Sex & Death

It's tough being a writer. I try to write every day, but sometimes the creative juice just isn't flowing. I look back over my words later, or the next morning, and I think, eurgh! did I really write that? Typos glare at me. Stacked adjectives smirk. My character is confused at my tense hopping. "Thats" appear to be breeding and we will soon be overrun. Speech tags and cliches cluster together in a gaggle and mock me. l print it out, uncap my red pen, and get to work. Cutting isn't enough. It's lacking something. Some "oomph". I've heard killing characters off is the thing to do these days. Readers are put off by predictable plot points and jaded by saccharine "happily ever afters". GRRM changed the game. Folks snort at a main character (or any character) in plot armour these days. I fondle the page, and twirl my vicious red pen again, chewing my lip. I make a decision. It's a tough one, and this is going to be hard, because I love these characters. I mean, I really love them. They're not just "characters" to me. But it's no use. Sex and death, that's what the people want. I'm going to have to kill off some of these suckers. Anyway, that's how my autobiography is coming along. How are you?