JK Rowling has confessed that halfway through the Potteriad, at a low point (it can't, surely, have been money worries) she was tempted to rub out Ron Weasley. Her motive? "Sheer spite, she says.

One can think of examples where authors have gone through with it. According to John Middleton Murry, Lawrence spitefully killed Gerald Crich, the character based on Murry, at the end of Women in Love, because Murry declined a Blutsbrüderschaft relationship (if you wonder what that would have meant, recall the dangling-willy wrestling scene in Ken Russell's movie – a fate worse than death, Murry thought).

Arthur Conan Doyle famously wanted to kill his most famous character. "Holmes keeps my mind from better things," the novelist grumbled. There are no better things, roared the Sherlockians and demanded resurrection from the boiling waters of the Reichenbach Falls. As early as the fifth volume (of 30-odd, as it would be) of William Brown's mischief Richmal Crompton wanted to kill off her "Frankenstein's monster". But Just William just kept going.

I would guess that James Cameron would have been happy for the Terminator to terminate after the second film. But he too keeps coming back – Terminator 5 will be crashing on to our screens at some point. It's reader and audience pressure that typically reprieves heroes from the spiteful authorial axe. Personally, I think it's a good thing. I simply couldn't get along with Contagion after Gwyneth Paltrow honked her last so pathetically early. I felt – there's no other word for it – bereaved.

And, after the wholly unanticipated, and unnecessary, elimination of Jan Meyer (the best thing in it), I resolved not to bother with the second instalment of The Killing. Out of spite, you may say.

Why did Shakespeare kill Mercutio – by far the most likable character in Romeo and Juliet? Not spite, probably, but because Shakespeare needed the actor for a later part (the Friar most likely). But it remains a blot on the play. One can't but be glad that JK spared Ron.