by ~Demonic Moon Curse~ » Fri Jul 05, 2013 3:19 pm
I feel something for every male character I create. O_o Well, for all my characters. I drew a picture of one of my male characters, Stanley, from a series I'm writing called Golden Sword. My best friend said he was really cute. Then she was over on my birthday a few days ago and found a picture on my wall of a boy and said that if he were real, and her age, she'd kiss him. O_o I was just thinking, "He is one of the male characters from Golden Sword, Jacob, the main character, Kate's, boyfriend!" I didn't know what to think.
Hehe, is it just me, or do you guys sometimes kill off your main characters, too? I do...actually, in every story I write, the main character dies. And lately, the main characters of my stories are males. OMG, and I'm female...O_o! Well, in one of my newer series, The Destined One Saga, the main character, Tyler Joseph Avalon lost his memory in the beginning and throughout the saga he regains it, so he remembers everthing by the time of the last book, The Destined One: Fall of Evil: The Final Showdown. I'm thinking about making him lose it again at the very end, as a twist to shock readers. What do you think?
I had a character, the main character in my Golden Sword series, Katelyn Stelleluna Thomas-Lyte, knkwn as Kate or the Golden Warrior, whom was the very first character I ever created. This year, I decided to kill her at the end of Golden Sword. It was terrubly hard, but I don't regret my decision. I feel like killing the main character, or changing them like I'm thinking of doing to Tyler Hoseph from The Destined One Saga, is a great way of saying, "This is the end. There's no more, absolutely no more."
Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.