Murder Mysteries

The weekend before last I was doing my weekly pilgrimage to Cork. I got in very late and headed for the the hostel. On the way there I was positive I was going to be killed. Think that part in Anne of Green Gables but more intense. American Paranoia you say? Not at all. Well, maybe a little. But I think my paranoia is not due to my American heritage so much as my obsession with murder mysteries.

 I got to the hostel safe and sound and not even approched much less threatened by another human being. I headed to my room and I saw they had a paperback exchange.

There I found Silent Scream by Lynda La Plante. I was so excited becuase I have been wanting to read her for a while but with I haven't bought any of her work because
 A. Trying to save money and

B. Adult (for adults not "adult" dummy) crime books are often so graphic that it's hard for me to justify reading them. They are just too awful. I mean I know murder is awful so I don't blame the writers. I just have found that I don't feel comfortable reading them so I have to be careful what I purchase if I'm just going to stop reading it.

But here it was free.


I am still in the early chapters but the victim is a 24 year old, blonde, actress.

I am 24. I am blonde. I was in Cork for an acting class. 

But I am not a druggie or as promiscuis as the victim. Or dead.

So there really aren't that many similarities. I just thought it was funny that after my freak out I ran straight into the arms of the source of my paranoia.