There is a hot new news story kickin around Milwaukee. A man, who had on several occasions admitted to killing two young boys, passed away in early December, taking his secrets with him. In an investigation of his claims, police thoroughly searched and cataloged the items in his home.
Now, as it currently stands, there is no proof that he murdered anyone and police are hard pressed to even locate potential victims in the area this supposedly happened. But the courtroom of public opinion is rife with conjecture on the issue.
An inventory of the man's basement lists, along with many damning items that I in no way excuse or condone, suspicious books. When pressed further for details on this, the media simply says, 'a book on cannibalism.' I clutch at my chest and place the back of my hand on my forehead in shock.
Is it just me? I don't feel this particular finding that big of a deal. Granted, in the context of the other items, it paints a bit of a scary picture for this particular man's lifestyle, but it got me thinking...
I had a friend over the other night. As we watched another breaking news segment on this story, I asked him to look at my bookshelf and psychologically profile of me.
Turns out, it ain't pretty folks. I am quite the nutter.
I read a lot of true crime. Which I thought was because I am interested in the chronicling of actual events. As a writer, I find it particularly helpful to read how authors portray the deepest thoughts of others. Turns out: I have homicidal tendencies.
There's also a lot of fiction. Again, as a creative writer, I assumed I simply enjoyed the creative works of others. Translation: I live in a false, fantasy world where reality has no place.
I don't own very many self-help books: I don't need help, I have a God complex.
I also use books to decorate my home. They're on shelves, stacked up, supporting other nick knacks. It seems: I am antisocial and surround myself with the thoughts and words of others, rather than partaking in live social action and commentary.
Wow. I have not been living up to my lunatic potential! lol. It was a funny little experiment where my friend got make fun of me, but it still has me wondering.
Under the scrutinization of a stranger, what could your books say about you?