Last night I presented my writer’s group with a story. It is a sweet story. A whimsical story. It’s full of goodness, light, and stardust.
They dug it, except that they were clamoring for a main character’s death. It makes the piece more poignant. It’s more…I hesitate to say “realistic” with a completely fanciful story, but yes, it’s more realistic. The death of this character, although tragic, gives true closure where the piece was rather pat before. What a sweet, pure character. Obviously the only thing to do is to crush and then kill him.
Been writing like a fiend on the demon story, and I’m hungry for more. Why, oh why aren’t there more hours in the day? I’ve been staying up late and getting up early. My WIP loves it but my body despises me. I’m doing the last minute touches on the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse contest piece and using a scythe to hack my way through slush for Shock Totem. Busy times.
Oh yeah, and I don’t have any caffeine in the house at ALL. I’m seriously contemplating having a pizza delivered because they’ll send a Coke along as well. I can order online. Ah, technology, thou seriously rocketh.
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