This weekend was tough on me. As a new writer, I've learned a lot in the last two years. Nothing I've learned or experienced could have prepared me for the task of killing one of my characters. This wasn't my first time killing a character. I've killed off villains with no problem. I think of my characters as my babies and it felt like murder to me. Writing the death and how the others reacted to it tore me apart. I did it, through tears welling in my eyes. These six sentences came from the two chapters I wrote this weekend.
His face held the same blank passivity as Mae’s but she knew every twitch, glint and emotion that flashed from the beautiful depths of her husband’s eyes. He didn’t need to say a word because the unspoken grief was there. That sick worried shade of blue was back. She’d seen that look too many times—the day in Rousseau’s when she’d first come face to face with Ursula, the day in Langley Park when he broke the news of her sister’s kidnapping and every day of their weeklong silent period. Even as her mind reconciled the worry in his face, she recognized something else—devastation and the realization that he’d be crying tears if he were able.