invested in the cases she encounters.
That means she sometimes has greater proximity to criminal investigations than a civilian realistically would.
When Emily investigates a case she is present during conversations and discoveries that, in strict reality, might be restricted. That’s not about elevating her above law enforcement. In fact, most people don’t know that medical examiners authority trumps law enforcement in matters of public safety.
I have to keep Emily in the center of the investigation because that keeps readers close to the heart of the story.
Her access allows exploration of:
- moral responsibility
- grief and loyalty
- the cost of knowing too much
Emily’s job is to witness, question, and absorb, but she doesn’t control outcomes, even when the truth cuts closer to home than she’s prepared to handle.
Human Psychology: People’s Hearts and Souls Matter First
There is one area of investigation where I stay closest to reality: human behavior. I spend a great deal of time researching trauma, violence, and crime, and how it affects the human psyche.
People don’t behave cleanly after violence acts. Either those they’ve committed, or those they’ve been victim of.
They contradict themselves.
They fixate on irrelevant details.
They avoid what hurts most.
They go silent.
Trauma fragments memory and language.
In all of my novels, trauma shapes the characters and outcomes as much as the plot. Characters misremember. They deflect. They protect themselves through silence or overexplanation. They feel deeply; so the reader can absorb and transfer that feeling into their reading experience.
Ethical Lines I Will Not Cross
There are certain ways of telling crime fiction I refuse to delve into, no matter how tempting.
- I don’t glamorize violence or the criminals who commit it
- I don’t treat victims as plot devices
- I don’t use forensic errors as clever twists
- I don’t sacrifice human dignity for shock value
Violence already dominates too many narratives that are out there… whether in novel, podcast, film or TV.
I believe my responsibility as a writer is not to amplify it, but to contextualize it to show its consequences, its ripples, and its real cost on human dignity.
When victims are reduced to props, and criminals are built to be monsters the story may grip like a headline in a grocery store gossip rag; but soon once consumed, offers little nourishment to the human soul.
Why Does All This Matter to Readers?
Readers may not know forensic terminology or how crime scene investigation plays out in the real world. But they recognize authenticity.
When the science feels grounded, readers can put their trust into the story and into me, as an author.
I do the forensic homework and blend it into storytelling.
Readers get to lean in, kick back, and enjoy the thrill.
As such, this bridges a sacred contract between author and reader. And I never want to break a contract because I want them to journey with me and my stories til the end of my days.
If you’re a writer, here’s the real takeaway:
You don’t have to choose between accuracy and entertainment value. You have to decide where each one serves the scene best.
- Follow the science when credibility is at stake, be authentic!
- Bend fact consciously when pacing demands.
- Never fake expertise you don’t have: ask, research, find out!
Readers can feel the difference. They may not know what’s wrong, but they know when something feels lazy or unearned.
Precision builds writer and reader confidence.
It’s what drives us writers to the next story challenge. And it’s what sustains our readers and keeps them coming back for more!
