So you know how I mentioned the serial killer's daughter story idea? Well, tonight I started doing a little digging and I spat out a little rough draft of something. I still have no plot or idea where this is going but ... this is what I got so far.
I'm picturing this woman as a blogger, a cafe regular and someone who loves to read. I think the key to dealing with her emotional hook (the killer daddy issue) is her talking about it through this story as a blogger. Let me know what you think.
People only see what they want to see. If they’ve already made up their mind that your monster. There’s very little that you can do or say that’s going to make a difference. Once the world knew who my father was, there was no wall or close door I could hide behind. Of course when everything happened our family fell apart. After all, there isn't a book out there called, What Do You Do When You Find Out That Your Dad's A Serial Killer? There's nothing out there that tells you what to do.
No. You just stumble through it and one day you’ll find your way out of the shadows. Someone else’s father will kill more people, a teenager might shoot up a school or man might open fire on an American army base. You’ll hate yourself a little less as time goes on. You’ll stop praying for worst things to happen, stop being disappointed when the death toll isn’t so high. Every day that passes is one less day to live through.
After my father went to prison my mother, the devoted wife that she was visited him every Friday on a timed schedule. For the longest I couldn’t understand why she did it. No one in our extended family understood why she would stand by my father after everything he’d done. Because of it, we had no family. As far as they were concerned we were just as bad as him. When I was of age, I left. My mother stopped speaking to me. My sister and I cut ties. It seemed that the tragedy in our family caused us to scattered all over in an attempt to survive rather than ban together united.
I was desperate to get away, to move some place as far away from Oklahoma as possible. A fresh clean start. A new place where people didn’t know who I was, or what my father had done. At first it seemed almost impossible that I could escape it. With social media at everyone’s finger tips it didn’t take much for people to look me up, which is why I choose to legally change my last name. These days I go by my mother’s maiden name. Nothing profound about it, but when you type it into the Google search box you don’t pull up forty-three stories about the Oklahoma Reaper.
Gabriella lifted her cup of coffee as she brought it to her lips and stared out at the street beyond the café window. There wasn’t much going on inside the café today. In fact, besides herself there only two others costumers present. Sitting back in her chair, she skimmed over what she’d just written and decided she was ready to post it to her personal blog.
She’d circled the drain about the idea for a while. Writing a blog about her experience hadn’t seemed like a great idea at first, but after some thought and a bottle of wine one evening, she opened an account on word press.
And that's where the creative mojo stopped for this one tonight. I might have to do a little more thinking to turn this apple seed into an apple tree.