It turns out I am not very good at killing people. My Mother will be so proud.
During the course of my novel last month, I wrote myself into a bit of a corner with regard to my characters and their motivations. In a fit of anger/frustration I decided to kill one of them off. That’s one of my main characters you understand. In a love story. With only two main characters.
Not the best way to conclude a genre in which one of the two cardinal rules is “A happy ending for both main characters.” Strangely enough, the more I thought about it, the more I realised that actually the whole novel was building towards this moment, and that if handled correctly it could in fact be one of the most poignant and potentially heart-breaking twists ever. This was golden stuff.
Well I tried, I really did. I wrote the prelude to the death scene, I wrote the explanation of the death, I planned out the post-script in my head. One of those moments that causes even the hardest heart to soften. It was going to be beautiful.
But I couldn’t do it. The idea of actually killing my main character after I had spent a month making someone fall in love with him was just too depressing.
The ending as it stands now is happy, and cheerful, and all it was ever intended to be.
But somehow I still feel that Kevin Reed has to die.
So we’ll see in January when I re-read and start editing, whether I can actually go through with it, and kill someone.
Wish me luck.