Why I Write About Tragedy

07/26/2012 03:04 pm ET | Updated Sep 25, 2012

When I set out to write Lost Girls, I tried to assure John Gardner's mother,
Cathy Osborn, that she would stop being the target of blame once the book was
released. I would be the one to take the hits. And as most people in San Diego
who watched or read the news have witnessed over the past month, I was right.

I don't need to feel validated by being right, especially in this context. I
just want to say that my determination to hold my course was fueled by my
deep-seated belief that no matter what the blowback, I would not stray from my
journalistic ideals, because I truly believed that my research and writing could
foster much needed change.

Today, after a month that started out with personal and professional attacks and
also resulted in a tremendous outpouring of support and encouragement from
fellow authors, former newspaper colleagues and total strangers, I don't regret
for a moment my decision to write Lost Girls, the story behind the rape and
murder of San Diego area teens Chelsea King and Amber Dubois by sexual predator
John Gardner.

I will say it again. I am sorry for the loss of Chelsea's and Amber's parents
and I am sorry that they feel "deeply hurt" by this book, because that was not
my intention. My intention was to honor their daughters' memory by working to
prevent future victims from falling to the same fate.

Despite being described by some critics as greedy, repulsive, disgusting, and
insensitive, I am choosing to focus on the polar opposite comments from
supporters who described me as calm, rational, gracious and compassionate
throughout these past weeks, not to mention in the sensitive way I wrote the
book. I'm especially grateful for the positive and supportive emails and
reviews from law enforcement sources, defense attorneys, prosecutors and
government officials, expressing their appreciation and hope that the book will
open some eyes.

Here's the bottom line: If it took me being a target of anger and controversy
for people to read Lost Girls, absorb and process the red flags in Gardner's
life as well as the multiple flaws in the system that allowed him to roam free
and kill these two girls, then so be it. As a society, let's now take advantage
of this anger and direct it toward fostering change and furthering public
education to spark new legislation, changes in regulations or at the very least
to create a new awareness of what genetic and environmental factors can produce
sexual predators like Gardner. Let's do further study of the systemic holes I've
identified so we can put some protections in place to protect ourselves -- and
the predators from themselves, once they go into freefall.

In the end, I feel that the blowback has been worth the personal toll it took,
that my goal of trying to spur lively debate has been met and for that I am
grateful. I can only hope that people will stay fired up enough to keep the
momentum going so we may find some answers to these difficult problems.

For me, this is my most important book to date and that's why I put so much time
and effort into telling the story right, proactively addressing the needs
of all the families involved, both Gardner's and the victims' -- because I knew
this content would be so personal and so potentially inflammatory.

I'd like to add a couple of personal notes for the record: One, I am no stranger
to tragedy or media scrutiny into my personal life, and perhaps that's partly
why I'm so drawn to this genre. And two, I am not a mother, a point that a few
critics jumped on to accuse me of ignoring how the victim's parents would feel
about the book. That said, I always wanted to have children, one if not two, and
I married a man at 33 with that very purpose in mind.

My husband, who was at one time a public figure -- the chief investment officer
of the San Diego County pension fund -- fell from grace and was written up in
the newspaper more than once. He was an alcoholic who was diagnosed with
borderline personality disorder, the same disorder as Wayne Adam Ford, the other
serial rapist killer I wrote about in my book Body Parts. While my husband was
the CIO and I was a reporter at the San Diego Union-Tribune, he was arrested for
stealing items from the gift shop at the Phoenician resort in Arizona, where he
was attending a professional conference.

I learned after his death in April 1999 - from the police report that he hid
from me -- that he'd been in an alcoholic blackout at the time of his arrest. He
was not only an alcoholic but a compulsive spender of his personal money. But he
was so ashamed of being a man broken by his addiction that he chose to let the
public -- and the beneficiaries of the San Diego County Employees Retirement
Association -- believe that he was a thief so he didn't have to reveal his flaws
during the civil service commission public hearing process. That decision cost
him the job he loved so much, and perpetuated a downward spiral that ultimately
took his life.

After being sober for a year and two 911 calls I'd made -- once to report him as
a 5150 (deeming him a danger to himself or others) for making suicidal threats
and once after he picked up a bat when I tried to take away his vodka bottle --
he relapsed one too many times. I told him our marriage was over, and he
committed suicide several days after our last phone call, during which I asked
if he felt as though he were going to hurt himself and he said no. He was
severely depressed; he couldn't live with alcohol and he couldn't live without

And there, for the record, went my dream of having children. It was just too
late and I decided it would be too selfish to have one on my own. When I spoke
of his alcoholism and depression in his obituary, I received emails thanking me
for helping to remove the stigma. I feel the same way now, as if I'm navigating
some of the same waters by writing this book and dealing with all the questions
about my integrity and motivations.

Maybe now people will better understand why I really write these books, that I
personally do understand tragedy, and how I can and do empathize with the
victims and their families. If I were trying to make money, believe me, I
would've gone into a different field. But I think I'm right where I belong,
doing what I love, because the work is so rewarding.