Writing The Western Update XII: Dante Egg Grows Increasingly Frustrated
This is getting serious. Attracted by the sound of gunfire and the smell of burning building, I discovered a trail of hoof prints that wound their way through a dense forest and a grisly scene. By my count, there were sixteen bodies left in the wake of this fast moving chase. Some had been shot. Others had been knocked off their mounts by tree branches. One poor soul had been hit in the face with-
No, I can't. Dammit.
There wasn't much to go on for leads. Who were the good guys? Which were the villains? Were the pursuers trying to capture their quarry? Or drive them away? One thing is clear, whoever did the dirty work had Improbable Aiming Skills. Almost as if they had some supernatural control of how events unfold around them...
The Author. Sherwood. Dammit.
Sixteen bodies, and only one horse. I never understand how that happens. You have a chase on horseback, and the only ones who get hurt are the people. The horses are so much bigger. And they're right there...
Not too far away, at a poor shepherd's farmhouse, I found something even worse. It was a massacre. Everybody was dead. And I mean everybody. Twenty deaths in as many pages.
It's times like these I wish I could go out in the rain and sulk. Unfortunately, I'm still out in this frakking desert.
I can't make sense of this story anymore. That poor shepherd- why, Sherwood? Why would you kill off an entire family of innocent people? It's as if you only care about making the audience upset with the villains. No regard for the characters who have to suffer because of your warped sense of morality.
This isn't over yet, Sherwood. You will be brought to justice. Mark my words.