Now I know what [crap] writers block is. For a week I’ve been trying to think of something moderately interesting, faintly controversial, vaguely sarcastic, slightly funny, deeply profound in the shallowest sense - or whatever – anything - to blog about and coming up blank. What must it be like for real writers like J.K.Rowling, contractually obligated to churn out seven Harry Potters in a row, whether she wants to or not, whether she’s absolutely sick and bloody tired of sodding Harry Potter and the wand he rode in on? Now that’s pressure. I ordered my copy early – about two months ago – and so added to the mountain of cash about to flow her way – again. They say that she’s the richest woman in England. She’s got more money than Liz and Phil and the crew – she’s probably got more money than Bill Gates and that’s certainly saying something. He has enough to have a string of bonfires down the west side of the United States and up the other entirely composed of tenners if he so desires - and I hope he doesn’t because think of all those people starving in gutters who could do with one or two. You know them, they are the people sleeping on heating grates [in Canada at least] – we step over them on our way to work in the mornings.

The latest and last [maybe] Harry Potter comes out, in what, two days from now? Spoilers on the Net are rife [it’s ok you can uncover your eyes because I’m not gonna tell you the ending although I do know that, according to Rowling herself, the last word will be ‘Scar’. Hmm. We will have to ponder on the meaning of that won’t we chaps.. But you can bet your bat cape that the dastardly Voldemort will have something evil to do with it. Anyone want to start a betting pool?

So what is Rowling going to do now then? Having finished her Opus Dei she can hardly dispense with the old ink pot and hang up her quill pen now can she? I can’t see a steady stream of seedy murder mysteries suddenly springing forth can you? Mind you – it’s possible. They could feature one PC Potter of the Dales who solves crimes right from under the noses of those smarty-pants London cops using his crystal ball and a divining rod. He will be at odds with the senior inspector, one Detective Inspector Snape, who keeps an odd assortment of pets and things in dusty jars on his desk.

They say that Arthur Conan Doyle, after dispatching Sherlock and his arch-nemesis Moriarty to watery doom down under the waterfall, flung his pen against the wall so hard that the steel nib stuck in the wood paneling with a resounding ‘sproingggggg’. He no doubt uttered a few choice Victorian epithets as well but we will probably never know. Not unless he comes back from the afterlife and tells us that is. After all, he *was* president of the Psychical Research Society and is possibly up there discussing further plot developments with H.G.Wells, Henry James, Verne, and his other mystical buds.

Many authors get caught on the horns of the same dilemma [how come dilemmas have horns]. Anyway …. Many other authors have discovered to their dismay that they are locked into writing about the same characters forever. Think of Ian Fleming who could no more dispense with Bond than put on bat wings and fly to Gotham. Fortunately – or unfortunately as the case may be – he conveniently died before he got the chance to find out. Clive Custler has recently made a few unsuccessful and financially suicidal attempts to knock off his long-time hero Dirk Pitt in order to substitute one Kurt Austin instead. However, Kurt bears some slight resemblance to Dirk – he is tall and athletic, loves old cars, has or rather had dark wavy hair now gone a pleasing – but manly – shade of silver. He has a cheerful indomitable side-kick – is a member of NUMA and has a habit of getting himself embroiled in international incidents having to do with evil corporations hell-bent on polluting the oceans and murdering innocent cruise-ship passengers who only signed up for a last-minute trip around the Bahamas. Hmm.

So I don’t know what Rowling will do without Harry. I suppose sitting in the basement of the mansion counting up the money could take quite some time so that will keep her occupied for a bit while she ponders the exact meaning of the word ‘obscurity’. Listen – what’s that sound I hear? Oh I think it’s the sound of her publishers crying their way to the bank one last time …