(evil evil evil @ mypoorcharacters)
I think there must be something of an evil genius in me. (MWAHAHAHAHAHA!) Or perhaps I'm just sadistic (although masochistic would work as well, since I love these characters.)
So, I've been witnessing a strange phenomenon. My mother (faithful reader/critic) has recently read the part in my story where a very sad fate (inevitable death - which, in fiction, is rarely inevitable in the end) has befallen one of my main characters. She is very sad about this.
But I'm really really excited about it.
What's WRONG with me? I love my characters, I do -waaaaaaaaaaay too much, in general (read: sobbed madly over a death scene scribbled on a piece of paper so much that it lost legibility) but I also take this sick pleasure in their pain. It's just so...deliciously dramatic!
While I would never enjoy seeing a real life person beaten and bruised, there's something in me that relishes it in my stories. Sometimes even in other people's stories. Why, friends, why?
Don't get me wrong - I was sad for my character, tragically so. I got into such a funk my room reverted to its natural disasterous state (one I've been trying desperately to keep it out of) and I didn't leave the house for a week. But I loved every minute of it, or at least appreciated the tragedy. Um, yes. Faithfully writing for one week without epic procrastination is a tragedy for me. At least, it's very, very odd.
Please tell me I'm not the only one?
I'll give you a cookie if you do.