Literary characters we create are like relatives: We may not like them equally, but we must deal with them, nonetheless. In early drafts of The Education of Delhomme, George Sand loomed large and eventually became a pivotal figure in the story. But the more I researched her world, views on life, and relationship with Frédéric Chopin, the more I came to dislike her. She struck me as self-serving.

My antipathy peaked when, I determined, she had contributed to Chopin’s death. She kicked him out saying she was tired of his illness and, one can infer, because of his lack of mojo in bed. (To be fair, Chopin’s close bond Sand’s daughter irked her and contributed to the break up.) In the two years after giving him the heave-ho, he lived alone. He ate little, slept poorly, and stayed out late performing for adoring soirée audiences. He also maintained a heavy teaching schedule. Meanwhile, the disease was ravaging his body. His health declined precipitously until his death in 1849. How dare she!

While they were together from 1836 to 1847, Chopin was quite productive. As their relationship blossomed, Sand acknowledged her motherly feelings toward him. Eventually, though, she tired of his coughs and complaints. She had needs! She wanted them satisfied and apparently stepped out on him in those waning years. She even published a roman à clef, Lucrezia Floriani, in 1846 starring a feckless, jealous, obtuse, unworthy man (presumably Chopin) while painting the main character (herself) as a martyred heroine.

So, no, I did not like her. But then I realized what all writers must: She’s a character in my book and is not there for me to like or dislike. It would be like favoring one pawn over another on the chess board. Each piece has a role to play, just as one’s characters do. Sand played an important part in Chopin’s life and grew into a dynamic figure in her own right in terms of French feminism, literature, and workers’ rights. After weeks of my internal squabble, thank goodness my writerly wisdom won out. I decided the goal of showing how both Chopin and Sand survived as artists during that turbulent time in Parisian history needed to supersede my own sentiments.

So, I had learned a valuable lesson: Remain neutral toward all characters, no matter their foibles or allure. Otherwise, you lose perspective on their usefulness to the story and, worse, it may keep you from putting them in compromising or even dangerous situations. The end result could easily become wimpy characters and insipid plots. No reader wants that.

My attitude toward Sand changed when I visited Nohant, her lovely two-story manor house in central France, where she died in 1876. I was charmed by the subtlety and warmth of her style. From her copper pans in the kitchen, where she made her own jams each year, to the tastefully painted walls surrounding the winding staircase, each room—every corner—was tastefully appointed.

The pièce de résistance was a small theater, replete with painted proscenium arch, where Sand could create and refine her plays before offering them to Parisian theaters. Off to the right in the same room was a charming puppet theater, where her son, Maurice, held theatrical performances starring some of his one hundred and sixty handmade marionettes, wearing clothes George had sewn herself. This area, especially, showed her softer, artistic side, a counterpoint to her vitriolic tracts and it’s-all-about-me rebuff of lovers. I owed it to readers to present all facets of her and not superimpose my own feelings.

Once I resolved to give Sand’s persona a balanced portrayal, I ran into another problem: how to do that when the piano tuner—my main character—was hogging the focus with his first-person voice. While I found it a compelling narrative choice to increase readers’ intimacy and identification with him, I then puzzled over how could I get Madame Sand’s strong point of view into the story. She was, after all, sassy, willful, arrogant, outspoken, head-strong, dedicated, and civic-minded—way too vibrant a character to give short shrift. My solution: create diary entries. That strategy had two advantages: First, it provided a platform to flesh out George’s personality in her voice, and second, it allowed me to recount important facts about Sand’s relationship with Chopin when the tuner wasn’t around.

I left Nohant that late September day feeling that George Sand was a profoundly sensitive and creative person. She may have been irascible and selfish at times, but she deserved her say. So, Madame Sand, I raise my glass to you and to your marvelous first-person voice. À votre santé!