Vindictiveness
Warning: You may not like me by the end of this article.
I am asked all the time where I get my ideas for my books.
I think it’s an excellent question.
I get ideas everywhere. My quirky childhood. History. A gold and pink sunset on the Oregon coast. Clucky chickens. Pecan pies and whip cream.
Lies.
Revenge.
Vindictiveness.
It is probably not a smart idea to say that I have a slight vengeful side to my nature, as that is not attractive, but I am too old not to be truthful, and to know myself, and I admit it.
Not proud of it, but there it is: I have a vengeful bone in my body.
Probably just one. A small one. A mostly useless bone. Perhaps in my jaw or eye socket.
But when people really tick me off there is a likelihood that the obnoxious, condescending, dismissive, or judgmental PART of their personality is going to unceremoniously land in a character in one of my books.
That person will not, as a whole person, or even half a person, be in my book. My characters come completely out of my free-roaming imagination.
But that prickly, nauseating, dislikable PART will be in one of my characters.
I did this very thing in one of my last few books, the title of which shall mysteriously go unnamed.
A peculiar, sanctimonious sap of a woman lied about me. She should not have done that. The lie had a painful impact on my life.
I have envisioned her being slightly trampled by a shrieking ostrich. I cannot wish more upon her than that because I am not a mean sort of person who wishes ill on anyone.
God, Karma, a conscience that can spring to guilt in a mini-second, and my late mother’s sweet voice unfortunately gets in my way of truly cursing someone.
But I can write about that PART of her. The lying part.
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