The characters of Evershade have experienced their share of losses as well, particularly in "Season of Madness." Now, as I write the third book, "Season of Storms," yet more characters meet their demise. My daughter thinks I'm sick, my son thinks I'm cool.
Besides writing, I am a very negligent gardener and have planted a few strawberries, potatoes, onions, peppers, and tomatoes. This evening was cool, so I decided to water the onions.
We have two rain barrels at the front corners of our house, and we had enough rain to fill them repeatedly this summer. I used the water from one barrel to water the onions and peppers. The other barrel is located beneath a very unruly wisteria vine, and when I approached it to get water for the tomatoes, I noticed the barrel wasn't full. That was hardly a surprise, however, since that barrel had sprung a leak earlier in the summer and was held together by duct tape.
I picked up the watering can and peered into the barrel. Green algae blanketed the top of the water, and right in the middle of the slimy surface floated the very deceased corpse of a bloated opossum. Yeah. No doubt the brother to the opossum that died in our compost barrel a month ago.
So, perhaps I am justified in killing off my characters. After all, I certainly have the inspiration right on my own farm. But I feel guilty about it, too. I cry when I write some of these scenes, because though they may not be "real" to everyone, they are real to me. What the characters feel is real.
But death--in all its forms--is painful, and I for one could stand to have a little less of it in my life right now.
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