Thursday, March 10, 2011
I'm so ready to kill someone. No, I'm not mad, but have learned all about bullets, guns, and writing about the death scene. I have first hand experience watching someone dying, just ask my middle daughter. She died over and over until she was about sixteen.
First there was the gut-wrenching scream, followed by the crash to the floor and the writhing about. No blood in sight though. I learned early on I could kill her with a few words, or a little swat to the butt. Not as fun as bullets and guns. But still successful all the same.
So I don't really write terrorist novels, or spy thrillers, or mysteries, so why would I want to know how to shoot someone. Well, I really don't, but I might have to consider shooting someone in one of my books so I can use all that knowledge I've gained.
I rather prefer them being torn apart by a werewolf, conjured into nothingness by a witch, or maybe smoked in the fire from a dragon's mouth. Much more fitting to the type of books I write. But the allure of the handgun that fits in my pants pockets took on a surprise interest.
I'm not so sure I could personally pull the trigger, but I might have one of those voices in my head just crazy enough to do it for me.
Belonging to a writer's group is one of the things you need to put on the top of your list. So much to learn and so little time to put all that knowledge into practice. Contact any of the groups you know of, or if you can't find one, contact me and I'll try to pass some knowledge along to you.
Well there you have it. My usually way of killing has gone out the window, replaced by dreams of jacketed bullets flying a 1700 yards in half a second and doing all sorts of damage to the intended victim on the other end of the sites. Killing just took that unexpected twist.