So I killed him…

Who? Rodney. Huh? Rodney the toe rag who upset the heroine in the current book I’m writing. Yeah, I don’t mind telling you he’s dead because he’s not at all integral to the plot – in fact he was just a name I used to explain something about the heroine. He was only a few sentences until I got the idea to kill him. Actually, a friend passed the idea on. She suggested murdering a character could be cathartic – that it could help me take my mind off something. She was right. I felt so much better after I killed Rodney.

On yesterday’s post I mentioned that I was having trouble writing romance – that I likened it to an illness or a commodity and that I had to snap out of that way of thinking due to the whole writing-of-romance-books-thing that I do. Anyway, that all came about due to these dumb arsed feelings I had over someone. I am pretty much over him – he’s more like this annoying thought in the back of my mind. You know when you want to confront someone and yell at them for making you feel horrible – it would prove nothing – because they wouldn’t get it but it would give you a chance to yell loudly and that’s always good. So when the idea came up to kill someone in the book, I thought straight a way of Rodney. He is a piece of pus who made my heroine feel bad about herself and made her cry. At first he was just a reason, then he became a target. I have to admit I really enjoyed killing Rodney.

While I do not condone killing real life, flesh and blood people, I admit to wantonly killing my fictitious character of Rodney for my own benefit. It was symbolic. Rodney had to die so I could move on. Rest in peace Rodney….or in this case pieces…

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