One reason I love being a writer is that it gets me interested in all kinds of things I wouldn't be normally be interested in. Like I spent yesterday reading Broadcast Voice Handbook for ideas on what it's like to be a TV reporter.
I come to it with more knowledge than most. My dad, Hank Henry, was a radio broadcaster who made the switch to TV, early enough that he could be called a pioneer. The red jacket he wore on air is now on display in a local historical museum. So when I read about how to deliver the news, I heard his deep voice in my head. He came from an era where the news broadcaster also did the commercials. He used to be nervous that viewers would see his chewed fingernails when the camera zoomed in on the loaf of Williams Bread he was praising. It was a small station, so he did the 5 pm and 11 pm news, and I can't remember a holiday he didn't go in to work.
Today I'm going to the library to pick up my interlibrary loan of The Mask of Sanity: An Attempt to Clarify Some Issues About the So Called Psychopathic Personality, which is way out of print but which everyone agrees is the best.
Would I be reading these if I didn't write mysteries? No. But my life is richer as a result.