Let the cheating continue. Last week I mentioned that my work life entered the consuming phase of the season. Eating my spare time, leaving little time for blogging.
Making this week’s post either a dessert like chocolate mousse with hand-whipped whipping cream and a mint leaf or an excuse for Calgon to take me away.
But is that really cheating?
I also mentioned death by chicken. Because I nixed a character, Chester, from one of my projects.
Leaving me to ponder the three types of death in fiction: Professional death, physical death, and psychological death.
Chester, my fictional chicken, got laid off. Professional death.
Since he’s a rooster, he can’t lay an egg—unless he tells a bad joke. In which case, he might end up as the bar tender’s dinner special. Physical death.
But what if his whole purpose in life became revenge?
He was cock of the walk, had his pick of the hens for supplying the brooder, but he lost his voice, his “job,” and his place to live. Replaced by Brooder Bob, the sleaziest rooster ever to walk the earth.
Chester won’t be waking up with the chickens.
If Chester can’t get his job back, he would have to replace Vizzini in the Princess Bride. Let’s face it, he can’t wield a sword or replace a giant. Psychological death.
Poor Chester. The cruelties we heap upon our characters. But would he fall for the Iocaine powder?
Until next week.