A friend of mine was upset with me over the death of a character in the second book of my fantasy series. He wanted to know how I could do such a thing. I tried to tell him I didn’t do it. It just happened. I was only there when it did. I don’t think he believed me.
I wanted to tell him that in one of my first books the cruel grandfather killed the little boy’s pet kitten and threw it in the trash and I cried so hard while I wrote it that I couldn’t see the page. I didn’t like that either. But it wasn’t me who did it.
I just happened to be there.
