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(And other famous last words)

I started writing The Silent Season from one idea that I found interesting: what if someone really enjoyed killing? Popular culture has a bunch of such characters, but one thing they all seem to have in common is some psychological condition that enables that. But what if that wasn’t the case?

I believe the seed had been initially planted by Krombopulos Michael, a throwaway character in an episode of Rick and Morty, who introduces himself as: “I’m an assassin […], I just love killin’!” An exaggeration to be sure, humor through grotesque absurdity. I remember chuckling, and the concept stuck with me for some reason.

Years later, the idea popped into my head and I started developing it. I asked myself: what if someone enjoyed killing, but in some way we haven’t seen before? Not because some urge, some higher purpose, or simply lack of empathy. What if there were no narrative crutch, no excuse for the character being the way they were? How would that even work?

At the time, I was considering writing my first novel, and action had seemed like a good fit: I often go down rabbit holes, exploring how this or that works, why not guns, explosives, and assorted tech? And this would-be protagonist seemed to fit into the puzzle, his profession providing ample opportunity to create intriguing set pieces, as well as meditative bits in between, giving the reader time to breathe.

OK, so now I just needed to write a flawed protagonist who channels his passion into profession. Despite being really into killing, he manages to remain at least somewhat sympathetic throughout the novel, and the reader finds themselves rooting for him despite themself. Oh, and the concept needs to not be edgy for the sake of being edgy. Piece of cake.