I suppose I’m a bit of a sadist. I enjoy killing my characters. Maybe I just haven’t created a whole lot of characters that I’ve liked, so fuck ’em if they kick off. After all, what is an author if not a sort of god? We make people. We make worlds. We create situations on those worlds for those people to deal with. Sometimes they prevail. Other times, they don’t make it through. Hell, sometimes we create characters specifically to slaughter.
I do, anyway.
But see, now I’ve gone and done it. I’ve created a character that must die. There is no choice. She must be destroyed. But I like her. I like her a lot. In the time it should have taken to write the short story, get it out of my system and kill this woman, I’ve done nothing but give her backstory. She’s flawed. She’s also terribly sweet and lovable.
And she absolutely has to go.
And you? You won’t get to meet her at all until next year. But I can’t talk about that right now. Many secret things are afoot.
I wonder how other writers handle this situation. I think I’m just going to have to write like I hate the character. Pretend she’s a shitty person who deserves the fate that awaits her. Act like I despise her so she’ll go away, like a stray dog you can’t take care of.
But you’ll know the truth, Reader. You’ll know how it really is, deep in my quavering heart. Don’t tell.