23 April 2014

Murder, yes murder.

I am not going to lie, I enjoy a good detective novel, the more ensconced in British sensibilities, no gore, horror; pass the tea with crumpets please, the better. My dance with whodunits has been going on longer then my current romancing of SF. My teens years were spent idling away the hours with a little Belgium guy and a feisty Victorian Egyptologist rather than err, teen books about teens being teens. What does a teen read? You come to a point in your life that you believe you have outed your geeky tendencies enough and then you catch yourself out-geeking the geek you thought you were. It is a miracle I am married, isn't it?

 How do I, the self-proclaimed girl of sci-fi calmly announce such a statement? Pretty easily, as all it took was a couple pushes to the keypad and voila, my deep dark secret is revealed to you all.Whether you wish to view my adulterous relationship with the mystery novel as an adulterous relationship is your decision. My actions clearly exemplify a two-timing hussy. If you are sneaking down to the library, creeping through the mystery aisles, peaking out from behind book covers with images of hanged man ropes' praying no one from your Dune past chances upon you as not the actions of two-timing hussy, then I don't know what a hussy or a two-timer is.

After months of this illicit behavior I finally cracked, confessing my sins at Easter dinner. The family took the news like troopers, no one passed out into their mashed potatoes and so far, I haven't been written out of any one's will (but seriously, one never knows, does one). Admitting that I haven't picked up, or thought to read a science fiction book in three months and have been filling those weeks with a crusade to tear through any and all things sleuth related released me from my personal chains of guilt. This void of SF in turn has affected my dejected/rejected blog with the active decision to ignore the entire platform, pushing aside the notion that I am the girl of sci-fi. After all, how could I write a post on Thank the Maker when the closest I have been to a space operatic adventure is a Venetian prima donna suspected of poisoning her maestro in the heat of an argument?  It was a darn good little thriller, let me tell you. And with all that follows the confessional flood, my desire to visit, write and post has returned.

Hello, everyone! Ah, yeah....I have been reading detective books, sorry about that, most likely this horrifying trend will continue until the new Expanse novel has been released. My affliction is that bad and Venetian Commissario Brunettii, Quebec's Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, and Bess Crawford on the French line are in need of  my assistance in solving some puzzling crimes of murder, yes murder. 

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