Dave's Fiction Warehouse

It's no sign of my blogging prowess that roughly eight out of 10 of my posts concern J.K. Rowling, but here goes another one. The creator of gay icon Dumbledore has finished her first work since closing out the Potter series: The Tales of Beedle the Bard . It's about the failure of the U.S. intelligence apparatus in the run-up to the Iraq War. No, really it's a collection of fairy stories, and the title comes from a book mentioned in Deathly Hallows as a gift from Dumbledore to Hermione. Yes, somebody could have fun with the book description, but it won't be me. In case you're thinking of being first in line at Barnes & Noble, you'll be waiting a long time. Only seven copies of Beedle the Bard will be in print. It's ironic that the pinnacle of success puts Rowling on the same level as me, when it comes to readership. Seven turns out to be the same number of people who read my latest short story. Maybe we can do lunch sometime.

I always hate it when readers dream up qualities for fictional characters that are never alluded to in the books in which they appear. That is precisely why fan fiction is so unfailingly awful. But I really hate it when authors indulge in the same juvenile exercise. After all, if it were a trait germane to the character, why wasn't it in the book? And so we come to J.K. Rowling's startling announcement the other day that wise old Dumbledore, the bearded headmaster of Hogwart's, is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Being gay, I mean. But isn't saying so a little like Mark Twain deciding in his dotage that Huck Finn and Jim were lovers? Or Charles Dickens revealing years later that Scrooge was suffering from Alzheimer's? Characters are precisely the sum of the words on the printed page. No one, not even the author, should come back later and revise them in an offhand remark. At the very least, it is a violation of the basic tenet of fiction writing...

Just when I thought it was safe to put my long-delayed book on the front burner, comes this devasting news: J.K. Rowling is writing a crime novel. This information comes to the Washington Post by way of Ian Rankin, who said his wife spotted Rowling at work on the new project in Edinburgh. "It is great that she has not abandoned writing or Edinburgh cafes," said Rankin, barely concealing his own fear. Talk about bad timing. At this point Rowling could pen 900 pages of bad haiku and sell a million copies -- why must she suck all the air out of crime-fiction manor just when I'm trying to break in? (Yes, in answer to your next question: It is all about me.) ( UPDATE: Turns out Ian Rankin was having us on . Those crazy Scots. Here's what J.K. Rowling is really working on. )