The Sweet Satisfaction of Fictional Revenge

I used to watch movies compulsively. They were my world – or worlds, to be more accurate. I never really had the ability to sit down once and week and watch a TV show (thank God for Netflix), but I would watch movies all the time (again, thank God for Netflix).

One of my absolute favorite movie monologues might surprise you: It is one of Geoffrey Chaucer’s monologues from that anachronistic mess of fun, A Knight’s Tale.  (My first Paul Bettany, my first James Purefoy, my first Alan Tudyk. Golden.)

I will eviscerate you in fiction. Every pimple, every character flaw. I was naked for a day; you will be naked for eternity.

OK, well, not really long enough to be a monologue, but it does leave that impression. It leaves that impression because it is so delicious, so tempting, and so true. We all have those people that we wish to “eviscerate in fiction.” Some of us, I am sure, have even gotten in trouble at school or with a certain social circle for scribbles that others really should not have read. I know I have… :-/

And I will again, if anyone reads my novels.  Gladly. Because rape and murder are illegal and frowned-upon, but Thomas Harris and James Patterson are not considered criminals or sick in the head for writing about sophisticated cannibals or a man who liked slipping snakes into unacceptable places in the human body.

And tonight, even if this book never gets published, or I choose to edit the scene out of the book, I got revenge. And it is sweet, because I know if the person in question ever read it – between his nature and the nature of the material – he will get physically ill.

It just might be a future sample.


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