All sorts of different people live in Little Aleppo; some of the folks in the neighborhood are the differentest I’ve ever met. Most of the people in Little Aleppo are nothing at all like me: by sex or ethnicity or background or gender or religion or creed or physicality. There are so many ways for us to differ from each other.
I like writing stories about Little Aleppo, and everyone who lives there. I dreamt ’em up, so surely it is my right to tell their stories.
But if that is my right–to tell a character’s story–then I surely must have a responsibility to that character, as well.
If I fail, if I slop some ugly cartoon on the page where a human being should be, I hope you’ll pull me by the collar about it. I only want to do right by the place, and everyone who lives there. Sometimes, it feels like I live there, too. Call it civic pride.