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Noir Words of Wisdom

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Last Friday evening I hankered for a classic noir movie to watch, and decided on the 1949 film, Side Street, starring Farley Granger, Cathy O’Donnell, James Craig, and Paul Kelly.

A down on his luck army vet, working as a part time postal carrier, discovers the location of two hundred bucks in shady attorney’s office. Desperate to find more money because he and his young wife their first baby on the way, he steals the file the money is squirreled away in, only to discover it’s actually thirty grand, and there’s a murder charge attached.

It’s my personal favorite type of noir, featuring a flawed good guy who gets enmeshed in a web of deceit and crime and struggles to find a way out. The movie was filmed in New York City, which has an almost Gothic look to it, and featuring perhaps the first modern style car chase, Side Street is a fast-paced mystery as our hero tries to find out the secret of the thirty thousand dollars.

There’s much more to noir and today’s Words of Wisdom brings two posts from the TKZ archives to show some of its depth and breadth. First PJ Parrish looks at noir and the style and diction that goes into them. James Scott Bell follows with an examination of film noir and the lessons fiction writers can learn from it.

I am still trying to catch up on my noir reading. (I didn’t get to The Maltese Falcon until about ten years ago, I confess). Digesting noir, with its emphasis on oppressive mood and shadowed morality, with its lean mean style, has helped me find my own voice as a writer. I am not a true neo-noir practitioner, but I feel a deep connection to its dark heart. One of the best compliments I ever got was when Ed Gorman wrote of our book Thicker Than Water: “The quiet sadness that underpins it all really got to me, the way Ross Macdonald always does.”

A couple Christmases ago, my husband gave me The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps.It’s a compilation of the best crime stories from the “golden age” of pulp crime fiction — the ’20s through the ’40s. It’s about the size of an old Manhattan phone book. And to be really honest, parts of it read about as well.

Many of these guys were dismissed as the hacks of their day, churning out their stories for cheaply printed magazines like “Black Mask” and “Dime Detective.” Yeah, they were lurid, the syntax cringe-worthy, the plots thin or nonsensical. But they tapped into a popular need for a new kind of human hero. The most memorable of the heroes became the prototypes for much of what we are seeing in our crime fiction today — lone wolves fighting for justice against all odds but always on their own different-beat terms. Would we have Harry Bosch without the Continental Op? Jack Reacher without Simon Templar? No way…

And while we’re at it, let’s not get sucked into the notion that noir was only a guy thing. Valerie Taylor had a career churning out books like The Girls In 3B, a classic ’50s pulp tale showcasing predatory beatnik men, drug hallucinations, and secret lesbian trysts. (Her books, among others, have been reissued by Feminist Press.) And would we have Megan Abbott or Sarah Gran without Dorothy B. Hughes, who wrote the twisty indictment of misogyny In A Lonely Place (the source of the Bogart movie)? Doubtful…

To be sure, not all the old stories — like many of the movies — have aged well. The slang sounds vaguely silly now, the sexism and racism we can explain away as anachronistic attitudes. But the armature these writers created is still sturdy.

Especially in pure writing style. I think we can read these stories now mainly to appreciate the streamlined locomotive style that propels these stories along their tracks. When you read them, you can almost hear James M. Cain whispering: “I’m not going to dazzle you with my writing. I’m going to tell you a helluva story.”

These guys sure knew what to leave out. Here’s a passage from Paul Cain’s “One Two Three:”

I said: “Sure — we’ll both go.

Gard didn’t go for that very big, but I told him that my having been such a pal of Healy’s made it all right.

We went.

Not: And then we left the apartment and got in my roadster and set out. We took Mulholland Drive out of the canyon and arrived just before dusk. Just: We went.

How can you read that and not smile? I heartily recommend the Big Book of Pulps.And if you haven’t connected with Eddie on Noir Alley, you’re missing out on some of the best stuff television has to offer.

And now, in honor of our pulp forefathers, I am offering up this little quiz of pulp diction slang for your amusement. Answers at the end. And don’t chance the chisel for a cheap bulge, bo. We Jake?

DEFINITIONS.
1. Ameche
2. Kicking the gong around
3. Wooden kimono
4. cheaters
5. Gasper
6. Hammer and saws
7. Orphan papers
8. Wikiup
9. Bangtails
10. Can-opener

TRANSLATIONS
11. I had been ranking the Loogan for an hour and could see he was a right gee. It was all silk so far.

  1. I stared down at the stiff. The bim hadn’t been chilled off. Definitely a pro skirt who had pulled the Dutch act.
  2. I got a croaker ribbed up to get the wire.
  3. By the time we got to the drum the droppers had lammed off. Another trip for biscuits…

Answers:
1. telephone
2. taking opium
3. coffin
4. sunglasses
5. cigarette
6. Police
7. Bad checks
8. Home
9. Horses
10. Safecracker
11. I had been watching the man with the gun for an hour and could tell he was an okay guy. Everything was cool so far.
12. I stared at the body. The woman hadn’t been murdered. She was definitely a prostitute who had committed suicide.
13. I have arranged for a doctor to get the information.
14. By the time we got to the speakeasy, the hired killers had left. Just another trip for nothing…

PJ Parrish—June 16, 2020

 

Just what is film noir, and why does it have such a loyal following?

As the French name implies, this is “dark film.” It always revolves around crime, and who among us hasn’t had a passing thought of such ilk from time to time? Even if it is just to wonder “Could I get away with it?” Film noir allows us to indulge that fascination without getting too close.

Film noir has a distinctive look—rich black-and-white (as opposed to neo-noir, like Body Heat). Indeed, cinematographers, like the great John Alton, were just as important as the writer and director. (See Alton’s masterpiece He Walked by Nightsometime).

The noir world grinds out rough justice. No bad deed goes unpunished. A guy makes one bad move years ago, and has managed to find a new life…until that past catches up with him to exact retribution (Out of the Past).

Sometimes, the hammer falls on a decent guy who makes one bad choice.

In Side Street, Farley Granger plays Joe Norson, a mailman working like a dog to support himself and his pregnant wife. One day he delivers mail to a lawyer’s office and, alone there, finds $200 in cash. On impulse, he takes it. What he doesn’t know is the dough is part of the lawyer’s extortion racket.

And then there’s a murder.

Soon enough, the bad guy is after Joe, and so is the law, considering Joe a suspect in the murder. Hoo boy. Can he possibly get out of this? We watch to find out, pulling for the guy. Noir justice happens, but exacts a heavy price.

Not all noir leads are good guys who make a bad choice. Sometimes they’re bad guys through and through, and we watch to see if he gets away with it (Touch of Evil). Heist noir (Criss Cross; The Asphalt Jungle) is like that.

Thus, shades of black and white mix, which is just like life.

And makes for compelling fiction, too. The character with a “moral flaw” is more interesting—and more realistic—than a pure, immaculate hero. We relate to characters like that because deep down we know we have flaws, too, and that should our flaws get out of hand, it will lead to disaster.

In a way, noir is like classic Greek tragedy. The purpose of tragedy was to create “catharsis” and warn us of what happens when we follow the dark side.

Thus:

  • Give your Lead a moral flaw, and show it via inner conflict and the “mirror moment.”
  • Indeed, give all your characters, even minor ones, a moral flaw. Even if those are never revealed, it help you come up with more original actions and dialogue.
  • Consider exacting a price the Lead must pay for justice to prevail, a “wound.”

If you want to explore film noir more deeply, I recommend Dark City by Eddie Muller (affiliate link). There are also scores of B-movie noirs available for free on YouTube.

Here are ten of my favorites:

The Maltese Falcon (1941, Dir. John Huston)
Double Indemnity (1944, Dir. Billy Wilder)
Out of the Past (1947, Dir. Jacques Tourneur)
Too Late For Tears (1949, Dir. Byron Haskin)
Act of Violence (1949, Dir. Fred Zinemann)
The Asphalt Jungle (1950, Dir. John Huston)
99 River Street (1953, Dir. Phil Karlson)
The Hitch-Hiker (1953, Dir. Ida Lupino)
Pickup on South Street (1953, Dir. Sam Fuller)
Touch of Evil (1958, Dir. Orson Welles)

***

Do you enjoy noir? Do you have favorite novel or movie? If you write noir, do you have any lessons to share with other writers?

Reader Friday-Dogs, Cats, and Parakeets

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Who is your favorite pet, either currently or in your past life?

Notice I said, “Who”.

Because pets usually aren’t a what, but a who. For instance, nobody ever says when speaking about their dog or cat or parakeet, “It’s hungry…”. We say he or she is hungry.

Okay, got that out of the way.

Kimber & Bone

My favorite pet is usually our current one, whom today would be Kimber, a part German  Shepherd/part Malinois/all adrenaline mix with personality plus. In this picture, she’s daring me to try to take her bone. I am not such a fool.

But there’s another pet who needs an introduction.

He would be a Chihuahua by the name of Pepe who allowed us to live with him when I was in grade-to-middle school. He had a friend up the street, a big spaniel of some kind named George.

George would walk down the sidewalk of a morning, stop in front of our house where Pepe was usually stretched out on the front step waiting for him. They’d take a leisurely stroll together down the street about 4-5 houses and then turn around and stroll back. Pepe would lay himself back down on the porch and George would continue on to his own porch.

Every morning. Great memory, wouldn’t you say?

Another Pepe story was the time when we couldn’t find him. Until I checked my bottom dresser drawer and found him nestled up in my T-shirts sound asleep.   🙂

Okay…TKZers…your turn. Tell us about your favorite pet. What would life be without them?

 

The First Body I Never Forgot (and Why Some Stay With You)

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Some seasons carry a particular kind of memory.

Michigan in the fall.

The air cools. The sun recedes. The leaves color, brown, and drop.

In many ways, memory behaves the same way. Certain experiences fade. Others remain intact, preserved beneath the surface, waiting for the right season to rise again.

People often ask me, as a coroner’s daughter, whether there was a first body I never forgot.

There were many. But it started with this one.

Growing Up in a Medical Examiner’s Family

I was eight years old. My younger sister was six. A dual engine airplane had crashed in a field near our town’s small airport in rural Michigan. On a Sunday afternoon, instead of errands or rest, our father took us along to assist in the search for remains.

We walked the field with him.

We found fragments of brain matter and pieces of skull scattered in the grass.

When people hear that detail, they expect horror. Trauma. Shock.

What I remember is something else entirely.

My father treated the moment as he treated many moments in our childhood. He turned it into a lesson. He explained that the brain is the body’s central organ, the command center responsible for every signal that allows us to move, breathe, think, and live. He described the skull as a bone helmet designed to protect that fragile and essential organ.

His voice was steady. Clear. Clinical.

Respectful.

Those are the details that imprinted themselves in my mind.

I don’t remember fear. I don’t remember disgust. I don’t remember feeling emotionally overwhelmed. I remember being included. I remember being trusted. I remember wanting to help.

That response makes more sense when you understand the environment in which I was raised.

For nearly twenty five years, my parents ran the Medical Examiner’s office in three rural counties in northern Michigan. An expanse of territory hundreds of miles deep and wide.

My sisters and I were often alongside them. Death investigation was part of our daily vocabulary. It was never sensationalized. It was never treated as a spectacle. It was handled with professionalism and dignity.

Growing up in a medical examiner family shapes your understanding of death from a young age. You learn that death is part of life. You learn that answers matter. You learn that families need clarity as much as they need comfort.

And above all, you learn to pay attention.

Understanding Death Before You Understand Its Weight

At eight years old, I didn’t grasp the larger significance of what we were doing in that airfield. Even today, that memory feels almost secondhand. I know the event happened because my parents retold it. I can’t fully reconstruct the sensory experience in vivid detail.

What I understood at the time was simple.

Death exists. It deserves respect. It requires careful attention.

Justice requires patience. Often into years or decades.

Emotion needs to be tampered so that logic can shine through.

Truth requires the discipline of careful examination and record keeping.

In our bucolic farming community, most cases that came through the coroner’s office weren’t homicides. They were accidents, natural causes, and sometimes suicides. Farm equipment incidents. Drunk driving fatalities. Motorboat collisions on Lake Michigan. Hunting accidents. Cardiac events in barns and fields. Self inflicted gun shot fatalities.

Some deaths were preventable. Some were tragic coincidences.

When a combine flipped over or a drunk driver got behind the wheel and killed an innocent family, grief often carried an undercurrent of regret. Loved ones would ask whether a different decision could have changed the outcome. In death investigation, those questions linger.

Homicides were rare. But when they did occur, the emotional atmosphere shifted dramatically. Grief braided itself with anger and fear. Loved ones demanded justice. There was sometimes a temptation toward vigilante resolution. Small towns feel violence deeply because everyone knows everyone.

Watching my parents navigate those tensions taught me something that would later influence my crime fiction.

Why Certain Cases Stay With Investigators

One of the most common misconceptions about death investigation is that cases linger because of their graphic nature.

That’s not necessarily how it happens.

Cases stay with investigators because of the people attached to them.

If a particular case lingers with me, it’s because it carries emotional value that aligns with something I believe deeply. Justice. Restoration of order. Redemption. The protection of the vulnerable.

The human mind holds onto story longer than it holds onto gore.

Cases stay with investigators, coroners, detectives, or forensic professionals, because the imprint is relational. It’s about the life behind the body.

Who were they?

How did they live?

Who loved them?

Were they protected?

Were they failed?

In death investigation, you quickly realize that Cause and manner are clinical determinations. They matter legally. They matter for closure. But they don’t fully explain a person’s flesh and blood life.

The Emotional Cost of Paying Attention

When people ask if there was a high emotional cost of growing up around death investigation, I often pause before answering. If there’s an emotion that still lingers, it is that of empathy and compassion and deep respect for human life.

In the airplane crash case that I attended when I was a child, there was no emotional cost for me at the time. I was too young. Only eight. My father’s calm demeanor shaped the emotional tone. Everything he did became a lesson. He was a natural teacher. He approached each case with steadiness and thoroughness.

Over the years, what embedded itself in me wasn’t trauma.

It taught me the importance of responsibility and work ethics.

Do a good job.

Look closely.

Listen attentively.

People were looking to my dad for answers that would help them understand a loved one’s death. That understanding matters deeply to them. It mattered to him.

In professional death investigation, attention to detail isn’t optional. A missed observation can alter the trajectory of justice. A rushed conclusion can harm a family’s ability to heal. That discipline shaped my worldview long before I ever put pen to paper.

The emotional fallout you witness from a life ripped apart from his loved ones comes in ripple effects.

It comes when you see how preventable some tragedies were.

It comes when you watch families fracture under the weight of unanswered questions.

These are lessons that I remember learning growing up around other people’s tragedies.

How This Shaped Emily Hartford

Readers of the Coroner’s Daughter mystery series often ask whether Emily Hartford reflects my upbringing.

She does. In many ways.

In The Coroner, Secret Remains, Last One Alive, Frozen Lives, and What Darkness Does, and in next month’s new release, WALKING ON WHITE, Emily approaches each death with tenacity and persistence. She refuses to accept partial answers. She won’t close a case prematurely. That’s by design.

Emily doesn’t have closed cases in the emotional sense. She carries them until resolution is achieved. That mirrors how my parents ran the Medical Examiner’s office. They investigated thoroughly. They persevered. They believed that accuracy and truth were due the public they served.

They sought to provide answers and close doors on the investigations. In the same way, crime fiction tries to do the same thing. In crime fiction, readers can depend on a story paradigm where justice is achieved by the final page. Order is restored. Chaos is addressed. Hope and redemption are offered.

They offer a framework in which good confronts evil and resolution follows.

At its core, crime fiction is built around a moral architecture of good versus evil.

Crime Fiction Rooted in Real Forensics

When writers ask me about what inspires my crime fiction, they often expect dramatic anecdotes. They imagine the most violent cases shape the narrative. It’s true that I like my forensics to “make sense” and I strive to be authentic in my telling.

However, the most powerful inspiration stems from how families navigate trauma, grief, and loss.

It stems from how investigators handle dark situations and dark people in a delicate balance of empathy and objectivity.

It stems from seeing how a community responds when something disrupts its sense of safety.

My mission as a storyteller has always been to shed light and hope into the darker recesses of human experience.

Growing up as a coroner’s daughter gave me early exposure to those recesses. Writing allows me to explore them and provide the anecdotes of hope and redemption and resolution.

It’s Never the Body

Why do we love this genre?

Because we care more about the person who lived and loved, than the dead body they become.

We fight to preserve their legacy. We fight to remember the good they gave the world. We fight to restore dignity when violence has stripped it away.

Whether in real life death investigation or in crime fiction, the ultimate question is the same.

Did this life matter?

The answer is always yes.

That’s why certain cases linger.

That’s why investigators keep pushing.

That’s why readers turn pages late into the night.

Behind every autopsy report, every forensic detail, every courtroom proceeding, there is a living, human story.

These stories remind us that paying attention preserves human dignity and significance.

Perhaps that is the truest inheritance of being a coroner’s daughter.

Jennifer Dornbush is an author, screenwriter, and forensic specialist who brings crime stories to life with authenticity and heart. With a background rooted in real-world forensics and a passion for crafting unforgettable mysteries, Jennifer offers readers and viewers a front-row seat to the intersection of science, justice, and human nature.Jennifer’s crime expertise has made her a sought-after speaker, consultant, and educator. Through her webinars and master courses, Jennifer guides writers in melding suspenseful storytelling with forensic realism to the screen and page. Meet her at www.jenniferdornbush.com

Quotable

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“If you have any young friends who aspire to become writers, the second greatest favor you can do them is to present them with copies of The Elements of Style. The first greatest, of course, is to shoot them now, while they’re happy.” ― Dorothy Parker

You Can’t Do Anything
If You’re Nowhere *

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Place is character. And all writing is regional. — John Dufresne.

By PJ Parrish

When you read this, I will be somewhere in northern Italy. I might be in the woods following a truffle-sniffing dog. I might be sipping an aperol spritz overlooking Lake Como. I might be on a train heading toward Switzerland.

Ha. Got your attention? Sorry, I am not taking up your valuable time bragging here. Just a note that I am lucky to be on vacation this week, so forgive me if I can’t answer your comments. Wifi is spotty up here. (First world problems)

But this vacation gives me a great opportunity to nag you about paying attention to SETTING in your novels. Whenever I travel outside my small Tallahasse-Michigan world, I become ever more acutely aware of how much setting can add to a story.

And it really hits home because I always insist on taking the right book-companion with me when I travel.

A long time ago, when I was in my twenties, I was invited to a friend’s home on Abaco Island in the Bahamas. Haunting his bookshelves I happened upon James Clavell’s Shogun. Now there was not a lot to do on Abaco back then, so I spent most my days out on the deck reading. What a captivating book! I was transported to medievel Japan, imaging serene Japanese coves where tiny islets floated out in the sea like somnulent turtles. (The photo below is very close to my view back then)

Top Things To Do in The Abacos, Bahamas | Sunsail

This is a vivid memory: I was on the deck around dawn, deep into the novel. I wasn’t in Abaco. I was in Anjrio. At that moment, a tiny bird swooped down and landed at my side. It hopped up on my finger, looked at me, and was gone. My host later told me it was a rare Bahamian Nuthatch.

During Covid, when we couldn’t venture beyond our driveways, novels satisfied my deep wanderlust, taking me to far away places with strange sounding names. Nina George took me to favorite old haunts and beyond in The Little Paris Bookshop. Georges Simenon took me to a Normandy fishing village in Maigret et la Vielle Dame. Stuart Neville took me to northern Ireland in The Ghosts of Belfast.

I think sense of place is often neglected by writers who are just finding their feet. Maybe they believe that like description, it slogs down the plot. I believe, however, that if you don’t ground your reader in a sense of place, the characters never truly come alive.

I was lucky to share a Miami Book Fair panel once with John Dufresne. He spoke passionately about how important setting is. From his non-fiction book The Lie That Tells The Truth:

Place connects characters to a collective and personal past, and so place is the emotional center of story. And by place, I don’t simply mean location. A location is a dot on the map, a set of coordinates. Place is location with narrative, with memory and imagination, with history. We transform a location into a place by telling its stories.

No place, no plot, nowhere man.

For our stand-alone A Killing Song, Paris was the macro-location. The mini-location was the creepy network of catacombs beneath the city. We also took our readers to the Arab enclave called La Goutte d’Or, the strange park Buttes-Chamont, a dive bar tucked behind the Pantheon called El Melocoton.

We didn’t take our readers to the Eiffel Tower, the Tuileries gardens, or Cafe Deux Magots. Why? Here is the best piece of advice I can give you regarding creating a sense of place: Never settle for the obvious. Steer clear of all clichés. The more well-known and iconic your setting is, the harder you have to work to find within it the telling details that make it come alive in your reader’s imagination. Make your setting FRESH.

Writing about New York City? Take me places I haven’t seen in TV. Writing about Hong Kong? Give me the smells and sounds that movies cannot. Miami? Stay away from South Beach and Little Havana. San Francisco? No Wharf, Alcatraz, cable cars and go light on the fog. Stay away from tired place memes that are over-used so much they lose all emotional impact.

Write what you know. This does not mean you have to visit all your locales. It helps. Boy, does it help. I’ve got a very good working knowledge of Paris but I had never been to La Goutte D’Or. I traveled every inch of its streets via Google Street View. But you can create a great location if you do your research on the people, language and culture. Remember: What may be colorful and exotic to you as a writer is just normal life to the people who live there.

Compare and contrast. If your character is a stranger in strange land, use his experiences and memories of his normal world and contrast it with what he is observing. I did this often in The Killing Song with protag Matt, a Floridian who had never been abroad. I tried to use his naivete, frustration, and fears to invoke the same feelings for readers.

What is the scene about? You need to pin this down before you begin piling in details of location. Don’t just say to yourself: I’m going to set a scene at Muir Woods because I was there once and the old trees were cool. Figure out what needs to happen to your character FIRST and then make the setting enhance the plot and the mood. Watch the great scene in Vertigo where Kim Novak wanders among the ancient Muir Woods trees, saying she’s thinking about “All the people who have lived and died while the trees went on living.” The haunting setting reflects her confused mood.

Okay. Questo è abbastanza! That’s all from me today. I am going back to my vacation, my limoncello sprtiz and my book companion: Adriana Trigiani’s The View From Lake Como. It starts out in blue-colar Lake Como, New Jersey and ends up in blue-lagooned Lake Como Italy. I’ll let you know how it ends.

Asterisk: My headline today is from John Dufresne’s book. It was too good not to steal. 

The Science Behind Deep Breathing

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Last night, I was listening to Sleepy Science on YouTube, like I often do. The episode focused on deep breathing and why it works. Because I’m a long-time practitioner of deep breathing and mediation, this subject piqued my interest. We all know deep breathing relaxes us. We’ve discussed the benefits a few times on TKZ.

For example, deep breathing:

  • Reduces stress: Slow breaths trigger the parasympathetic nervous system, lowering stress hormone levels like cortisol.
  • Eases anxiety: Controlled breathing calms panic and depressive symptoms by promoting a sense of safety and calm.
  • Improves focus: Better oxygen flow to the brain clears brain fog and sharpens concentration.
  • Promotes sleep: Deep relaxation before bed helps quiet the mind and supports restorative sleep cycles. This works, by the way. I do it every night before bed.
  • Lowers blood pressure: Deep, rhythmic breathing relaxes blood vessels to ease the heart’s workload.
  • Optimizes oxygen exchange: Belly breathing helps your lungs trade incoming oxygen for outgoing carbon dioxide more efficiently.
  • Relieves pain and tension: Deep breathing releases muscle tension and minimizes pain. Speaking as a chronic pain sufferer, I know this to be true.
  • Strengthens respiratory muscles: Diaphragmatic breathing trains your respiratory system to function with greater endurance and ease.

All those health benefits stem from triggering a single nerve in our body. Seems unfathomable, doesn’t it? But it’s true.

What is this nerve and its function?

The Vagus Nerve

Photo credit: https://www.polyvagalinstitute.org/vagusnerve

The vagus nerve is the body’s main communication cable connecting the brain to major internal organs. It carries signals from your organs back to your brain, and from your brain out to your organs.

Vagus means “wandering” in Latin, and that’s exactly what it does. Actually, we have two, one for the left-side of our body, one for the right.

The vagus nerve starts at the base of the brain in an area called the medulla oblongata, which controls survival instincts, like breathing. The vagus nerve leaves the brain through a tiny hole in the bottom of the skull — called the jugular foramen — and runs down both sides of the neck, tucked inside a protective bundle of tissue beside major blood vessels, like the carotid artery and jugular vein.

On its way, it sends out small branches to the throat, voice box (larynx), and pharynx, helping us to swallow and speak.

From there, the vagus nerve passes behind the collarbone and enters the chest cavity, where it plugs into the heart to act as a natural brake system to slow our heart rate at rest. The vagus nerve then branches out into the lungs to manage breathing and contract airways.

The left and right vagus nerves merge as they pass through the diaphragm, located at the base of the ribcage below the lungs, and enters the abdominal cavity.

This is where the nerve spreads like a massive spider web, connecting to almost every part of the digestive tract, including the stomach, liver, pancreas, gallbladder, small intestine, and most of the large intestine. It tells these organs to release digestive fluids to move food along.

What an incredible journey!

According to the Poly Vagal Institute, that’s not all it does.

  • Through its coordination with facial nerves, the vagus supports expressive communication.
  • As a key component of the parasympathetic nervous system, the vagus modulates the body’s stress response.
  • The vagus nerve contributes to speech by modulating vocal cord function and coordinating with respiratory rhythms, in concert with other cranial and cortical systems.
  • The vagus nerve plays a key role in modulating immune function through what is known as the inflammatory reflex. It inhibits the release of pro-inflammatory cytokines from immune cells.

The science behind deep breathing lies in a biological loop between the heart, the lungs, and the brain.

When we change how we breathe, we manipulate physical pressure inside our chest, which tricks the brain into shifting from “fight-or-flight” to “rest-and-digest” mode. The main action boils down to two main scientific concepts — biomechanical pressure and chemical signals.

In a nutshell, deep breathing causes a chain reaction.

The vagus nerve doesn’t just read thoughts; it responds to physical movement and pressure.

Anyone who practices deep breathing knows the exhale is more beneficial than the inhale.

Do you know why? I thought I did, until I researched the vagus nerve.

When we inhale, our diaphragm moves down to create more space in the chest cavity. This pressure change allows blood to rush into the heart more easily, causing our heart rate to momentarily race.

When we exhale, our diaphragm rises and compresses the chest cavity. This compression shifts blood out of the heart, temporarily raising blood pressure within the local vessels.

Specialized pressure sensors (baroreceptors) on our major arteries detect this sudden pressure shift and send an urgent signal to the brainstem that says, “Blood pressure is too high—slow down!”

In response, the brain fires a signal to the vagus nerve. The vagus releases a neurotransmitter called acetylcholine directly onto the heart. Acetylcholine acts like a physical brake pedal, instantly slowing our heart rate and dropping our blood pressure.

The Secret Sauce

The secret to stimulating the vagus nerve is to prolong the exhale.

Because the vagus nerve is actively applying the “brake” when we exhale, a slower, longer exhale keeps the calming chemical signal flowing.

Ever have a panic attack?

The reason why it feels like you’re dying is because quick, shallow breaths keep your body locked into sympathetic (stress) dominance. The best way out of a panic attack is to inhale deeply, hold for a second or two, then exhale as slow as possible until you’ve completely emptied your lungs. Rinse and repeat.

Other ways to stimulate the vagus nerve:

  • Getting restful sleep (deep breathing helps with this)
  • Sunlight exposure (please use sunblock)
  • Gargling & gag reflex (I’m addicted to mouthwash LOL)
  • Daily movement & exercise (writers, you must get up and move!)
  • Humming, chanting, and singing (during meditation or household chores)
  • Laughter & social connection (as an introvert, I’ll stick to laughter & one close friend)
  • Cold exposure (this also promotes anti-aging)
  • Yoga & meditation (yes, indeed)

Why share this on a writing blog?

Because I adore you and want you to live your best possible life. <3 Deep breathing also promotes focus, concentration, and creativity.

TKZers, how do you stimulate your vagus nerve daily?

New Life For Novellas?

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15

by James Scott Bell

One of the all-time crime classics, cited by most noir aficionados when such lists come out, is James M. Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice. From its grabber opening line—They threw me off the hay truck about noon—it moves like a runaway train from lust to murder to retribution. It was turned into a movie twice: the superior John Garfield–Lana Turner version (also with Raymond Burr, making it a noir trifecta) and the lesserJack Nicholson–Jessica Lange re-do.

But did you know this book is a novella? It comes in at just under 35,000 words. There’s a power punch in a good novella (roughly 20k–40k words). The Old Man and the Sea is just north of 26k. But in the traditional publishing world, it is a rare bird, with the occasional breakout, e.g., The Bridges of Madison County.

Because of its trim size, a novella carries with it some buyer resistance. A publisher has to charge a price that justifies its print run. But a customer might think, yeesh, I’m not getting a “real” book here. Thus, only a “name” can really sell them. James Patterson proved that with his BookShots line.

I love the novella form. It’s a way to stretch my writing wings, as it were, without overspending my time. But until the indie revolution, it was not a viable career move. Now it can be an additional arrow in the scrivener’s quiver. And not just for a little extra lettuce. I give away a novella as a reader magnet and it has grown my email list substantially.

So it will be interesting to see how Hachette, one of the Big 5, makes out with its latest move.

From their press release:

NEW YORK, NY (August 31, 2026) – Union Square & Co., an imprint of the Grand Central Publishing Group and the Hachette Book Group, announced the launch of Singularity, an ambitious new novella program that will publish 10-12 titles each year.  Launching in September 2026, and helmed by Mika Kasuga, Editorial Director, Union Square, this curated line of paperbacks with French flaps addresses a rapidly evolving reading landscape, offering voracious readers bingeworthy stories designed to be devoured in a single sitting.

Singularity is a dynamic collection that showcases the power and versatility of the novella form. Built around the idea that compelling storytelling does not require length to achieve depth, this program brings together a diverse portfolio of shorter works that span a broad range of genres, styles, and cultural perspectives. These novellas are rich narratives in a concentrated, exhilarating format—accessible, sophisticated, bite-sized delights for a world flooded by distraction.

Emily Meehan, SVP & Publisher, Union Square says, “The Singularity program was born out of conversations Mika and I had about reduced attention spans and the desire for a more snack-sized reading experience that doesn’t compromise depth for length. We wanted to celebrate the novella as a format and use the program as yet another platform to showcase Union Square’s commitment to create books that resonate deeply with readers—especially ones looking for accessible, sophisticated stories in our ever more distracted, digital reality.”

The debut Fall 2026 slate features a dynamic mix of masterworks, cult favorites, and striking new voices:

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream by Harlan Ellison (September 1, 2026): A definitive, scarily relevant new paperback edition of the multi-award-winning author’s post-apocalyptic masterpiece. This volume features a new foreword, exclusive archival photos, and historical essays by Ellison. 

Zero Lives Remainingby Adam Cesare (September 1, 2026): A pulse-pounding, nostalgic “gamers versus ghosts” slasher from the Bram Stoker Award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of Clown in a Cornfield. 

The Waiter by Kwan Ann Tan (November 3, 2026): A speculative interactive fiction debut that allows readers to chart their own pathways through a surreal future London, with 11 different endings and countless journeys towards them.

I’m intrigued by this. The late Harlan Ellison’s novella has been widely anthologized. Can it find a new audience at a Kindle price point of $11.99, and paperback at $16.77?

Will an “11 different endings” debut be a draw? (For younger readers, perhaps yes.)

What is the market these days for bloody slasher fiction? (Probably more than I realize.)

Personally, I prioritize full-length fiction, especially my Mike Romeo series (new one’s coming soon!) But as discussed in my last two posts, I have lots of high concept ideas that I’d love to develop. (For my tips on writing a novella, see here.)

Over to you now, folks. What are your thoughts on the novella form, price points, and potential market? Have you written them yourself?

Reader Friday-Where Were You 25 Years Ago?

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I’m sure this question has been asked before. (Just like, “Where were you when you heard JFK was assassinated?”)

Where were you and what were you doing on 9/11/2001, when you heard about the attack on America in NYC, Virginia, and Pennsylvania?

I was at work as an orthopedic medical assistant. The entire staff and a few patients were huddled around a TV in one of the offices.

Seeing those images changed us forever.

So, TKZers, your turn. Where were you on 9/11/2001?

 

 

Just Who Are You Calling Old?

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By Elaine Viets
NOTE: This blog is an oldie but goodie.

What’s old?
That’s easy. Anyone ten years older than me.
Yes, that’s an old line, but we writers need to be careful who we call old.
In 2020, calling someone who is 60 “elderly” can anger your core readers.
It can even make readers laugh – at you.

Some readers snicker at Ellery Queen’s description of the “elderly” Inspector Queen who was “not yet 60.” The dynamic mystery writing duo were young whippersnappers of 29 when they created Inspector Queen.
To be fair, I thought 60 was ancient when I was in my 20s. Now, not so much.

Another longtime mystery reader said, “They Found Him Dead” by Georgette Heyer starts with a sixtieth birthday party for Silas Kane who is described as being “very old. As far as I can see, the book was published in 1937.”

How about Edmund Crispin’s “The Moving Toyshop” where the dead victim is described as “an elderly woman in her late 50s”?
What? That’s outrageous!
Except those books were published decades ago, and “old” in 1930 was a lot different than “old” in 1970 – or 2020.

Think back to your grandparents. In 1970, my beloved grandmother was an old woman at age 60. She had a big black purse (stuffed with photos of her grandchildren), sturdy shoes, crispy gray hair and a flour-sack figure. Granted, Grandma had a much harder life than I did, but people used to age faster than they do now.
The government says we’re old at 62. That’s when Americans can start collecting Social Security benefits – and haul them in for a long time. Social Security.gov says, “About one out of every three 65-year-olds today will live until at least age 90, and one out of seven will live until at least age 95.”
Sixty-five is the retirement age in the US, but many people that age still see themselves as young and vigorous.

So if you’re creating an older character for your novel, here are some things to consider:
Older people do not have equal protection under the law. If you have an older person who’s going to be assaulted, many jurisdictions have extra penalties for bashing seniors. In Massachusetts, a man was “arrested and charged with unarmed robbery, assault and battery on a person over the age of 60, assault and battery by means of a dangerous weapon (shod foot – aggravated) and mayhem.” In other words, he kicked an older person with his shoe. That’s something to consider when you have your bad guy attack an older person.
Seniors are often stereotyped as defenseless. But that ain’t necessarily so. An 88-year-old woman was assaulted and carjacked in a Walmat parking lot. She fought back with her cane and survived. “I’m a tough old broad,” she boasted.
And speaking of tough, how about the 82-year-old “award-winning female bodybuilder who turned the tables — literally — on a home intruder and beat him so badly after he broke into her house that he had to be taken to the hospital.” It’s true, and it happened in Rochester, New York. The bodybuilder broke a table over the creep – and she was just getting started.
Statistically, that Rochester Wonder Woman would be considered old, even by today’s new and improved standards.

So just how old do you want to make a senior character in your novel?
A CBS news story says, “Research from John Shoven, a prominent economics professor at Stanford University, suggests that if your chance of dying within the next year is 1 percent or less, you might be considered ‘middle aged.’”
Shoven has a chart that shows “the threshold for men transitioning beyond middle age increased from about age 44 in the 1920s to about 60 today.”

Oddly, 44 would be true “middle age.” Sixty may be the “new” middle age for men, but there are very few 120-year-olds roaming around.
Shoven says, “And finally, if your chance of dying within the next year is 4 percent or higher, you might be considered ‘very old’ or ‘elderly.’ . . . This threshold for men increased from about 65 in the 1920s to 76 today.” So men are “old” at 76.
“Shoven suggests that reduced mortality rates correlate roughly with improved health and vitality at all ages, and can be used as a proxy measure for aging.”
If you’re a woman, you’re even luckier – and younger. Consider this cheery news, ladies, from Shoven.
“By these measures, women today transition out of middle age around 65, a number that has increased from the late 40s in the 1920s. ‘Old’ for women today is about 73, which increased from the late 50s in the 1920s. And ‘very old’ today is about 80, an increase from about 67 in the 1920s.”
People don’t automatically get ‘old’ at 70. Wikipedia sums it up this way:
“Gerontologists have recognized the very different conditions that people experience as they grow older within the years defined as old age. In developed countries, most people in their 60s and early 70s are still fit, active, and able to care for themselves. However, after 75, they will become increasingly frail, a condition marked by serious mental and physical debilitation.”
That’s why my character Margery, in my Dead-End Job series, stays a perpetual 76. I can’t have her aging naturally, or she’ll be too old to go on adventures with Helen Hawthorne.
Personally, I like the question the sage Satchel Paige may or may not have asked:
“How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?”

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Cozy lovers! Three of my Josie Marcus, mystery shopper mysteries are on sale throughout September. DYING IN STYLE, MURDER IS A PIECE OF CAKE, and AN UPLIFTING MURDER are $1.99 each this month.