My mind is scary or…I should clarify. If you caught a glimpse inside, you might be afraid. Be very afraid.
There is a possibility, if you are of similar, that is, if you are blessed with, or perhaps have, as ‘unique’ of a mind as mine, you might find it humorous. Not in a “isn’t she funny” kind of way, but more in a knee-slapping, finger-pointing “isn’t she crazy?” kind of way. Yeh, right…like all your thoughts come right-side up.
If you state that you are neither of the above, then I would encourage you to pretend you are not reading this, and by all means move on...Because I strongly suspect that you may have enough clout to put my name out there, and I will gain possession of one of those white, straight, buckled, long-armed jackets. I hate it when people mess with my wardrobe.
I prefer the people who stare and laugh, unless of course, you are a mass-murderer. In that case, I want you to know…I have a bullet at home with your name on it.
Not really, but send me your name and I’ll make sure to pencil you in.
Which brings to mind…scary, I know…some of the best advice I received at the beginning of my career. Hahaha, ‘career?’ Really? Hahaha.
Uh, ignore that weird sound. I hear it all the time.
The advice…that’s right…the best advice to cure writer’s block or whatever else that ales…no, that’s not right, although some ale might be appropriate, oh…to cure what ails you is to kill. No, not me, or your spouse…no, not your kids. That would get you a straight jacket faster than me…or is it I? But really…kill your character.
Okay, I admit that wasn’t the real advice, some embellishment on my part, but it got your attention didn’t it? The real advice was to make your characters suffer…I mean really suffer.
It’s not enough to have them suffer a divorce. In the same day as the divorce, their house burns down; their kids run away to live on the streets of New York; the doctor tells them they are allergic to all foods except Brussels’ sprouts; I know, I like Brussels’ sprouts too, but every day? Ick…and the dog pees on their favorite and only, remember the fire, pair of shoes before running away to live with their ex, who just happens to be an axe-murderer. Hmm, this is starting to get interesting, I should try run-on sentences more often…shhh, not now. Shhh.
Um, where was I? That’s right…
Make them suffer, and if that’s not enough, make them suffer some more…that’s it, lots and lots of pain. There’s something cathartic about the process…suddenly the writer’s block doesn’t seem quite so bad, after all, how does it compare to your poor character?
Yep, your problems are nothing compared to his. And if it doesn’t work, or you accidently killed your character, which means maybe you didn’t need him anyway…Where was I? Oh, yeah…
If it doesn’t work, you poor thing—almost as pathetic as me, then come on over and visit me. Did I mention? I have some bullets…
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