It took me some time.

It’s taken me years, but she’s now very much dead.

We’ve written it, told that tale, scribbled those all-important lines.

Something I very much didn’t want to do; I have now done.

It’s no small thing, but at the same time it really is.

A character is the written word, not a beating heart – although as the writer it so much feels like the latter.

Amy had a beginning, and so too did she need an ending.

I think (I hope) that what I’ve written is in keeping with the life that she led.

I hope that I’ve done her justice, kept her true to herself and those that she loved.

Her tale isn’t over, legacies live on.

Stay safe and remain sane!

One of the oft quoted anecdotes about the American involvement in Vietnam, was the apparent unwillingness of a lot of soldiers to shoot and kill. 

Lots of shots would be fired, but the aim of most was more in the general area than aimed at a specific target. 

I’m not going to overuse this analogy, but it is relevant.  

I need to kill a loved character.

Yet I cannot.

I skirt the issue, find excuses, avoid the subject; start other projects…

She, like us all, must die, but I cannot pull that metaphorical trigger.

I cannot scribble those necessary words.

I’ve got the whole sorry scenario on my head, but the closer I come, the slower I type, the more I go back pages upon pages and titivate, anything other than kill her.

But she must die.

She must.

This is my struggle, but please feel no pity.

A cold heart is needed, a firm resolve required.

In this matter I have neither.

Stay safe – remain sane!

Never set out to write an honest to goodness Hallmark Christmas Movie styled tale of love and devotion. 

But indeed, here we are. 

I am by nature a chaotic/anarchic writer.

No real plan, no structure, I just throw words at the screen and by a combination of luck and a modicum of ability I end up with a tale.  

A beginning, a middle, and an end (of sorts).

Yet, a love story, a romance novel, this must follow a formula.

This tale, this genre of all available artistic endeavours we are told MUST adhere to the agreed pacing and plot structure – mustn’t it?

We simply must have our voyage of tentative circling, the love that all but those involved can see.  We then have the mistaken interpretation  (hugging a friend) that almost scuppers the destined love affair; and then just as the pages run out, just before the credits run, they hug, all errors are corrected and love rules supreme.

So, if that’s the structure, can I write one?

Can my tale of love between a German Soldier and a Channel Island woman work?

It might, indeed it may not, but it I think will be a more than beneficial exercise.

So, grab the box of tissues and bottle of Prosecco, we are about to make you lick your finger, your heart race as we run out of pages…

Will they, or won’t they?

Stay safe and remain sane!