There’s no accounting for taste. Sometimes you have to create characters you simply don’t like. After all, while I’m sure Thomas Harris loved the character of idealistic yet flawed Clarice Starling, I can’t imagine he gets much true joy out of dwelling in the dark, dank mind of Hannibal Lecter.

Sure, as actors are fond of pointing out, villains can be great fun and far more interesting; but personally, anyone who’s ever had to pour over court and police transcripts of real crimes, as I have of late in researching my latest work in true crime/history writing, will quickly realize that the path of destruction and ruined lives killers leave in their wake is no bubbly matter of frothy entertainment.

While it’s perhaps a bit creative to imagine a scene where a killer strikes down a PGA champion with a 3-wood from Cobra golf, it can’t be something one enjoys too much, or we as writers become no better than the worst of our characters.