I don't remember where I first heard the term, but I had encountered an entire conversation on one of my social media channels about the death of the author. It turns out that it's a term that refers back to an essay from 1967. In that essay, entitled The Death of the Author, Roland Barthes postulated the idea that at some point (after publication), a story takes on a life of its own, separate from the writer's intentions.
The idea makes sense when you think about it, because readers will add their own context and meaning to things based on their personal experiences. However, the essay has been debated for many long years about how much an author's intent should be incorporated into literary discussions about the meanings behind a written work.
In today's post, I want to take a look at this death-of-the-author idea, pointing out how I'm watching my own death unfold before my eyes… and my novel is still a newly-published work.
