Have you ever gotten into a book only to discover part way through that you hate the protagonist?

It’s a lot like relationships.

You start off being attracted to the cover and blurb, you read a few chapters, and you get excited about the hours you’re about to devote to the new relationship. Then the protag you have a literary crush on does something you don’t like and you have to decide if you want to go further.

When the protag does something you just can’t get past, it’s your ‘deal breaker’ in the relationship and you’re either going to stop reading or finish for the sake of finishing.

I remember how angry I was when the supposedly feminist protag of a sci-fi novel fell in love with her rapist. I did NOT finish that one.

In another book. The protag went from one kind of hero to a very inconsistent one whose voice seemed to change. On more than one occasion she said one thing and then did another. I could tell it had been over-edited. I finished that one but wanted my money back.

I could go on but you get the point.

In thinking about this over the past few days I noticed something.

The characters I write, I really have to love, or it gets to be too much for me. They are my family.

The ones I watch I don’t have to like, I don’t even have to respect them, I just need the story to be compelling. They are my hook-ups.

The ones I read though, that’s intimate, I need to be able to respect myself in the morning after taking them to bed. They are my life mates.

Is that weird?

Kerrie

Art Note: Photo is mine from a study on did on the London subway system. I loved that place and spent hours lurking down there waiting for people to leave the scene so I could get a purely architectural shot.