I put on my funeral gun the other day for the first time in a long time. It’s never fun, never gets any better. I’ve been around death and bodies and the like a little, much less than some, but enough to understand the concept and implications of it. That makes it a little harder to write fiction about it. Honestly the guys that write about shootin’ the shit out of zombies really have it easy. Those walking un-dead can be as nameless, faceless and lifeless as you want to make them. Killer robots that the hero gets to blast apart, if that doesn’t ignite your action movie hero younger self then nothing will. Trying to write lighthearted gun guy fiction stories that have the killing of people in them, even the killing of really bad people, its hard to not worry about someone thinking you’re some morally numb psychopath.
Killing and death are not lighthearted, fun issues to write about. They are real, and the reality of the world we live in. I’ve been noticing that the start of every news cast is dominated by 5 to 6 minutes of story after story of “murder, died, death…” I hear it so much I’m tired of hearing about it, but I continue to listen because I know one day, one way or another, it will happen to me. It’s going to happen to us all. Fact. I personally will be doing all I can to prolong that day from coming, but it is coming, and I do not want to fear it.
The funeral I went to was for a lady with whom I did not see eye to eye with on many issues, I respected the hell out of her though and not least of all, because she chose her time. Not through suicide, but by saying, “I’ve been sick my whole life, wasn’t supposed to live past 30, made it to 60, have not had a ‘good’ day in years and its only getting worse.” She decided to stop all her painful and invasive medical treatments that were only prolonging her suffering. She was not afraid of death. She accepted it as a reality, was not scared, prepared herself and her family and made the choice. She chose when and how to go and isn’t that what we’d all like, for it to be our choice?
Death sucks, it is also the way of life. We have millions of radicals of a certain religion that hate us and want nothing but to bring death to others and eventually themselves as well. At home we have individual maladjusted whack jobs who idolize it to add to the wide spread cultural love of it. Our inner cities are breeding grounds for murders… stats say so. There is the much debated blood of 50 million unborn children out there too… not a fun subject, but all dead. Does the world sound like a safe place to live to you? Sounds to me like a place that increasingly doesn’t respect life.
I may write about killing humans, but I respect life. Damn do I respect it now that I have a family and have a few more years under my belt. I do not look forward to death, my own or anyone else’s. If someone puts me in a ‘me or them’ situation though, you can be damn sure I’m going to fight with every last bit of life I have and that is what I hope to convey when I write death and killing into a story. The fight for life is what I write about, not the ability to cause death.