A Warning Label for Reality

My outline is complete. My characters are sketched. My coffee maker is primed. Tomorrow begins the Big Push. The plan calls for roughly 2000 words a day. That keeps me on track to cross the Novel November finish line a few days early. It should also carry me past the halfway point in the story.

I normally send this newsletter every other Friday to keep you in the loop on my writing progress. Since November is going to be a frenzy of drafting, I want to bring you along for the ride. For the next month, you will hear from me more often.

On my regular Friday schedule, you will still get the full newsletter with updates, a short essay, and something related to the book.

On the Fridays in between, I will send a smaller check-in focused on how Novel November is going and where the word count stands.

In December I will return to the usual publishing rhythm. For now, we are about to sprint. Thanks for joining me on the adventure.

Do you have a favorite writing ritual? Let me know and I’ll share them in a future update.

I’m writing a police procedural novel. It makes sense for someone who’s spent years watching fictional detectives solve crimes from the comfort of my couch. Among the best of all TV cop shows has to be Homicide: Life on the Street, the gritty ’90s series that walked so The Wire could run.

There is one particular detail from the show that’s stuck with me over the years. The main character is a rookie homicide detective who carries around a heavy textbook, flipping through it mid-investigation like he’s cramming for a pop quiz in murder. We’re given to understand this book is the definitive resource for conducting a murder investigation, and a crutch for the fledgling homicide detective.

It felt so real I had to know: what textbook was he reading?

A quick search on the internet yielded a prompt and satisfying answer: Practical Homicide Investigation: Tactics, Procedures, and Forensic Techniques. It turns out that this is a real textbook, and it’s considered to be the “detective’s bible.” Of course it is. I’d expect no less level of detail from a writer like David Simon. Interestingly, this same book also shows up on Rust’s nightstand in the first episode of True Detective.

Curious to see what secret techniques the book held, I found a used copy online, hit “buy now” and congratulated myself on doing serious research. Surely this would add the dash of realism I was looking for in my own story. A week later, the book arrived.

I was not prepared.

It’s the first time a delivery from eBay has made me physically recoil. I opened it expecting technical jargon, flowcharts, maybe a diagram of tire tracks. Instead, I got full-color crime scene photos.

Real ones.

Photos that made me question my lunch choice.

I closed the book and put it aside for nearly a week, untouched. I tried to convince myself that what I’d seen was a fluke. Maybe I’d just opened it to a particularly gruesome section, and the rest of the book was easier to stomach. It was a used book, after all. Perhaps the previous owner had cracked the spine such that this was the natural place for the book to open.

The images weren’t a fluke; they were the point. Every chapter, every page, documented with scenes I’ll be trying to forget for a long time. Photos depicting disturbing things one human had done to another.

The experience taught me two things. One: no matter how gritty a TV show thinks it is, it’s still playing in the kiddie pool. Two: I am not, in fact, built for “realism.”

The book now lives on my shelf with a bright red sticky note that reads, “WARNING: Contains Actual Nightmares.” Consider it my own version of crime scene tape.

If nothing else, it’s proof that research can be hazardous to your imagination.

I let some AI image tools take a crack at what my two main characters look like. The results were surprisingly close.