If someone ever subpoenas my google search history mid-draft, I’m finished.
Not because I’ve done anything wrong.
But because the questions alone look like I’m preparing for something deeply unhinged.
“How long does a body take to get cold?”
“Do fingerprints survive water?”
“How deep does someone have to be buried?”
“What does poison taste like?”
“Can a burner phone be traced?”
“How long before someone suffocates?”
“How long does it take for bones to decompose?”
Relax Big Brother. I’m writing fiction.
If you’re a thriller writer, crime writer, fantasy writer, dystopian writer, or honestly even a romance writer with one dramatic scene, you’ve typed something into Google that would make a federal agent blink twice.
But here’s the problem.
Most writers Google these things looking for exact numbers.
And real life does not work in exact numbers.
So I’m going to breakdown seven of the most “suspicious” searches fiction writers make, and more importantly, what professionals actually understand about them — so you can write smarter without turning your browser history into a crime documentary.
- “How long does a body take to get cold?”
This is the classic.
What you’re trying to understand is algor mortis — the cooling process after death.
Movies love to treat this like a stopwatch. Six hours equals this. Twelve hours equals that. Clean. Dramatic. Convenient.
Reality does not cooperate.
Body cooling depends on environmental temperature, airflow, clothing, body mass, humidity, and surface contact. Water cools faster than air. Heat slows the initial drop. Indoor climate control changes everything. A body in a sealed apartment behaves differently than one outside in wind.
No coroner looks at a body and announces an exact hour count like they’re reading a microwave timer.
They estimate.
They combine temperature with rigor mortis, livor mortis, stomach contents, and scene context.
If you want realism, stop writing characters who declare exact times of death based on touch alone. Write professionals who speak in ranges. Write uncertainty. That’s credibility.
- “How long before someone suffocates?”
Again, writers are looking for a dramatic countdown.
But oxygen deprivation isn’t just a number. It depends on environment, health, altitude, lung capacity, physical exertion, and whether the airway is partially or fully obstructed.
And here’s what writers often miss: unconsciousness and irreversible damage are not the same thing.
Medical professionals describe stages. Confusion. Panic. Loss of coordination. Collapse. The body reacts before it shuts down.
If you’re writing this type of scene, the tension shouldn’t come from a ticking clock with exact seconds. It should come from physiological escalation.
That’s what feels real.
- “What does poison taste like?”
This one makes Google nervous.
But here’s the truth: many poisons are not dramatic in flavor. Some are bitter. Some are metallic. Some are odorless. Some are disguised by other tastes.
More importantly, many toxins don’t cause instant cinematic collapse.
They cause symptoms. Nausea. Dizziness. Sweating. Confusion. Organ failure over time.
Writers often default to the instant drop.
Reality is slower. Messier. Less theatrical.
If your character drinks something and falls dead five seconds later, readers with even basic medical knowledge will disengage.
Delayed reactions are often more terrifying — and more believable.
- “Can a burner phone be traced?”
Thriller writers love this one.
The myth is that disposable phones are invisible.
They’re not.
Any device that connects to a network leaves digital breadcrumbs. Location data, tower pings, purchase records, surveillance footage at stores, call pattern analysis. Law enforcement investigations rely on pattern recognition more than magical hacking.
The smarter narrative move isn’t “this phone is untraceable.”
It’s “the character thought it was untraceable.”
Overconfidence is realistic. Perfect invisibility is not.
- “How deep does someone have to be buried?”
Let’s pause and say clearly: no one needs an exact depth measurement for storytelling.
What matters for fiction is environmental impact.
Soil type matters. Temperature matters. Moisture matters. Animal activity matters. Human discovery risk matters.
Decomposition isn’t a straight line. It’s a process influenced by conditions.
Instead of writing, “He buried the body exactly X feet deep,” write the emotional state. The rushed digging. The poor planning. The location risk. The forensic consequences later.
Again, realism comes from variables, not measurements.
- “Do fingerprints survive water?”
This one sounds like you’re planning something.
In reality, fingerprints are more resilient than movies suggest — but not invincible. Surface type matters. Exposure duration matters. Water temperature matters. Movement matters.
And investigators don’t rely on one perfect print.
They look for partials. Smudges. Secondary evidence. Touch DNA. Fibers. Digital traces.
If you’re writing a crime scene where the villain “wipes everything down” and walks free, that’s lazy plotting.
Modern investigations are layered.
Readers know this.
Give them complexity.
- “How long does it take for bones to decompose?”
Here’s the honest answer: it depends.
Time, climate, burial conditions, exposure, scavengers, soil chemistry, and countless environmental factors influence skeletal breakdown.
There is no universal timeline.
Forensic anthropology relies heavily on context.
And this is the theme you should be seeing by now.
Every suspicious Google question writers ask is really a request for certainty.
But the real world operates on probability and variables.
When you understand that, your fiction levels up immediately.
Stop writing scenes where professionals speak in absolutes.
Start writing scenes where experts assess, estimate, and cross-reference.
That subtle shift alone separates amateur crime fiction from gripping, believable storytelling.
Stay faithful, stay quirky, and stay writing.
With love and fire,
V.S. Beals
Writer. Watchwoman. Woman of the Word.
