With thanks to @kobur for the idea for this blog.
There are many reasons not to upset, anger, dismay, bug or bother the Writer in your life, but the main one is she (he) can – and will - kill, murder, slaughter, dismember, eviscerate and otherwise hurt you – only in her writing, of course.
For example, if you’ve read some of my blogs, you may have read that I took a cyber-stalker to court and set a legal precedent (that’s quite a big deal, so I’m told).
This particular stalker was relentless and creepy. I therefore took a few of his attributes and wrote some possible endings for a character I made up out of thin air, with no resemblance to any person living or dead.
Luke jerked out of Anton’s grasp and made to return to Stephan, but he was too late. Hazel had again approached Stephan and taking him by surprise as he was distracted by Luke and Anton’s argument, she had ripped her teeth across his throat and he was struggling to stem the flow of blood as she leaned close to him, almost in intimacy. The sling that held his broken arm was soon dark with his blood, shining black in the moonlight.
Now, I admit that wasn’t one of the more gruesome deaths in the book, but if you had read a few pages before that, the humiliating manner in which he approached his demise would have been satisfying if it had not all been fiction and bearing no resemblance to any person, living or dead – honest!
@michelle.gent/my-first-novel-serialised-for-steemians-original-content
Neighbour giving you problems? Easily solved! Turn your world into an apocalyptic nightmare and solve your issues the old fashioned way – with mortal combat!
Of course you win! There’s no point in being the Writer if you can’t write the story’s end with you as victorious, is there?
@michelle.gent/neighbourhood-conflicts
Someone queue-jumped in front of you at the nightclub? Not to worry!
Claire watched astonished as the woman tipped her drink down Red’s arm.
The first Red realised of this was that her arm was cold and wet. Red was incredulous as she looked at her dripping arm, then at the woman. She could see by the look on her face that it was no accident.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” the woman said, jerking her head forward with blunt aggression.
Red turned her whole body to face her, she was cool and calm as she switched the bottle from her right to her left hand. She looked again at her wet arm then brushed the liquid from it with her right hand. She brought it up again as if to repeat the motion but instead she snapped her hand back to catch the woman a back-hander across her mouth. The woman staggered a couple of steps towards the dance floor…
That’s all done and dusted without police being called and all that nasty arrest and court appearances and stuff – see? It’s a win-win!
Writing is cathartic, it’s self-healing and oh so very satisfying.
Then, just for the hell of it…
The girl’s mouth was open in surprise as her jugular was rent from her neck. As her life-blood erupted from between her lips in a violent gush, a bright red geyser, it seemed to surprise her all the more.
Her eyes opened wider yet as she slammed into the cell wall, her hands were flapping at her sides and her feet drummed with diminishing strength, ever more feeble as Hazel held her throat. The gush slowed and the blood tumbled over Hazel’s head and bare back.
You don’t have to stop at pure murder either. Torture is also liberating and soothes the soul in ways you really do have to experience. It’s no good just reading about it, go on, write it all down and free yourself of the pent-up frustrations of everyday living ;)
She flicked the whip and the tip landed on his upper thigh, close to the inside of his leg. The sensation was not unlike a sting from an insect, yet it bothered him far more than he had imagined it would. Again, she flicked the tip, harder this time. The pain it inflicted was agonising.
The two previous flicks had been lazy underarm ones; the next was a full overarm throw. The whip struck him across his chest and stomach. The indescribable pain tore through his abdomen and he doubled over in agony. Another strike across his back put him on his knees. He curled into a protective ball at her feet; spontaneous whimpers emitting from his punished body.
…and again…
He looked down at her, forcing his head through the space between his biceps. His eyes were glistening in the candlelight. “Mistress, what do I have to do?”
“Nothing yet, slave, there is nothing you can do.” She smiled, almost with affection at him and stroked his chin with a gloved finger. She noticed he had begun to concentrate and she turned the electricity feed on to the wand. She pushed the wand into his stomach just beneath his bottom rib. His abdominal muscles convulsed at once, his legs were pulled up as far as they could go as his body pulled the chains tight and tried to perform a vertical sit-up. His arms were put under yet more strain. Understandable in the circumstance, he screamed. Mistress withdrew the wand and looked up at his face. She waited until he could focus on her and then said:
What did she say to him? Ah, if you really want to know, you’re going to have to follow my blog, aren’t you?
There are many ways a Writer can torture her subjects – readers and characters alike.
Try not to piss off the Writer in your life, lest you read about yourself in a book one day…