Drop the Pen! What Every Writer Should Know About Real Police Work: Ten Codes

By David Lane Williams

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I recently spoke at a writers' conference in Texas. Those in attendance during my talk were primarily mystery and thriller writers who had lots of questions about authentic police work. One of those questions comes up from time to time: what are “ten-codes,” and how can I interpret them? Truth is, they’re still a mystery to me, even after forty years of practicing, teaching, and writing about first responding and investigations. Let’s give it a try anyway.  

Everyone has heard the term “ten-four,” one of the many “ten codes” used in police work, as well as Citizens Band (CB) radio. Ten-codes are still ubiquitous in policing, but I find them archaic. Anyone who spends the money for a scanner to listen in on police chatter is capable of getting and printing off a list of codes. “Ten-four” sounds like a rogue trucker movie in the eighties, and you don’t even have to tack on the “good buddy,” for it to sound hokey. Further, I think there is plenty for a young officer to learn without heaping on a couple of hundred codes to memorize when plain old words do the trick just fine. That said, I’m in the minority on this opinion, so don’t listen too closely to me on this one. Ten-codes are going to be around for a while.

There are certain codes that are standard across the country: 

• 10-4: Everything is okay or I understood what you just said to me. 

• 10-1: I have no idea what you just said. Say it again.

• 10-6: I’m busy unless you really need me for an emergency

• 10-20: Where are you? (as in, “What is your ten-twenty,” or just “What’s your twenty”)

• 10-100: I need to stop and pee, often associated with 10-200

• 10-200: I need to stop and…you get the idea. I’ve only heard this one over the radio once, during a night shift. A reprimand was issued before sunrise. 

For every standardized ten-code, dozens are only used in a specific jurisdiction. In some cities, there is a ten-code for an animal carcass in the roadway, though why the dispatcher can’t just say, “There is an animal carcass in the roadway,” is beyond me. I can almost guarantee you in that scenario that the responding officer would have to stop the car and look up code 10-gobbledeehoozit before he understood he was responding to a dead animal in the street. (And no one is going to get on a public police channel and ask what it means…except maybe that one guy who calls out 10-200.)

Beyond ten-codes, many departments also use systems called “codes” (distinct from ten-codes) and “signals.” This can get really complicated, but you may recognize “Code Three” as the term for responding to an emergency with lights and sirens, as in, “Adam 12, respond Code Three to a robbery in progress at…” 

In the first jurisdiction where I worked, we had a code for responding with only lights but no sirens. This was termed “Code Two.” When I moved to a different city, however, the term Code Two meant “intoxicated person.” This resulted in a gaffe on my part one evening after I hit the new streets, during which I called for an ambulance “Code Two” because the person I was trying to help was in a panicked state and didn’t need the extra stress of loud sirens. The dispatchers and other officers listening in interpreted this as me asking for a drunk ambulance crew, which was the subject of relentless teasing for the rest of that night. 

I don’t know why there isn’t some standard list, but every town is different. Thus, I don’t want writers to spend much time on this other than to say if it is really important to you, give the agency you’re writing about a call. I bet they’d send you the whole list if you tell them you’re a writer working on a project in their city. This is not top-secret WWII code-breaking stuff. This is some clerk’s version of CB radio-speak made up fifty years ago, now ingrained in that department’s culture. 

If you want more, Michael Connelly has a cool list of codes and acronyms on his official website (Police & FBI Acronyms - Extras - Michael Connelly). Most are specific to the California area, but the list could be a fun rabbit hole during your research phase. Regardless, ten-codes are part of police life for the foreseeable future, but I think you’re safe if you use them sparingly or not at all. Your call. 

Hope everyone is 10-4 with that. 

This Crazy Writing Life: Requiescat in pace—In Memory Of The Mass-Market Paperback

By Steven Womack

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Jim Milliot and Sophia Stewart’s December 12th article in Publisher’s Weekly isn’t actually an article.

It’s an obituary.

ReaderLink—the largest distributor of books to non-trade channel booksellers in North America—just announced that they would stop distributing mass-market paperbacks at the end of 2025. The mass-market paperback—once the single most popular reading format in the world—has been dying for over a quarter-century. ReaderLink’s decision is, to fall back on a perfectly valid cliché, the final nail in the coffin.

An eighty-six-year long ride is over.

The mass-market paperback had its roots in the Great Depression, when a huge demographic could barely afford food and rent, let alone luxuries like books. Publishers would do anything to sell more books, so in 1935 a British publisher named Allen Lane created Penguin Books in the U.K. and with it, the universal format (4.25” x 6.87”) that could be mass produced cheaply and distributed across a wide variety of markets and outlets. The first American paperback book publisher—Pocket Books—released its first book, Wuthering Heights, in 1939.

Not only were mass-market paperbacks affordable, they weren’t limited to sales in bookstores. In time, newsstands, drug stores, grocery stores, gift shops, airports, Big Box stores like Walmart, gas stations—anywhere you could put a cheap wire rack—became outlets.

The mass-market paperback also created what became known in publishing as the “midlist,” which enabled authors who probably wouldn’t make it in hardcover to gain an audience and earn a living. Several generations of writers thrived and became famous thanks to the mass-market paperback. Louis L’Amour wrote more than 130 books in his long career; all but four of them were mass-market paperbacks. Someone once told me that John D. MacDonald calculated the size of his advances for the Travis McGee novels on the first print run of his mass-market paperback.

Is that a true story? Who knows, but it’s a great story.

Mass-market paperbacks also outsold the hell out of hardcovers. In the PW article, Milliot and Stewart cited the figures for Jacqueline Susann’s 1966 blockbuster hit, Valley of the Dolls. Upon its release, Susann’s potboiler sold 300,000 hardcovers that year, which is certainly nothing to be ashamed of.

Then Bantam released the paperback in 1967 and it sold 4,000,000 copies in the first week. It went on to double that number in its first year. The mass-market paperback lifted the fortunes of publishers beyond the Big Five. The mass-market paperback played a huge role in making independent powerhouse Kensington Publishing as successful as it’s been. Milliot and Stewart cited Kensington CEO Steve Zacharius’s statement that the mass-market paperback was the foundation of Kensington’s success. Kensington’s best-selling author of all time is Fern Michaels; the bulk of her 42 million sales were mass-market paperbacks.

All genres benefited from the format, especially the most popular commercial genres like romance, mystery and crime fiction, and science fiction. In my own career, the mass-market paperback made me a nice living for nearly a decade. My first three book deals with St. Martin’s Press were hardcover and the sales were never that impressive. But once I launched my Music City Murders series, featuring private detective Harry James Denton, with Ballantine Books, my mass-market numbers built what career I had. I published six books in that series and every one of them was either nominated or won a major mystery award (including both an Edgar and Shamus Award). It all worked beautifully…

Until it didn’t anymore.

What happened?

I can only relate a personal experience here. In 1996, I signed a two-book contract with Ballantine Books (I had only taken single contracts before because, candidly, the money was pretty terrible and I didn’t want to get locked in). I’d been nominated for an Edgar twice, won it once, and had also been multiply nominated for the Shamus and short-listed for the Anthony. My editor at Ballantine said if I’d take a two-book deal, he'd move me into lead title and the second book in the contract would go hard/soft.

I took the offer. The first book in the deal was Murder Manual, published in 1998. After several Shamus nominations, I was thrilled to finally win one with that book. I began working on the second book in the deal when suddenly my editor seemed to go into an extended period of radio silence.

Finally, I reached out to him and told him how excited I was to finally see Harry James Denton in hardcover. When would I see a cover comp?

Long, awkward, silence…

“About that, Steve,” he said. “We’ve done an extensive audit on the sales of Murder Manual, and we thought the numbers were going to be impressive. Then, out of nowhere, we started getting a ton of returns. Your sell-through ultimately was so low we’ve cancelled the hardcover.”

He explained to me that through the late 90s, there were roughly 1100 companies across the country that were independent distributors; that is, they were small, often family-owned companies that served a specific local market. Most books were sold through those companies.

In the last few years, though, there had been a wave of acquisitions (with Nashville’s own Ingram Books being one of the most active at gobbling up smaller companies), changes in tax laws, and especially bankruptcies, which decimated that market. And while companies were either being acquired or working their way through bankruptcy courts, hundreds of thousands of mass-market paperbacks sat gathering dust, cheap paper fading to yellow, in hundreds of warehouses across the country.

When the companies were acquired or released from bankruptcy, hundreds of thousands of mass-market paperbacks—their covers ripped off and sent back to the publisher as returns—were shredded and pulped.

Milliot and Stewart backed up what my editor told me over twenty-five years ago. They quoted a study done by the Book Industry Study Group that revealed mass market sales in 1996 fell 3.3% from the previous year. The downward slope continued through the early 2000s, through the introduction of the eBook in 2006, until 2011, when eBook sales and mass market sales were roughly equal. Unfortunately, that parity of numbers disguised the fact that mass-market paperback sales were down by $500 million that year, while eBook sales had grown by $1 billion.

To deploy another effective cliché, it was death by a thousand cuts.

And now it’s dead. They’ll surely be a few mass-market paperbacks around for a few more years, but as a cultural force in society, as a huge segment of the publishing industry, it’s over.

The mass-market paperback democratized literature in America; it turned us into a nation of readers. When America went to war in December 1941, publishers stepped up with special format mass-market paperbacks in what were known as the “Armed Services Edition.” I have several of those in my collection, including Graham Greene’s The Confidential Agent and several GI paperbacks my uncle carried across Europe and through the Battle of the Bulge. These old treasures are frail now, their cheap, high-acid content paper yellowed and brittle, their bindings cracked and flaking.

But they were carried by hundreds of thousands of soldiers through a world war and all those GIs found escape and comfort in them. And hopefully, they developed a love of reading that they carried with them through the rest of their lives.

It’s sad to see the mass-market paperback sunset. But as I’ve learned the hard way over many orbits around the sun, all good things must come to an end.

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Another valuable life lesson is that when one door closes, another opens. Over the next few months, we’re going to go on an adventure together by way of this column.

I have a writing partner in New York City, Wayne McDaniel. He’s a fabulous screenwriter, novelist, documentarian, with an MFA in Film from Columbia University, as well as a helluva great guy. In 2014, we published a novel called Resurrection Bay.

Several years after that, we wrote a novel together called Pearson Place. This project is literally one of the best books I’ve ever been involved in. I’ll have more to say on the book itself next month.

Wayne and I have spent the last few years trying to find a publisher for this novel. We gave it everything we had. We set up a Query Tracker account and queried dozens of agents. Zilch. Nada. As many of you know, getting trad publishing’s attention these days is harder than ever.

Finally, through a connection (which is really how almost everything is done in publishing), we got an editor at a medium-sized-but-prestigious-publisher to take a look at the manuscript.

We were gobsmacked and thrilled when she loved the book. Literally, that’s what she told us. She loved the freakin’ thing. As in many corporate entities, though, all decisions are made by consensus and there was one person on the acquisitions committee who had problems with the book and vetoed it.

Then this editor did something I have literally never seen before in my forty years in publishing; she said if Wayne and I would do a rewrite and address the issues her colleague had, she’d take the book back and try again.

Without hesitation, we did a rewrite.

The editor loved what we did and took it back to committee. Six months and more went by and finally she called us, nearly in tears, and said her colleague wouldn’t budge. We were all heartbroken, but I think she took it harder than we did.

So Wayne and I decided to go a different route. We’re going to serialize the book on Substack. We’ve broken the book out into individual Substack posts/chapters and are writing supplemental material to go with it and just learning how this is done.

It’s a revolutionary way to get books out there, digitized and delivered via the Internet. Nothing like this has ever been done before.

Oh, wait. There was that Dickens fellow who did it with David Copperfield, The Pickwick Papers, and The Mystery of Edwin Drood—among others—over 160 years ago. I guess everything old is new again.

Thanks for playing along. See you next month.

Between Pen and Paper: Flaneuring Through a Writer’s Mind – Why the Inescapable Laws of Nature Matter to Storytellers

By Andi Kopek

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This month, we’ll experience the shortest day of the year—a cosmic reminder that no matter how aggressively we caffeinate our mornings, how many apps we invent, or how many wars we start or can’t end, Earth continues tilting its stubborn 23.5 degrees and throwing snow in our faces.

We may adapt the environment to our needs—insulate it, refrigerate it, pave it, terraform it (fictionally, for now)—but as a species we remain lashed, quite firmly, to the cosmos and its unamused laws of physics.

It’s a humbling thought: even our wildest science-fiction flights depend on what the universe permits. You can bend physics only so far, stretch it only so thin—try to wink at it, and it raises an eyebrow (or the reader lowers their lips in disappointment). Even the fictional worlds we create must ultimately rest on the four fundamental laws of nature:

1. General Relativity

2. The Standard Model of Particle Physics

3. Quantum Mechanics

4. The Laws of Thermodynamics

These aren’t optional. They are the pillars holding up our worlds, real or imaginary—four immense supports of a suspension bridge stretching into the unknown on both ends. We stand upon it, preoccupied with our current state of affairs, trying to unravel the past or imagine futures, while quarks and entropy play on the cables like Einstein bowing a violin.

Creatives who like to play in a sandbox built by these laws are called sci-fi writers. I became a devoted fan of the genre growing up in Poland in the ’70s, when it offered a rare loophole—a way to smuggle big, dangerous, philosophical ideas past the watchful gaze of the Big Communist Brother. Perhaps some of you, concerned with our own modern flavors of censorship, will take the hint. Maybe your next detective story or mystery will unfold not in Nashville as we know it, but on a distant world; maybe the serial killer you’re chasing isn’t hiding in East Nashville but on PSR B1620−26b (the ancient Methuselah Planet) located in the southern arm of the Milky Way, y’all.

The best sci-fi stories I’ve read use scientific principles not as shackles but as springboards for imagination. Here are a few worth keeping in mind:

Gravity. Gravity determines body size, structure, mobility, and evolution; it influences circulation, muscle mass, bone density, and even how tall a creature dares to grow. A world with twice Earth’s gravity won’t give you graceful gazelles—it’ll give you grumpy, compact, low-slung creatures muttering at an early age about knee pain.

Atmospheric Composition. Life requires a medium for energy exchange. For us, that medium is oxygen, but other molecules could take its place: nitrogen, carbon dioxide, methane, even sulfur compounds. Change the atmosphere, and you change the biochemistry—and the smell of everything.

Radiation. Cosmic rays (which are mostly high-speed protons) and various types of electromagnetic radiation—infrared, ultraviolet, and microwave—constantly pepper planets. This radiation might nurture life, mutate it (which could mean more diseases but also faster evolution), or erase it.

Temperature. Most Earth life functions within a narrow temperature window (from about –20°C to +70°C), the range ideal for our enzymes and our chemistry. Below 0°C, life largely halts; by – 20°C, most biochemical reactions have effectively stopped. In the opposite direction, proteins denature above +50°C, and DNA strands come apart above +70°C. That’s the limit of our chemistry.

The Universal Solvent. These temperature limits mostly reflect our reliance on water as a solvent. Water freezes at 0°C and boils at 100°C. Swap water for something else—say, methane, which freezes at –183°C—and life would look radically different. Imagine fish made of wax moving through liquid natural gas.

Magnetic Field. Charged cosmic particles—again, mostly high-energy protons—are deflected by Earth’s magnetic field, which acts as a planetary shield. Without that shield, life on Earth’s surface would be devastated… though not entirely erased. Some extremophiles would endure: certain bacteria (including the famous Conan the Bacterium), fungi (including even more famous Black Mold of Chernobyl), their spores, lichens (a fungus–cyanobacterium partnership), and the legendary indestructible animals—the water bears.

Planet’s Orbit & Tilt. Our planet’s tilt gives us the four seasons; an eccentric orbit would deliver wilder temperature swings. Too much tilt and you get seasonal mayhem; too little, and every day feels like Nashville in March.

Type of Planet’s Star. A star sets a planet’s energy budget as well as day–night rhythm. Remember: the amount of energy a planet receives from its star is inversely proportional to the square of its distance. Double the distance, and the light drops to a quarter. This simple math already creates a universe of possibilities for a writer.

Plate Tectonics / Geologic Activity. This feature is important for creating continents, mountains, mineral deposits, as well as tsunamis and nice views. It also maintains an atmosphere and recycles carbon.

Chemistry & Availability of Essential Elements. Life (as we know it) requires six main elements: carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, phosphorus, and sulfur. But don’t forget the trace metals: iron, magnesium, molybdenum, copper, and nickel. Without them, enzymes don’t work, cells don’t breathe, and metabolism collapses.

So as you sit through this shortest of days, muttering at the early sunset and your cold coffee, remember: the universe with its laws is not your enemy. The cosmos is your co-author. As writers, we should honor the laws that shape our worlds, knowing that imagination deepens—not shrinks—when it leans on truth. If sci-fi authors could sneak philosophy past censors in 1970s Poland, you can certainly sneak a detective onto a distant exoplanet. The shortest day of the year is a great opportunity to recall that we’re temporary passengers on a tilted, spinning, pale blue dot rushing through mostly empty space at 1,300,000 mph*. We are nobody. Let’s respect the laws of nature and enjoy the ride and creativity.

Andi

*1,300,000 mph is the speed of the Earth moving through the cosmos as a part of the Milky Way galaxy’s journey relative to the Cosmic Microwave Background.

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Andi Kopek is a multidisciplinary artist based in Nashville, TN. With a background in medicine, molecular neuroscience, and behavioral change, he has recently devoted himself entirely to the creative arts. His debut poetry collection, Shmehara, has garnered accolades in both literary and independent film circles for its innovative storytelling.

When you’re in Nashville, you can join Andi at his monthly poetry workshop, participate in the Libri Prohibiti book club (both held monthly at the Spine bookstore, Smyrna, TN), or catch one of his live performances. When not engaging with the community, he's hard at work on his next creative project or preparing for his monthly art-focused podcast, The Samovar(t) Lounge: Steeping Conversations with Creative Minds, where in a relaxed space, invited artists share tea and the never-told intricacies of their creative journeys.

website: andikopekart.ink
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Drop the Pen!: What Every Writer Should Know About Real Police Work: Handcuffs

By David Lane Williams

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There are few images more emblematic of police work than handcuffs. Most people get the basic concept: police put them on the wrists to keep arrestees from escaping, fighting, or trying to destroy evidence. Beyond that, handcuffs call to mind constitutional questions, including the Fourth Amendment regarding a government agent (a cop, for example) seizing the physical body of a citizen and the Eighth Amendment as it applies to cruel and unusual punishment. They are a tool, but one that can be abused, so their use must be performed judiciously and without causing injury.

Handcuffs are properly applied with the hands behind the back and the palms facing out. This is the most secure and reliable method for restraining someone who could be a flight or fight risk. It is more uncomfortable than having cuffs on in front, but this is a safety-first issue. Cuffs that are applied so that the hands are still on the front of the body allow aggressive prisoners to punch and grab for weapons, so academies across the country train officers to put them on so that the suspect’s wrists are behind the back. 

Exceptions to the behind-the-back method include obesity, pregnancy, and anyone with a pre-existing injury or illness that would be exacerbated by their arms being pinned back. Large-sized arrestees can get some relief if the arresting officer interlaces two cuffs together to widen the links. This takes a lot of strain off the back, shoulders, and wrists.

Most handcuff brands can be opened with a universal key, meaning Officer A, using Smith & Wesson brand handcuffs, can open Officer B’s ASP brand handcuffs. This, ironically, means people who don’t much like police or think laws don’t apply to them can secretly carry a standard handcuff key on or in their person and use it to open just about any handcuff out there. This is why the process of placing handcuffs with the palms (and thus fingers) facing out and the keyhole facing up is standard across the profession. It makes it tougher for malcontents to “Houdini” out of the restraints. 

Try it. Sit on a straight-backed chair as if you’re an arrestee in the back of a squad car. Make sure the back of your wrists are touching and your palms are facing out. Pretend that your wrists are locked, and that the keyhole is facing up. Unless you’re a true magician, you’re out of luck if your plan is to escape. 

Quality of handcuffs varies from brand to brand, so some officers spring for a higher standard out of their own pocket if they don’t like the department-issued model. The biggest factor is how smoothly and quickly the cuffs encircle the wrists. Most officers like a fast action that wraps around a wrist and locks in one smooth action. Many cops also pony up for better handcuff keys equipped with miniature lights, textured grips, and metal rings for clipping them on the duty belt. There is a whole handcuff industry you’ve probably never imagined. 

Once handcuffs are applied, officers are required to verify that they are not impeding blood flow. This is done either by checking the capillary refill in the nail bed, pinching the nail until it blanches, and then releasing the pressure. The normal pink hue should return within a second if the cuffs are not restricting the flow. 

The other method is to insert a fingertip between the cuff metal and the wrist skin. The cuffs are too tight if you can’t fit the end of a finger in this space. The handcuffs are then “double locked” so they cannot loosen or tighten during the ride to jail, the police station, or the hospital.

Handcuffs can really hurt. Officers in training spend hours slapping them on one another, wearing them in the back of a squad car, sitting down with them on, etc. They know about as well as anyone how painful cuffs can be if applied roughly or, as in the case of police training, repeatedly. 

One of the more brutal aspects of police training comes when the drill instructor orders one or two students to handcuff another cadet, and the “arrestee” cadet is ordered to keep them from getting the cuffs on. This becomes a melee, and I’ve seen shoulders snap out of the socket and bruises to wrists and forearms that travel toward the elbow in the days following the training. Thus, we know that those things can produce agony if they’re not used with some modicum of compassion. 

There is a dangerous period right after the first cuff is applied and the officer is moving to apply the second. This is often when people swivel to attack or bolt to flee. There is something about the sound of that first handcuff ratcheting down on the wrist that can make people panic and do something stupid. Cadets practice applying the second cuff quickly to alleviate some of this concern. I was okay at it, but I’ve seen experts apply both cuffs in a proper manner in under one second—blazing fast and tactically efficient. 

It’s a lot tougher to apply handcuffs than you might imagine, especially if someone is resisting arrest. People wriggle, shove away, buck and sweat, and getting that second cuff on may call for twisting his arm. This is one of the most dangerous moments for both officer and suspect.

Ironically, in nearly all cases, you’ll hear the officer growling, “Stop resisting,” even as the suspect yelps back, “I’m not resisting.” They are resisting, of course, but this is a panicked vocalization coming from a person who, in that moment, may not even realize they are in full fight or flight mode. This is why excellent communication skills and the ability to get those cuffs on quickly if the situation warrants are so critical to everyone’s safety.

I had a personal rule, which I repeat to every student I teach at academies and colleges: Never curse a man in handcuffs. Once cuffs are on, the fight is essentially over. Sure, some might still buck and kick, but the law won that round. It’s been my experience that even the toughest parolees will forgive the arrest, but they’ll harbor years of resentment toward officers who disrespected them after the capture was made. 

Our code of conduct dictates that officers revert to being polite once the scene is made safe. I understand having hard feelings, but we’re supposed to be the good guys. The communities we serve need that level of professionalism and ethics from us more than ever. One way to demonstrate that attitude is through the proper, tactical, and constitutional application of handcuffs. 

Be safe out there…just not too safe. Onward.