The problem is to keep your continuing character human.

If you’ve got a series character, that series will most likely consist of the character overcoming one obstacle after another. Winning, in other words. (A series about a character who continually loses does not seem to exist.)

Winning winning winning, volume after volume. The character can become eerily perfect.

The more skills I give a character— in other words, the more perfect the character becomes— the more free I feel to ladle out the trauma and neurosis.

I remember when Harry Potter’s worst problems were the Dursleys. Being forced to sleep under the stair probably seems pretty good to him, now.

Which the library would not have liked very much, I admit *grin*

Order of the Phoenix starts just days after the previous book ends. Harry’s just seen his friend Cedric murdered in front of his eyes, he’s fought a duel with Voldemort and been tortured by him, and he’s found out that his mentor Moody was actually a bad guy luring him to his death. And now, in the new book, all his friends are lying to him.

Of course he’s angry. He’s also depressed, anxious, and frantic. I would be, too, and so would you.

As for ways of keeping continuing characters bright, shiny, and interesting, I’ve been working with the same set of problems. Here are some of my solutions, all of which can be found in my recent fiction, and all of which seem to be working (so far).

Pile on the trauma. Find new, ingenious, relentless, arbitrary, and utterly cruel ways to torture your characters. (Note: this one works really well for Rowling.)

When one goes up, another must go down. When Buffy’s love life goes to shit, Xander’s mysteriously brightens. In fiction, contrasts are good.

Genius has no reward. Your character’s talent and success do not lead to acceptance, but only isolates her from her peers. See earlier remark about contrasts. (Rowling also does this very well.)

Meet the Stupids. Your character has just been assigned to serve under Captain Stupid, who is doing his level best to get her killed. Most of her energy will be taken up battling oafish superiors rather than dealing with the opposition.

Meet Machiavelli Your character has become a pawn in the awesomely complex schemes of another character, who is himself not necessarily a bad guy. Most of her energy will be taken up trying to figure out what’s going on rather than dealing with the opposition. (See: Order of the Phoenix)

Give your character one problem that can never be solved, and which is making her crazy. Your character has a dark secret that can never be revealed. Or she’s in love with someone she can never have. Or there are social barriers that prevent her from ever, ever, ever being accepted. Or your character’s family situation is simply horrid, and there’s no fixing it. (I use all of these.)

These are, on one level, all cheap tricks for generating audience sympathy and for preventing your character from turning into an eerie icon of Mary Sue-ish perfection. But they’re tricks that work, and they’ve worked for some very fine writers indeed.

IMO a book shouldn’t be “hard to read”. Now I don’t mean it should be the sort of story that you can pick up, read, and put down without it impinging on your conscienceness, but it also shouldn’t be too hard work. If a book is trending towards the “hard to read” end of the scale what saves it is characters you connect with and care about. I have never had any time for teen angst(even my own) and I certainly don’t want to read it in my fantasy books.

I have to say that I never meant to write a series. It just sort of happened. But now I’m embarked upon the project, I do want to treat both my readers and the characters fairly. Of course, what my readers may expect is reasonable for the characters and what I believe is reasonable will not, um, always mesh. I win in the short term because I’m the writer. The readers win in the long term if they decide I’ve rendered the characters too unlikeable, but cause they just won’t buy the books. What’s a mother to do?