In last week's #TuesdayTip (Tip149) I discussed how it is important to make your procedure authentic, rather than realistic; to craft a compelling story without burdening your readers with too much detail. This week I want to look at a related idea - how to get away with using artistic licence.
It's something that we all struggle with. Artistic licence is the need to 'break the rules' to create a compelling story. We often see this in police procedurals. An admittedly unscientific survey I conducted of the books on my bookshelf, reveals that the main character in most of these books (especially those in a series) is usually an implausibly high rank. A Detective Chief Inspector or Detective Inspector, or even a Superintendent. This dogged individual will visit crime scenes, interview witnesses and suspects, chase bad guys and even perform the arrest at the end. My own series of books centre around DCI Warren Jones, who does all of the above.
Unfortunately, in real-life this is far from what really happens. In the UK, inspector ranks and above are largely office-based. They are likely to be the Senior Investigating Officer (SIO) in charge of a major investigation, but it is an organisational role. They direct the case, but the legwork is usually carried out by detective constables or detective sergeants. Interviewing is a highly specialised role these days, conducted by interview specialists, which are almost exclusively DCs and sometimes DSs. SIOs will often visit a crime scene, but they are usually being shown around by other experts who have already been on site for some time. And they certainly don't go running after suspects and arrest them.
But for narrative purposes, a DI or DCI is an extremely useful rank. The implied level of seniority means that they can plausibly decide how the case is going to be solved, with a team below them to carry out the work, whilst still having to answer to those above them (a great source of narrative conflict). In theory, they see all the evidence and can piece together all the pieces to 'solve the case'. That's not how it works in real-life. In reality it is far more of a team effort, but for the purposes of story-telling readers (and viewers) need a 'hero' they can focus on.


I came up against another instance of reality getting in the way of my story very early in the series. My books are set in a fictional north-Hertfordshire town called Middlesbury, but Warren and his team are officers in the very real Hertfordshire Constabulary. About halfway through writing book one, The Last Straw I was doing some research and realised to my horror that ALL major crime in Hertfordshire and the adjoining counties of Bedfordshire and Cambridgeshire is investigated in one big building in Welwyn Garden City run by the three constabularies to increase efficiency and save costs. I had already set up the team structure as described above, with Middlesbury CID consisting of a Detective Superintendent in overall charge, my hero DCI Warren Jones as SIO and then a small team of officers below him. This places Warren in the centre, and limits the number of major characters that readers need to get to know. It also allows those characters to remain consistent from book to book, rather than each investigation being staffed by a different selection of officers assigned from a pool (conveniently, none of my main characters are on annual leave when each year's murder happens!).


As a writer, I therefore had two choices. Either ignore reality and hope my readers will forgive me because it's a cracking story. Or address it head-on. In my series, I decided to address it head on. I explain that Middlesbury CID (which is geographically quite distant from Welwyn Garden City and semi-rural) is a unique 'first response CID unit'. Middlesbury deals with major crime in the local area and recruits additional officers as needed from Welwyn. This is a complete fiction, as far as I am aware.
This set-up also helped me address the other big use of artistic licence; DCI Jones being the heart of the action. I've made it a bit of an in-joke, with Warren being acknowledged as probably the only officer of his rank who still interviews suspects and visits crime scenes (some of his peers are jealous that he gets to poke around crime scenes whilst they are stuck in budget meetings). Narratively, it also means that Middlesbury and Warren are always under pressure to justify their unique (and costly) status.
Touch wood, my readers seem happy to accept this and I have had few, if any criticisms. I've even had the odd retired police officer comment that 'it sounds like something we might do'.
So my advice is this:
If you are going to use artistic licence to break the rules, first know the rules so you can break them effectively. Then decide whether you are going to ignore this on the grounds "it's fiction, innit?" or if you are going to explain it away.
Lee Child once said that readers will forgive one big instance of implausibility. He was specifically referring to the fact that about once a year, Jack Reacher will wander into a small American town where there is a problem bubbling beneath the surface, which he will then fix in his own unique way (spoiler alert: there will be violence and mayhem and the evildoers will usually end up buried in the ground, before Reacher moves on, never to be seen again until it's time for the next book).
So, decide what your instances of implausibility are and decide whether you are going to keep them or fix them. And if you keep them, whether or not to address them head on.
Do you have examples of artistic licence? How do you think they should be dealt with?
As always feel free to comment here or on social media.
If you are a writer with a tip to share, or fancy writing a fictional interview between you and one of your characters, please feel free to email me.
Until next time,
Paul 

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This week's #TuesdayTip is a book review.
Unlike my previous look at Stephen King's much-lauded autobiography/writing manual On Writing, this is not billed as a must-read for writers.
Yet I still feel it belongs here.
For those not sure what it's about, Lee Child is the pen name of James D. Grant, the phenomenally successful best-selling author of the Jack Reacher series of thrillers. The first novel in the series has just been successfully adapted into a terrific series for Amazon, with two more series confirmed.
The much-derided Tom Cruise films (derided because the protagonist Reacher is 6'5" and 250lb, and Cruise very much isn't) were serviceable adaptations, but the most important thing is that a star like Tom Cruise was desperate to star in them.
That's how big this franchise is.
The book is not a list of dos and don'ts. There aren't detailed articles about grammar or structure or the writing craft. However, it is the very candid biography of one of the most successful thriller writers in the world, and woven amongst a fascinating life story, is a telling of how he did it.
Will others use this as a manual to mimic Lee Child? Of course, many already do. But through a combination of timing, luck (good and bad) and his own unique personality, nobody else has come close to creating Jack Reacher or replicating Child's success. And I suspect nobody will.
So why read it?
Buried within this book are Child's thoughts about writing. It doesn't matter if you think his prose is wonderful or recoil with horror at the thought of trying to average 4-5 words per sentence. It's an interesting perspective and a valuable insight.
It's a very good biography. James Grant was brought up in the fifties, in an urban landscape that has largely disappeared or changed beyond recognition. Similarly, he worked at Granada TV during a golden age of television, doing a job that has largely disappeared or changed beyond recognition. In that sense, it is a form of social history.
He started writing at the end of the nineties, before eBooks. He admits that he probably wouldn't have done as well if he started out today. The professional writing landscape today, especially for those starting out, is almost unrecognisable. Again, this charts a fascinating era of history.
His childhood, and his complicated relationship with his parents, has shaped the man he is today and his writing. Dr Heather Martin is a literary expert and she uses this to derive insight from his interviews, his books and his friends. It's not cod psychoanalysis by any stretch, but she paints a complex picture.
He is phenomenally well-read. He had a classical education, and it is clear that his exceptional memory allowed him to absorb and internalise much of that writing. Martin is able to draw parallels between what he has read and what he writes, and it's clear that she regards his writing as worthy of study as any so-called literary fiction. Given the high-praise that he has received from some of the most lauded writers of the modern era, anyone who thinks that Jack Reacher novels are trashy airport reads is mistaken (the secret to Child's success of course, is that he's also managed to corner the airport market, with a staggering number of his books being sold at Heathrow and Gatwick).
The book is very honest. It's clear that Martin finds him a charming and likeable man. I've met him a couple of times, and he is a very pleasant person to spend time with (I am no longer tongue-tied!). However, she isn't afraid to delve deeply. In some ways Lee Child is almost as fictional as his creation Jack Reacher. She takes care to differentiate between James (Jim) Grant, a family man with strong political views and an openly-shared love of his wife of forty-plus years and their daughter, and Lee Child, the mythical writing behemoth. Twenty-five years of being interviewed has meant that story-teller Lee Child has perhaps exaggerated some of the tales of his upbringing. His recollections of events might not be entirely accurate... Martin tracked down school friends, work colleagues, neighbours, and even school teachers. Some of the stories were confirmed, others were openly derided. But it doesn't matter, because at the end of the day, Lee Child is a story-teller.
It brings the story up-to-date. The book was published around the time that Child announced his impending retirement. It details why he decided to do it, the reaction of his publishers, and the decision to hand over the reins to younger brother Andrew Grant, who would now adopt the pseudonym Andrew Child. The paperback version even includes a brief addendum to include his experiences during the pandemic.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it's a damn good read! Ian Rankin describes it thus 'As gripping as one of Lee Child's own bestsellers'. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I'm not a big reader of biographies, but this was a real page-turner.

So whilst this is technically a #TuesdayTip, it is also a #RecommendedRead.
What are your thoughts on the phenomenon that is Lee Child/Jack Reacher?
Have you read The Reacher Guy?
As always feel free to comment here or in the comments.
Best wishes,
Paul