At a recent local author event, the host asked our panel of writers how we balance reader expectations and desires with our own vision for the story and characters. The more pointed version of this question is: what, if anything, do authors “owe” readers?

I’ve seen these questions spark EXTREMELY heated debates among both authors and readers, both in person and online. As a reader, a writer, and a professor of English who teaches both writing and close, analytical reading, I think about this issue from multiple angles, and I answer the question a little differently depending on who’s asking. At the moment, I’m a writer addressing readers, so that’s how I’ll answer.

Rather than give the annoying answer “It depends,” I’ll explore some perspectives on the question and then define my own personal philosophy. Please bear with me while I parse the question a bit.

Some authors feel very strongly that this is their story to tell, so they’re going to tell it how they want to tell it, and readers can love it or hate it as they please. (I won’t name any names, but I’ve heard authors tell me this in person and seen them post about it on social media.) To these writers, there is no “balancing” between authorial vision and reader expectations to be done. “If you want a different ending, write your own book,” they might say. A bit harsh, but I can’t say the sentiment isn’t true. The only way to get exactly the story you want is to write it. (I’ll circle back to this in a bit.)

Others take a position on the opposite end of the spectrum and believe they write stories they want their readers to enjoy. (Note that “enjoy” means different things to different readers, especially depending on the genre. If I’m reading a thriller, the phrase “That book really messed me up” is a compliment, while the same utterance would be rather damning if referring to a romance.)

Some call this practice “fan service,” but whatever you call it, this method puts the reader front and center and tries to cater to their expectations, desires, and happiness, even if that means the author’s vision for their story doesn’t get reflected in the story that ends up on the page.

A third group, of which I am a member, prefer to take a position somewhere in the middle on this continuum of authorly decision-making. This is where the balancing act comes into play.

A book is made up of a couple dozen chapters and a hundred thousand or so words. That much you probably know. But what you might not consider unless you are a writer yourself, or have thought deeply about the process of writing, is that a book is also hundreds (or thousands) of decisions on the part of the author. There are big decisions and little ones and many more in between. This is where the balancing act occurs: in the decision-making.

Whether an author is a “plotter” (someone who plans their novel out before writing) or a “pantser” (someone who eschews a plan and writes by the seat of their pants), they have to decide what happens in the novel, where it happens, why it happens, when it happens, how it happens, and to whom. Sometimes it’s a line of dialogue, and sometimes it’s a murder. And at each decision point, the writer has to weigh a bunch of factors and then make a choice. How much the reader’s reaction to that choice matters to the author is the question at hand.

When I respond “it depends,” I mean how much the reader’s reaction weighs into my decision depends on the choice. For most of these decisions, I don’t need to consider the reader’s reaction at all because they’re not likely to sweat who said this line of dialogue or opened a door or threw a Frisbee. But for major decisions that have ramifications, or are likely to spark an emotional–or in some cases, a visceral–response from the reader, I choose to take the reader into account.

Now, that doesn’t mean I won’t upset a reader. Sometimes I’ll make them happy; sometimes I’ll make them cry. My goal either way is to write the story well enough that the reader understands why I did it and they won’t hate me for it. They might send me a sniffly DM, but that’s probably about it.

So where do I personally land in this debate? I tell the story I want to tell, in both the way I want to tell it and the way I’d want to read it. That probably means I won’t kill off a beloved long-running character, because I’m not in the business of breaking people’s hearts. I want reading my books to be (mostly) a joy. If you want to read something that messes you up, I suggest Scandinavian thrillers or Gillian Flynn. I don’t write cozy fiction (at the moment), but I do promise that if I hurt you, I’ll put a Band-Aid on it and kiss it to make it feel better by the final page.

I love my readers. I wouldn’t be where I am without them. And from that perspective, I do think I owe them something. I owe them a damn good story and an ending that both makes them smile and want to tell someone else about me and my books.

And to circle back to something I said earlier, if you want to tell a story the way you want it told, you can write that book. I’m not being snarky about that. My current series got started partly because I wanted to tell a story about a female private investigator with a ghost sidekick who was tough but also vulnerable, smart but sometimes makes mistakes, and powerful but not invincible (having read a great number of urban fantasy series with heroines who are too tough, too invincible, and inhumanly infallible).

So if you find yourself saying something like “If I wrote this book, I would have written it like this…” you might be a writer. But that’s a topic for another day.

Thanks for reading!