Agatha Christie came to loathe Poirot and finally killed him off. Doyle grew to hate Sherlock Holmes, killed him off, brought him back to life, and finally retired him.
Personally, I find it difficult to hate my children. Perhaps, though, they haven’t been with me long enough. I haven’t chronicled adventure after adventure to the point where I’m sick of the chronicling. To the point where I feel them to be too intrusive or where they’ve moved in and taken over. Hopefully, though, that day of loathing will never come.
However, even though parents aren’t supposed to have favorites amongst their children, I admit that I do. And the two who are my favorites have lived in my imagination the longest. They are Justinia and Harry Wright. That intrepid sister and brother team of private investigators doing their best to make sure the most exciting thing in Minneapolis and St. Paul is vanilla ice cream.
Why are Tina and Harry my favorites? I’m not sure I can say exactly. For I am certainly very fond of Lady Dru Drummond. My spunky, very modern journalist, who knows what she wants and does her best to get it. I very much like her 1950s alternative history world, with all those retro-futuristic gadgets and, of course, airships.
And what about Bill Arthur? My anti-hero turned superhero (well, almost) of The Rocheport Saga, who, after the apocalypse, does his best to stop at least a portion of humankind from descending into a new dark ages. Bill is very likable. He’s unassuming, makes mistakes and owns up to them, is devoted to his adopted and natural family. He is human, all too human. An ordinary guy in very unordinary circumstances. I like Bill and his world very much.
One of my newest children is Rand Hart. Rand Hart and the Pajama Putsch was an enjoyable tale for me to write and I enjoyed reading it as well. Who can’t love this slightly roguish professional gambler with the touch of ennui searching for the antidote to his loneliness? And there be airships here, too.
Or George? Poor George, in Do One Thing For Me, slowly realizing he’s descending into old age dementia, beset by the unending grief over the death of his wife and taunted by the promise Beth offers him. Or is Beth just a figure of his dementia?
I love all my children. I just love Tina and Harry more. Is it because I enjoy most writing up their adventures? Recording the sibling banter between them? Dreaming of what it would be like to live their somewhat dreamy lifestyle or to enjoy one of Harry’s fabulous meals? Perhaps.
Tina grew out Raleigh Bond’s Athalia Goode, with a dollop of my sister, and pinches of Modesty Blaise, Lara Croft, Nero Wolfe, and a sprinkle of myself to round out her creation. Harry is the faithful Watson and wise-cracking Archie Goodwin all rolled into one, with perhaps too much of myself included for good or bad measure.
Perhaps that’s it. I’m personally invested in these characters. There’s something of me in them that isn’t in my other children. Maybe that’s the reason that drives me on to write about their lives and their campaign to fight crime.
Book 3 in the Justinia Wright series, But Jesus Never Wept, should be out in time for your Christmas shopping pleasure. And if the Muse is kind I may also have a freebie story available for Christmas.
I’m 15,000 words into Book 4 and have 645 words written to start Book 5, which follows Book 4 immediately in the Justinia Wright timeline. Both should make their appearance in 2016.
Now that I’ve let the cat out of the bag, I’m hoping Bill, Dru, and Rand don’t get too sulky about it. After all, I do love them. They, too, are my children. Tina and Harry, though, are my firstborn. Hm. I’m a firstborn…
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I can only assume that a desire to end a character comes from success. Perhaps a writer reaches a point where they are no longer writing for themselves, but for others. The character is no longer yours, but the readers. I liken it in some ways to how it must feel to be typecast. You cannot escape the character, no matter what you write.
When we think of Agatha Christie or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, we immediately think of the characters that they were famous for. No matter what J.K. Rowling writes, she will always be remembered for Harry Potter.
The writer, as the creator, perhaps feels a measure of jealousy at having no control over the character anymore. The only act left to them is to kill the character off, yet, in doing so they risk the wrath of the readers that have adopted them.
I, too, like all of my characters, but the two that I love the most are Mr Snaggle & Mr Snuffle. Not because they have just recently sauntered out of the shadows and started kicking over bookshelves, but because they are very much an ‘ink’ version of myself; more so than with some of my other characters.
Perhaps we will one day tire of the characters that we love, just as all things eventually fade. Even the most beautiful of roses must wilt and die…
CW, you wrote an great post that stimulated excellent replies. I only have one published novel, with two more in the works, so it’s hard to imagine growing weary of my characters. These are my imaginary children. Perhaps only famous writers become locked into some internal struggle with their own creations.
Thanks! I’m with you, Jenny, I can’t imagine it either. And I hope it never happens.
I suppose you are right in that, Crispian. All things fade, even those things we love. Sad thought that and yet it is how life is.
I have a blank book with my first bits of stories in them. I think some of those characters are my favorite though I’ve never transferred them to the computer nor written full-length novels using them. You’ve inspired me to take a look here and there. Maybe, they will be useful in the stories I have going on now.
I really do like Tina and Harry. They are a charming duo to read.
If those characters are your favorites, then I’d encourage you to put them into current stories or give them their own. Nothing like writing up what your favorite children do.
And thanks for your confirmation that Tina and Harry work. I’m thinking whenever I get to doing some real marketing, they are the ones I’ll push.