I sit down to write, and so often I think, who shall I kill today? Who has really angered me – who deserves to die. Of course, I’m not thinking of real people, but characters I’ve devised. But isn’t there something of the real in all fiction?

Don’t worry, I’m not a psycho. I’m quite an easy going fellow – not so quiet that I build up and explode, but quiet enough. Rarely does a violent feeling rise inside me – except, so often, when I write.
I used to be short tempered, but that all seemed to change when I began to write. It was as if any aggression was channeled into the craft. And it seems to be a general rule. Writers, artists, musicians rarely kill, it seems. Yes, they can be erratic, but Caravaggio aside, I cannot think of one famous murdering creative type.
Writing, I think, should become a therapy all its own. It curbs your aggressions, and is perfect therapy for the mind. Now, how do I feel? A short story I think. All those characters. Do I feel God-like? I’ll kill them all.

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