I've published an obituary on this blog before, but that one featured news of zombie hordes and time travel. Try not to take it seriously if you stumble upon it down in the archives.
What to say of this highly embarrassing incident before me? Well, it still lies a fortnight ahead of me and I've cancelled it. Suppose I'd published it, though?
Writer fakes death to hear what people thought of her at her own memorial service.
They thought she was really helpful on the writing-front.
Writer sneaks away, blushing, and is then arrested for faking her own death.
Worth the jail-time, she says, dragged away in handcuffs.
Now I must write that embarrassing e-mail. You know the one. Oh, hey, still alive I see.
It's better than writing that embarrassing blog post. You know the one. Oh, hey, I told the world you were dead. And. Er. Well. I said you were really helpful on the writing-front. That counts for something. I'll write to you in jail. You'll be out in no time.
In researching this blog post, I discovered that it isn't a criminal act to fake your own death where this writer lives. The precise term is pseudocide.
Death by pseudonym. That definitely sounds like a writer's thing.