So much for salad...

I had a lovely poached pear, walnut and craisin salad on arugula with goat cheese and a nice light vinegarette  dressing for lunch...and it made absolutely no difference in my understanding of CK. So I had a burger and onion rings for dinner and figured out how to handle the ending. It was so simple, I'm kicking myself.

Don't worry about making it make sense. The majority of this story is off the wall, so why would I want to ground it in reality in any way, shape or form? Carli brutally murders several people. With reason, but she's not what you would call reasonable, and dammit...she's gonna get away with it.

So to put it simply, this is going to be a fuck you book. Like Porno Manifesto was my fuck you script. My books sell well-enough to make me happy and bring in a little money. Nothing like Steven King gets, not even in my dreams...but okay. I'm a niche writer of gay erotica; small wonder I'm not selling to Peoria or Salt Lake City. And considering how this country is going, my work may soon be a thing of the past.

Carli's Kills is very heterosexual, but I flip the script in it. Carli's close to a sexual predator while Zeke is the heart and soul of the story, instead of the man always finding chicks to slip onto his dick and a good woman to be the mitigating factor against his cynicism. I found by sticking to my original script and outline for the story, I was holding Carli back. Trying to be both edgy and middle-class.

Fuck that. This ain't that kind of story. She's Faster, Pussycat, Kill, Kill, not Thelma and Louise. That's probably what was wrong with the script. It worked okay, but nothing exciting or original in it. A bit bland, even, for a revenge thriller. Well now, the only moral to this story is going to be, Don't take shit off anybody.

We're getting to that stage in our civilization, so may as well go with the flow...