Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Day 11, And she finds a gun?!?

I needed to have coffee before I left the house to get coffee. My inability to get to bed before 2AM is getting in the way of waking up to get stuff done. I got up though and made my way to Wicked Grounds before noon. I ordered a coffee and forgot to ask for soy milk so I drank it black, something I never do. It didn't seem to matter. I sipped and waited for that familiar cracked out feeling to take over. I opened laptop, I nibbled on a vegan chocolate chip cupcake from Violet Sweet Shoppe. When I felt sufficiently fueled, Bronwyn showed up.

I closed the laptop and we caught each other up on life stuffs. She is awesome and comforting and upon realizing that I was there for a purpose she pulled out a magazine so I could start writing.

I have no idea how it happened but out of nowhere my main character finds a gun in her best friend's glove compartment. They're staying at a hostel in Boston so she can go to a therapist appointment. There is a hangover. There is the realization that there will be many things disguised as love. There is an eating disorder. There is chaos. And now there is a gun.

A gun?! I don't write shit like this! There has never been a firearm in anything I've ever written!

Dan arrived as we were packing up to find food. I wrapped things up after the discovery of the gun. Laura can go screw and figure out what to do about the gun after I have dinner. Seven hours fueled on toast, cupcake and rocket fuel and my stomach was about to go on strike. I explained my predicament about not liking the people I'm writing about. How they're all too much internal dialogue (and how that makes all of them too much like myself) that nothing really moves the plot forward...except for this new gun thing.

His answer was simple though.

"Kill them."

This seems to be the only way out. Now that I've introduced a killing machine it should be easy to off someone.

It goes against my story telling sensibilities though. I only like killing people off when they've been established enough to have made an impact so their death makes an impression on the reader. I want them to be sad/relieved/angry when so-and-so takes their last bite of a poisoned spaghetti dinner, gets 3 bullets to the chest or drives their motorcycle off a cliff.

I don't want to kill someone when the impact will be minimal. I want something of Greek Tragedy proportions. I want to throw myself on a coffin, hands in fists, wailing, weeping, lamenting lost love.

I want death to ache.

Because it should.

I need to remember that this is a draft though. It ain't that deep.

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