Feb 11 2008
Sometimes I scare myself…
So today I wrote about a woman being tied up, beaten, and splooged on. Nonconsensually (clarified ’cause I realize that sounds like a good time to some people…).
I envisioned this mechanism in which the victim’s failure to hold on to a bar over her head would result in strangulation by noose. It was quite clear to me, but I wasn’t sure it would work in practice.
Obviously I needed a prototype. (Never let it be said I don’t do my research.)
Fortunately, I had company while I was running around the house rustling up extension cords to tie to my broom handle. The ensuing conversation went something like:
“You’re not wrapping anything around your neck!”
“Oh. Right. That would be dumb. Can I wrap it around your neck?”
We eventually agreed on lynching Barbie, and I’m pleased to report my torture device is logistically sound. Off to the patent office!
The scary part, to me, is that this scene came to me so easily. It took a month and a half to coax out the previous 7,000 words, but the torture-the-heroine scene was born with all its fingers and toes after just a couple hours of labor. I would walk out of a movie theater if I saw this onscreen, yet this thought has dwelled in my mind alongside my grocery list and Angelic Daughter’s baby pictures.
I was uncomfortably aware all day this is how psychos think.
At the same time, I was gleeful it was coming along so well.
My partner in Barbiecide reminded me that writing is intended to make an emotional impact, whether it be laughter or tears or the willies, in which case I’ve done my job and deserve a raise (from nothing).
Might be easier to write romance if it was the ushy-gushy lovey stuff that came easily, though…
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