I recognize that the title of this post is a tautology, but it's true. Even if that isn't the point of a book, even if it's a book about something else entirely that contains a scary event, it scares me. It makes me feel tense and worried.
I don't do well with scary movies, either. Or scary TV shows. I watch 24 with Torsten, and I enjoy most of it, but at parts I have to look away, and afterward sometimes I feel stressed and nervous.
I think the parts that bother me are the moments of suspense. I don't like it when Jack Bauer is creeping around a room looking for something and the music is suspenseful and I know he's going to get jumped at any second. I don't like it when the innocent main character is hanging out with someone we think she trusts, and she thinks we trust, and then we find out we can't trust anybody.
I don't mind explosions and gunfights and special effects. I just don't like scary silent parts when you know something's coming and you don't know what.
I guess this fits in with the fact that I generally do not like surprises, and you can psychoanalyze it all you want and tell me I'm a control freak or whatever you want. But really I just don't like being shocked. And I don't like anticipation. That's what really gets to me.
And I've always been that way. I've described before my long-standing hate of the game Perfection. I just don't do well with partial information. I'd rather something come completely out of the blue all of a sudden without me having had any inkling of it, or I want to know far in advance and have plenty of time to prepare.
My point is, I stupidly read a book, a book that I LIKED, really I did, that had a kidnapping in it and a main character who suddenly found herself surrounded by people who could be dangerous to her, and even though it was just a silly novel and I finished the whole thing in one day and of course it had a lovely ending and so on, I was tense. Tense from the moment the event happened in the book, through the end of it and on through the rest of the evening and even once I got into bed. It took much cuddling with Torsten before I relaxed enough to fall asleep.
My point is, I am a mess. A big wimpy mess. Please tell me I'm not alone.
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