Book Review: Until Justice is Done

This book is from 1994, so it's a tad dated shelf-wise. This doesn't detract from its accuracy on the facets of modern crime-solving such as computer stuff (minimally) and good old-fashioned sleuthing and DNA evidence (mostly).

Normally I stay away from suspense thrillers. I can deal with horror--that doesn't frighten me. It's the expedition into the minds of these characters, which are usually murderers and rapists, of course, that I cannot cope with; being a woman, I'd rather not know. But that's just the point of this review. I forced myself to read this book that I gain the insight that all women should, unfortunately, have.

So. I highly recommend this book to all women and to their loved ones, and the ones who care for them. Christine McGuire is spot on with her harried prosecutor, a woman, whom, in the end comes face to face with the rapist/murderer the police have been desperately searching for and she's been seeking to prosecute. She brings brilliant insight into the mind of a psychopath who carefully chooses his victims with disturbing stalking tactics that make you angry, yes, but that's part of her form of enlightenment. McGuire's writing is so convincing it's nearly impossible to believe it isn't based upon a primary or secondary experience. And she's creative; the only thing her killer doesn't do to murder a victim is put poison in her food. The dialogue, the tension, the inevitabilities--it's all portrayed convincingly enough: The protagonist's emotions conflict over the constant barrage of so many rape/homicide cases. Even she does not want to live in this book. Yet she resists exhaustion with conviction.

Every woman should read this or something similar to it. It should become required reading for all school-age girls. Isn't the HPV vaccination required of high school girls? Why not mandatory classes on this kind of knowledge? It seems it's fine for girls to have sex and possibly contract diseases, but it's irrelevant that they learn how to defend themselves in case said sex becomes violent or non-consensual. It almost seems like we have a nation (and perhaps this is on a global scale, as well) that's determined not to have strong female heroes.  

In the Confessional: I'm Being Stalked

So after my brand new iPhone was hacked this past June -- and cloned, and synced to some unknown computer other than my netbook, presumably to the individual's computer who is stalking and harassing me -- then my truck's tires were slashed. Parked around the block because of No Parking In Front of Your Own Yard Thursdays, someone took a rather huge blade and slashed my truck's right-side tires -- the tires lined up against the curb. The AAA guys were baffled as to how it could've been anything other than a slashing, as having two flats on one side is very unusual and requires a flatbed lift rather than the usual tow truck. Someone also removed the distributor cap from underneath the hood to prevent the truck from starting -- or more aptly, so it would appear to "break down" perhaps when I was on my way somewhere and then I'd be stranded. This means they pretty audaciously tampered with my vehicle, and it was very illegal, and very deliberate. It was fixed this afternoon. My mechanic is the fifth person to recently tell me to get a dog for our home. A big f*cking dog. We've been looking at kennels and adoption places for rottweiler pups. And now all of my neighbors are hyper-alert that there's a weirdo in our very quiet and otherwise safe neighborhood. Two have suggested I get a Doberman. I like how big and dopey-looking the rottie pups are, though.

So officially now, I have moved up in status from complete nobody, to complete nobody with a stalker. Yay.

Which brings me to the main point of this entry. I am Mykia. I have a stalker. I know who it is, and aside from the usual disbelief, skepticism, and annoyance, this deranged individual, whom I'm pretty sure I met briefly on-line in a group for fantasy writers on Yahoo!, has a rather strange fetish which gives him gratification in pretending to be me.

Here's an example of something similar, no more or less psychotic for the complete lack of sanity and common sense in the execution of the forgery. Shame on this idiot. Shame on anyone who would go so far to prove a (false) point to the world that only has meaning to the idiot, who by the way, faked his way into the spotlight and now we all know his rotten lying name.
 
Not so lucky for Syria's reputation, but lucky for the gay girl -- she doesn't really exist. I, on the other hand, do.

Many stalking forums and information sites report that this behavior is typical of the "you don't love me and/or don't react to me so I'm going to defame your character" type of stalker, the sadistic stalker, who thrives on having power over victims, which I have accepted and begun to take strides to deal with on a logical level that does not drive me or my husband insane or against each other, and also does not endanger my wellbeing.

I thank the gods for my husband, whose belief and support navigated me through the initial cyberstalking and subsequent real-life stalking. Which brings me to this: If you are going through this as well, arm yourself with information, stay calm, and confess to your loved ones. Tell anyone who'll listen so you will have help: I am being stalked, it is not my fault, I fear for my safety, reputation, privacy, and others who may become secondary targets of this sad, sick individual. Get help, become vocal, start a blog. A stalker revels in your silence and will use it against you. So start yelling.

While this is both frightening and fascinating, my first goal is to distinguish this site as my Official One. This means that I do not own a MySpace page, no Facebook, no Twitter, no LinkedIn -- no nothing other than this blog which is where I will stay and where I will document not only my trials and tribulations in the art and writing and nursing assistant worlds, but also my experiences with a "sadistic" stalker -- who shall remain nameless until there is a sufficient law enforcement against "his" behavior, lest "he" believe I am paying "his" creepy antics some beneficial attention and thus amp up "his" antics.