Some years back, I remember, there was not inconsiderable clamor over J. K. Rowling’s confession that Professor Dumbledore was gay. Having been teethed on po-mo fare, this struck me as very odd indeed. Yes, Rowling had invented the character, but he was dead by the end of Harry Potter’s series, and his sexual orientation seemed a moot point. Having written a few novels myself (don’t run to the bookstore, fantasy readers, for only one has been accepted for publication), I know how attached writers grow to their characters. We are their gods, creating them, nurturing them, punishing and sometimes killing them. We know them better than anyone. Or do we? Every thought takes on a life of its own. Writers think worlds into being. The problem with thinking worlds into being is not dissimilar from being a parent. You bring a new creature into life, but that child has a life of her own. You can only make decisions up to a poin...
Blog of a struggling writer.