"Don't you dare try and twist my words around and make yourself seem like you're not a backstabbing, two-faced bitch." (Or, How to Argue)
I find it odd how I can write about people being maimed and killed in explosions or through axe-wielding zombie Nazis or I can sit around thinking about how a telekinetic can kill someone in the most terrible of ways, but after writing one intense argument between two of my main characters, I feel displaced from the world and need to take a shower to calm my red-facedness down. Admittedly, this was an argument-to-destroy-a-friendship thing and drawing it out bit by bit was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. And it's not even finished, it's just sitting there on my desktop in script format. It's not even going to be in the damn book. This scene has existed for three years now. I formulated the whole concept of it at thirteen, when I first started to string this novel of mine together. I never wrote it. I didn't even know what was said or how emotional it got or even what subjects it touched on - I just knew the outcome and I knew the general message of ...