“It is the fate of most men who mingle with the
world, and attain even the prime of life, to
make many real friends, and lose them in the
course of nature. It is the fate of all authors or
chroniclers to create imaginary friends, and
lose them in the course of art. Nor is this the
full extent of their misfortunes; for they are
required to furnish an account of them
For those of you who have written novels, how have you felt when you’ve reached the end and your relationship with your characters is over? Or, worse still, when you’ve killed off one of your favourites?
I’d love to hear from you.