I read a crime/mystery/thriller today (number 3 of 5 for my crime project). It was pretty gruesome, but very good. Although the bad dude was a little too easy to guess.

Anyway.

Makes me wonder how authors like Karin Slaughter come up with the horrible things they write. Because it started off pretty icky (in the good way, I have to admit), but then got a lot, lot worse.

I can't quite work out what a person with that kind of imagination must be like to live with.

Any thoughts?


Also: I find it interesting that I enjoy the more gruesome a lot more than the slightly yucky but more mysterious books. I think part of it is that I feel ... happy when the perpertrator of said gory acts is stopped, and that feeling is stronger than the satisfaction of working out a tricky mystery.