Saturday, November 9, 2013

How long will she be dead?


How long will my life be? Will I be dead in the next three or four hundred pages? Or will he forget, or will he make me kill, and then I’ll go to jail and the door will slam and he’ll write “The End” and I’ll be left in limbo for eternity; a true immortal. I ought to find that funny, a triumph for me, the character. I win, you lose. The author dies, but the character, being an idea, can never die. But it’s not funny. It scares the shit out of me. What if he dies before the book is finished? Do I just stop in mid-stride, mid-orgasm, mid-scream, and hang there, freeze-framed until the universe goes cold?

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