People have hobbies. Some people knit. Some collect stamps (I don't know who—I've never met any philatelists myself, but I hear they exist, like leprechauns and unicorns), some paint, some read.
Wait. I read. That's a normal hobby, right?
Except that often, I read about murderers.
I've had this interest since my early teens. It waxes and wanes, and I go through periods where I can't bear to hear one more word about man's inhumanity against man. There's a limit to what I can take. It's the reason why I'm not a cop. (That, plus the physical and mental testing they put you through, and the being shot at part. I'm not that brave.) But I have, over the years, collected a lot of information on a lot of despicable people. I don't listen to the radio any more—I listen to true crime podcasts (I'm eight episodes in on season one of Serial—no spoilers, please) and watch Forensic Files. If I've already seen that particular episode of FF, I switch to FBI Files. Or a documentary on H.H. Holmes, or Ed Gein, or Albert Fish. In a pinch, there's always a new JFK assassination theory show to watch.
What I've never been able to quite grasp is how other people react to this interest of mine.
It's not something I do on purpose. But, say, if I'm having lunch at work with Sue and Jackie, and Sue mentions that the girl two tables over with the long, dark hair parted in the middle looks nice today, and I glance over and say (out loud—I need to work on that, I suspect), "She looks like one of Ted Bundy's victims," and then Jackie says, "Christ, I'm trying to eat here!"—that. That's the reaction that surprises me every time. I mean, whose mind doesn't go to Ted Bundy when they see long, dark hair parted in the middle?
According to Jackie: "Most people don't. Seriously. Eating here."
I've tried to curb this habit of spouting useless murder trivia. When Jackie said that she'd bought a new set of butcher knives on clearance, do you know how hard it was not to mention Andrei Chikatilo? (Hard, Jackie. It was hard.) Or when she brought up visiting Chicago, and I had to bite my lip in order not to ask her if she visited the scene of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre? Or when she wondered out loud what might have been happening in Benedict Canyon, say, on August 8, 1969? I did not mention Charles Manson even once. (Also, sometimes I think Jackie tries to bait me.)
I suppose I can talk about other things. I tried this one day at lunch. Jackie mentioned that the pulled pork sandwich she'd ordered tasted a little funny. I can talk about pork. My father used to raise pigs to slaughter on the farm. So I started talking about that process. I'm a writer, so I tried to be as descriptive as possible, mentioning the sounds, the smell . . .
"Guess what I started reading the other day?" Sue said, cutting me off. "The Stranger Beside Me. It's about Ted Bundy. Have you read it?" Have I read it? Have I read it? I glanced over at Jackie. It didn't look like she was eating any more of her pork, so I figured it was safe to talk.
I guess my point is this: I'm sorry I have weird interests. Maybe it's part of being a horror writer. And also, thank you to my friends and family. I'll try to wait until after lunch next time.
Wait. I read. That's a normal hobby, right?
Except that often, I read about murderers.
I've had this interest since my early teens. It waxes and wanes, and I go through periods where I can't bear to hear one more word about man's inhumanity against man. There's a limit to what I can take. It's the reason why I'm not a cop. (That, plus the physical and mental testing they put you through, and the being shot at part. I'm not that brave.) But I have, over the years, collected a lot of information on a lot of despicable people. I don't listen to the radio any more—I listen to true crime podcasts (I'm eight episodes in on season one of Serial—no spoilers, please) and watch Forensic Files. If I've already seen that particular episode of FF, I switch to FBI Files. Or a documentary on H.H. Holmes, or Ed Gein, or Albert Fish. In a pinch, there's always a new JFK assassination theory show to watch.
What I've never been able to quite grasp is how other people react to this interest of mine.
It's not something I do on purpose. But, say, if I'm having lunch at work with Sue and Jackie, and Sue mentions that the girl two tables over with the long, dark hair parted in the middle looks nice today, and I glance over and say (out loud—I need to work on that, I suspect), "She looks like one of Ted Bundy's victims," and then Jackie says, "Christ, I'm trying to eat here!"—that. That's the reaction that surprises me every time. I mean, whose mind doesn't go to Ted Bundy when they see long, dark hair parted in the middle?
According to Jackie: "Most people don't. Seriously. Eating here."
I've tried to curb this habit of spouting useless murder trivia. When Jackie said that she'd bought a new set of butcher knives on clearance, do you know how hard it was not to mention Andrei Chikatilo? (Hard, Jackie. It was hard.) Or when she brought up visiting Chicago, and I had to bite my lip in order not to ask her if she visited the scene of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre? Or when she wondered out loud what might have been happening in Benedict Canyon, say, on August 8, 1969? I did not mention Charles Manson even once. (Also, sometimes I think Jackie tries to bait me.)
I suppose I can talk about other things. I tried this one day at lunch. Jackie mentioned that the pulled pork sandwich she'd ordered tasted a little funny. I can talk about pork. My father used to raise pigs to slaughter on the farm. So I started talking about that process. I'm a writer, so I tried to be as descriptive as possible, mentioning the sounds, the smell . . .
"Guess what I started reading the other day?" Sue said, cutting me off. "The Stranger Beside Me. It's about Ted Bundy. Have you read it?" Have I read it? Have I read it? I glanced over at Jackie. It didn't look like she was eating any more of her pork, so I figured it was safe to talk.
I guess my point is this: I'm sorry I have weird interests. Maybe it's part of being a horror writer. And also, thank you to my friends and family. I'll try to wait until after lunch next time.
I honestly thought this podcast was family friendly until I downloaded this image just now.
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