There isn’t much about the whole writing process that I don’t like. Except the editing. And I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy that. I also don’t like taking out the extra space between sentences, partly because it’s not wrong. Mostly because it’s very time consuming. And more boring than I can say.
There is, however, one especially rewarding thing about writing. And that is the ability to kill off, humiliate, or otherwise make miserable the people who offend you.
On the whole, I think I’m a pretty nice person. I don’t really hold grudges, and it usually takes a lot to offend me. But like everyone else, there are just lines you don’t cross. People should know this just as a matter of course. If nothing else, they should know not to mess with a woman. I mean, we do have the whole PMS thing going on, after all.
So, being a woman, and dealing with PMS on a regular basis, you have to know that there are times when the rudeness, or thoughtlessness, of others sets my creativity in motion.
Someone cuts me off in traffic? Suddenly they’re the ‘bad guy’ and they’re going to be going to prison for an indefinite period of time. Customer service rep gives me a hard time? I make sure they’re fired from their job. Snooty acquaintance insults me? They’re going to die a miserable death in chapter seven.
And before you start to wonder even more about me, I do not have visions of doing any of these things in real life. No, I look upon these situations as opportunities to add something interesting to my stories. Or not. Sometimes I just write scenes as a way to vent. And then I delete them. But I it sure is a lot of fun getting my ‘revenge.’
One of the most unusual deaths in one of my books involved a character I hadn’t actually intended to kill off. She’d started out as simply a mean-spirited woman that I needed to move the story along. Only the further I got into the book, the more I disliked her. Intensely. And so she had to go. Even though I had to do some juggling and let another character that was slated to die survive. That was the only time I’ve ever actually enjoyed killing someone off in one of my books.
In fact, I almost always hate that part of a story. The first book I ever wrote, I nearly didn’t finish. Why? Because I wound up liking the character that had to die so much, I didn’t want to have him murdered. I tried to figure out a way to make it work without that scene, but it was impossible. Eventually I did resign myself to the fact that I had to tell him goodbye, but it gave me no satisfaction.
Not like the woman in the other book. I was disgustingly pleased with myself over that one.
Yup. Nothing quite like taking your frustrations out on those who deserve it. But to be able to do it without getting arrested? Awesome!