Confessions of a Crime Blogger
This is my real confession; I like to talk about murder. This makes a lot of people uncomfortable and rightfully so. Over the years I have learned to keep quiet and not let everyone know who got killed in the building we are passing and when. But I still want to and I am glad to have the opportunity.
Anyone who writes about crime knows the discrimination it can engender. Some people think that crime is not a serious subject and not worthy of a “true” writer. These people don’t bother me. They remind me of a woman who attended one of my poetry readings in the early 90s. I asked for questions from the audience and she rose, saying, “Are those real poems, or did you just make those up?” I just make all of my stuff up, sometimes after careful research and I do not claim to be a “true” writer.
The others are the ones that get to me. These are the ones who say, “Why do you want to concentrate on such horrible things?” This gets to me, because I am a positive person and I believe in concentrating on the positive in any given situation. I know that we attract the things we think about into our lives and I want to attract love and happiness into my life, not violence and death.
Yet the violence and death is compelling. I am compelled to witness the darkest things that the human soul has to offer. I believe that these horrible things grow in the dark and when no one is looking. A wise man once said, “He who has eyes, let him see.” I have eyes. I have a voice. As long as I am here someone will be looking and witnessing and telling anyone who wants to read.