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416
So I Decided to Kill My Main Character. (Like, Immediately.)
<p>Alright, story time. I was trying to write the other day. Just me, my notepad and a pen that just wouldn’t stop running out of ink. The plot was fine, the side characters were perfect but my protagonist? She was just…there.</p><p>Polished and boring me to literal tears.</p><p><br/></p><p>I was just about to slam my book shut, to give up on the whole story when this little unhinged thought scribbled itself across my brain.</p><p><br/></p><p>“Ah! What if I just…killed her?”</p><p><br/></p><p>Not in some dramatic, heroic, end-of-the-book way. No. </p><p><br/></p><p>I mean first line. Top of the page. Opening sentence. Fresh sheet. Gone.</p><p><br/></p><p>I uncapped my pen. Writer’s block nowhere to be found.</p><p><br/></p><p>Forget “kill your darlings.” This was “stab your main character in the margins and see who comes to the funeral.” No slow-burn. No reader attachment. Just an ambush before they even learn how she likes her coffee.</p><p><br/></p><p>And honestly? It was liberating.</p><p><br/></p><p>It wasn’t about writing a “better” story. It was about the power. The raw, pen-in-hand control of it. I get to decide who cries at the funeral, who shows up for free food, and which detective gets stuck with the case and sighs deeply. </p><p><br/></p><p>So I wrote it. I flipped a clean page and wrote her death first. One paragraph. Blue ink. No erasures.</p><p><br/></p><p>I didn’t kill her for art or meaning, or any of that thoughtful garbage.</p><p><br/></p><p>I did it because I was bored. I did it because “Stacey Rhodes” was too boring to exist in my margins. I did it to watch the ink bleed. I did it because it’s fun to play fate.</p><p><br/></p><p>And the chaos is the most fun I’ve had in years.</p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p>
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