Skip to main content

Separating the Writing from the Writer

Hi.

I’m a reader. I read like a hunter hunts. I read like a skier skis. I’ve read most things: Christie, Dahl, Dickens – you name it. Modern stuff too, like Alice Oseman and Richard Osman. But here’s the thing: all those dead writers? They’re… well, dead. The living ones? Mostly harmless—stories about gay schoolmates or little old ladies solving crimes.

And then there are the controversial ones. The names that send the internet into meltdown. Writers whose books are discredited simply because of who wrote them. Take J.K. Rowling, for instance. She shared her opinions—bless her—and overnight, fans went from worshipping her words to blocking her on every platform and burning her books… kind of like how feminists burned bras in the ’70s.

Now, I don’t have an issue with bra burning. I’m sure the women who did it found other ways to stop a cold on their chest.

But book burning—what the (insert word here) is that about? It doesn’t accomplish anything. It just stinks up the place and leaves a mess. Worse, it’s erasing history.

I can almost picture the book burners cackling as they toss their copy of Deathly Hallows into the flames—the same copy they queued at midnight to buy, signed by Rowling herself, with a certificate of authenticity tucked into Chapter 4. And let’s not forget, they’ve already paid her for it.

Rowling is a billionaire. She could pay my phone bill—and everyone else’s reading this—and still barely notice. She’d probably earn it back before you finish this sentence.

But love her or hate her, there’s no denying it: Rowling is a good writer. Harry Potter and Cormoran Strike carry weight—more so for Strike (cue the one random Strike fan reading this chuckling). These works will remain in the pantheon of British literary history until the cows come home. You’ve got to separate the writing from the writer.

This whole debate was sparked by Neil Gaiman. His name started trending for something unpleasant, and I couldn’t help but imagine Agent J from Men in Black bursting into my room: “A’ight, listen up. You’ve been doomscrolling Reddit, but here’s a thought—take a long walk and appreciate the finer things in life…”

For me, it’s about focusing on the stories. I love Neverwhere. I adore Coraline. And don’t even get me started on Good Omens—a book that is a child of Sir Terry Pratchett (GNU) and Gaiman. 

My favourite line from Coraline? “Coraline wondered why so few of the adults she had met made any sense.”

And with that, I’ll leave you to it. You’ve probably got a million other things to do—washing up, making dinner, or just going for a wee.

Bye.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

That Time I Loved a Book

Hi. It was 2022. I was a hormonal, undiagnosed-depressive teen. I had kept a diary for about fourteen months – and was sixteen – well into it, just tickling the surface of my GCSEs. For the few adults reading this who have socks older than me, it was the year you couldn’t go anywhere without hearing the opening drumbeat to Running Up That Hill. I was sat in the dining bay, and I was thinking about some straight guy I had a crush on. Another straight guy, who I had liked the previous year – but now was slowly becoming insufferable, said: ‘Oi – you seen Heartstopper ?’ I said, ‘No.’ He smiled, Mr. Insufferable did, so the dot-to-dot spots on his face went missing in the creases of his cheeks. ‘I would’ve thought you had, considering...’ Tired of the (insert name of animal and name of brown stuff), I said, ‘Considering what, Sufferable?’ ‘You’re gay.’ I just left it. In hindsight, I should have given him a round of  b... applause, and wiped the floor with him. But hey-ho (as...
Post a Comment
Read more

In Love (With a Game)

 Hi. I’m gay, and I like gaming. But I’m not a gaymer. Gaymers give the impression you’re chained to the chair — blue hair, an uncomfortable obsession with anthropomorphic cartoon animals. Those in the know will know exactly what I mean. I’m not one — if I was, this’d be littered with ‘uwus’ and ‘<3’s. So — I fell in love. With a game. I played it first in 2018, on release day — October 26, 2018. Red Dead Redemption II. I was thirteen, yes. But I was five when the first game came out — and I played it (with the volume down — like shooting a load of outlaws was still okay for a child). Red Dead Redemption II is a prequel. It takes place in 1899 at the tail end of the Wild West — 14 years after a DeLorean fell off a bridge. It follows a fictional gang called the Van der Linde Gang — filled with feisty women, rowdy outlaws, and a tyrannical leader who made Rishi seem sane. It followed a hunky guy called Arthur Morgan. Hmm. Yes. Sorry — I was distracted. Arthur Morgan — in his...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Bookish Old Soul

 Hello.  As you can tell from the title, I’m a Bookish Old Soul. In a nutshell, that means I read a lot and gravitate towards the old things that pop up in life. I mean, which nineteen-year-old has a CD player nowadays? The reason I still have one is because it connects us to something more personal. Radio chatter is comforting to me—the burble of a voice, followed by a song you rather like. If you hate it, just switch the station. I have three go-to stations: one filled with golden oldies, another that I’ve dubbed ‘Mum-music,’ and a third that thinks a ‘throwback’ is anything from 2021. I love that about radio. It’s spontaneous and real—you can have a laugh, even when you're on your own. Books are a huge part of who I am. I read a lot—mostly fiction. It’s my escape. I also write my own stuff. If that kind of thing interests you, then you’re halfway there. Just write. You can’t become a writer in my eyes; writers just are. You just need to put one word in front of the other—th...
Post a Comment
Read more