Game of Thrones author George R. R. Martin. Gradually, as his life has unfurled, he has entered worlds even stranger and more distant than the countries whose flags he watched: worlds with looming walls of ice, walking dead people, magic-weavers and fire-breathing dragons. Yet his beautifully written A Song of Ice and Fire books, which are one book, really, and anything but cliched, are populated by all-too-realistic people who connive, butcher and subject each other to the most intricate political intrigues. They are also drenched in loves, adventures and heady desires, as well as all that blood. Since 1991, Martin (the Rs are for Raymond and Richard) has been spending much of his daylight hours – and his dreamland, perhaps – in Westeros, the continent around which his seven-book saga takes place. "It has been huge," he says, on the phone from his home in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where he lives with his wife Parris McBride. "It does seem like another world to me sometimes. "When the writing is going really well, I do get lost in it, I almost live in it. It occupies the back of my head. I'm thinking about it constantly. I go to sleep thinking about it. I wake up thinking about it. I cross the street thinking about it – my office is across the street from my house.

Dreams come true: George R. R. Martin, centre, shares a laugh with Game of Thrones stars Sophie Turner (left), Maisie Williams, Lena Headley and Peter Dinklage. Credit:Getty Images "I spend all day in Westeros and King's Landing. The real world almost seems to fade away." Everyone, it seems, wants him to hurry things along. He is a slow writer and is working on book six, The Winds of Winter, and he will not go any faster. By the sword: Sean Bean as Lord Eddard 'Ned' Stark in the first season of Game of Thrones. "I think it will be [finished] in seven books," he says hopefully, "but I've been wrong about that before."

When he started all those years ago, he thought it might be one book. Within a few months, he knew it would have to be three. When A Game of Thrones was released, it didn't make a huge splash, but as the years went by and he wrote more of the books, ranging from about 700 to more than 1100 pages each, he knew the story was getting bigger, and with it, he entered further into "the Known World" containing Westeros. I spend all day in Westeros and King's Landing. The real world almost seems to fade away. Many of us might never have heard of him or Westeros had HBO not commissioned the television series Game of Thrones, named after that first book, putting creators David Benioff and Dan Weiss firmly at the helm from 2007, the first season airing in 2011. With big-screen aspirations – astonishing cinematography and battle scenes, sumptuous designs and costumes and the biggest cast on television – its success and its tendency to cause uproar have been much talked about. The show is magnificently acted and sodden with an excess of bodily juices. The fluids of violence and intercourse gush so freely that an ancient Roman might blush. Martin, who scripts one episode a season as an executive producer (he worked in Hollywood as a producer and screenwriter for a decade before returning to writing), bathes in the reflected glory of the show, but also has to wear reflected criticisms that might have little to do with his books – perceived racial and cultural stereotyping, an abundance of barely dressed women and gratuitous gore. That includes a pregnant woman being viciously and graphically stabbed in the belly in season three.

Some think the TV show is all a bit showy, heartless and hollow. Popular characters' lives seem to come and go as rapidly as the humping lovers. That, though, is the television show. Martin's work is certainly literature, unlike much fantasy-genre pulp. And this round, bearded gent, commonly known as GRRM, who looks as if he could get a part in LotR (The Lord of the Rings) more easily than in GoT (Game of Thrones), has had to learn how to balance the quiet solitude and a relatively niche fandom he has long been used to with a new, global-scale celebrity. The fans, now as legion as the armies of Westeros, are relentless. A lot of them possibly spend more time than Martin thinking about it all. Endless analysis, critique and speculation about where the complex story will ultimately go cause much discussion on fanboards and GoT sites. And chief among the topics of conversation is a desire for Martin to finish. "It is great that so many people are eager for the next book and certainly these are the people who are paying my bills and allowing me to have a house across the street from my other house," he says. "But at the same time, sometimes I just wish they would stop pressuring me about it. It will be done when it's done. I'm working on it. I don't know what else I can say: I'm a slow writer, I've always been a slow writer, and these are gigantic books." What, though, if the TV show catches up with him? Season four, dealing with the second half of book three, is being made. Martin is not worried: they still have two more published books to work with.

"As the show comes closer and closer, I need to go faster and faster," he admits. "I have told them [Benioff and Weiss] some of where I am going, so I think they know the ultimate destination, but I have to not allow them to catch me." A 2011 New Yorker article that detailed the pressure on Martin from fans examined the problem and, while Martin doesn't welcome that stress, he appreciates his fans and supporters. The article quoted Martin's Random House editor as telling her authors that "outreach and building community with readers is the single most important thing you can do for your book these days", but Martin hardly needs to chase sales: in Commonwealth countries alone, 27million copies of his books have been sold, according tohis Australian publisher, HarperCollins. The people buying those books, he says, sometimes even turn up at his office-house in Santa Fe. "Which is a little annoying," he says. "Mostly they are fans and lovely people, but some of them show up with six-packs of beer and they just want to sit down and shoot the shit with me - which is nice, but if I am kicking off work every day to have beer with the fans, that's not so good." In the early days of A Song of Ice and Fire, Martin was made aware ofthe first fanboard, Dragonstone, which happened to be established in Australia (which Martin has visited half a dozen times and to which he returns this month; he loves to travel). Back then, he was fascinated by the discussions.

"When it started, it was very gratifying and here were all these intelligent people who had read the book and were analysing it and paying a lot of attention and having all these discussions and debates," he recalls. "I would look in on that occasionally. Then it dawned on me that it was probably not a good thing for me to look in on it." Some of the participants were putting up theories about where Martin was leading them in the story: many theories were incorrect, but some got it right. "And I began to think I should change things, and that's a mistake." At the same time, he finds the internet sites about the books and TV show greatly encouraging. With his early novels and short-story collections published before A Game of Thrones, Martin says it was "like throwing them in a well" when they were published, such was the lack of feedback. "You have devoted a year of your life to this book," he says. "You want to know that you shook up readers and affected them and fooled them and delighted and thrilled them. You want to hear the laughter and you want to taste the tears. "The internet has created that with discussions. People are not just saying ‘I liked it', ‘I didn't like it' or analysing it in 500 words. They are spending thousands of words and years of their lives probing every detail and character. For a writer, that's very intoxicating. That's the reward that you seek, even if they say it's terrible while analysing it at length."

Perhaps the element that really entrances readers is not the fantasy elements - they are scant - but the relationship A Song of Ice and Fire has with authentic human history, especially the Wars of the Roses. Hence the violence and death tolls that mount up with each book, and the way major characters are suddenly dispensed with in various gruesome ways. It is like real life, where there are no guarantees. "Of course, all these things are nothing compared with what happened in real history," he says. "If you read the real history of the Middle Ages, the level of butchery and barbarity could be extreme. That is why it is such an interesting period to write about. You have such dramatic opposites. You have the whole idea of knighthood and chivalry, one of the most idealistic codes for a warrior we have ever seen in history. "But the reality was that the knights frequently committed acts we would consider today to be horrible war crimes - killing prisoners and raping and killing their way through enemy territory. "You combine these two extremes, the very noble sentiment and the horrible reality: there is drama in that opposition, that internal conflict." He quotes William Faulkner, who talked poetically about "the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself". For Martin, there seems to be little conflict about the course his life has taken. Clearly, he loves inhabiting Westeros, the continuing creation of which still excites him. "It is mysterious. I don't know how it works," he says of the creative process. "I still love the world. I still love the characters. I still want to go back and spend time with them."

Fame has meant many more intrusions on that time. His daily routine is to cross the street to his office-house, do emails and then shift gears to writing. "On good days I vanish into Westeros and the real world goes away and I spend the day dealing with my characters," he says. "There are bad days too, when there are a lot of distractions. The real world is always a threat to the imaginary world. These days there are certain things that come with success. I am not just a writer but a business, so I have three assistants. Seven years ago I had none." To write, which he describes as a fragile state, he tells his assistants not to put through any calls. When he gets into the groove - the books are written from major characters' points of view, one per chapter - he sees the world through their eyes. Whether it is Tyrion, Arya, Daenerys or Jon Snow, he finds switching between them a bit of a jolt. "I have to reread the last chapter of that character and get their voice back." Yet while he has always focused on teasing out the qualities of character, Martin believes plot is the heart of a story, and he struggles long and hard to make the prose rich and beautiful, as well. "To my mind, [character] is one of the most crucial things, but the writing, the prose, how you evoke a scene, is something you spend a lot of time on. How to bring it alive and put your reader there and evoke all the right sounds, smells and sights, so that they don't feel they are just reading it, they are living it. That is always the goal, the struggle."

What, then, is Martin's real life? When I ask what he does to relax and he mentions travelling and socialising with friends, it seems that escapist worlds aren't all he inhabits, until he starts enthusing about watching American football religiously every Sunday during the season, doing role-playing games with his friends, going to the movies, watching a lot of television and reading voraciously, from history to science-fiction. The boy from Bayonne is still chasing those other-worldly flags. George R. R. Martin will appear in conversation with Game of Thrones actor Lena Headey at the Opera House on November 11. He will also appear at Dallas Brooks Hall on November 13, presented by the Wheeler Centre and Supanova Pop Culture Expo. Late-release tickets for the Melbourne event on sale at wheelercentre.com Page to screen In these edited extracts from A Game of Thrones (HarperCollins), George R.R. Martin shapes the characters that would go on to inhabit the hit TV series.

Cersei Bran was moving from gargoyle to gargoyle with the ease of long practice when he heard voices. He was so startled he almost lost his grip. The First Keep had been empty all his life. "I do not like it," a woman was saying. There was a row of windows beneath him, and the voice was drifting out of the last window on his side. "You should be the Hand of the King." "Gods forbid," a man's voice replied lazily. "It's not an honour I'd want. There's far too much work involved."

"Don't you see the danger this puts us in?" the woman said. "Robert loves the man like a brother." Bran was suddenly very frightened. He wanted nothing so much as to go back the way he had come, to find his brothers. Only what would he tell them? He had to get closer, Bran realised. He had to see who was talking. The man sighed. "You should think less about the future and more about the pleasures at hand." "Stop that!" the woman said. Bran heard the sudden slap of flesh on flesh, then the man's laughter ... "All this talk is getting very tiresome, sister." The man said. "Come here and be quiet." Faces appeared in the window above him.

The queen. And now Bran recognised the man beside her. They looked as much alike as reflections in a mirror. Daenerys Her brother held the gown up for her inspection. "This is beauty. Touch it. Go on. Caress the fabric." Dany touched it. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like water. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away. "Is it really mine?"

"A gift from the Magister Illyrio," Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high good mood tonight. "The colour will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised. Tonight you must look like a princess." A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known. "Why does he give us so much?" she asked. "What does he want from us?" For nigh on half a year, they had lived in the magister's house, eating his food, pampered by his servants. Dany was 13, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come without their price, here in the free city of Pentos. "Illyrio is no fool," Viserys said. "The magister knows that I will not forget my friends when I come to my throne." Jon Snow

There were times - not many, but a few - when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them. He settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips. The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangour of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations. It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon's brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honour of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for.

Tyrion Lannister "Boy," a voice called out to him. Jon Snow turned. Tyrion Lannister was sitting on the ledge above the door to the Great Hall, looking for all the world like a gargoyle. The dwarf grinned down at him. "Is that animal a wolf?" "A direwolf," Jon said. "His name is Ghost." He stared up at the little man, his disappointment suddenly forgotten. "What are you doing up there? Why aren't you at the feast?" "Too hot, too noisy, and I'd drunk too much wine," the dwarf told him. "I learnt long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother. Might I have a closer look at your wolf?"

Jon hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Can you climb down, or shall I bring a ladder?" "Oh, bleed that," the little man said. He pushed himself off the ledge into empty air. Jon gasped, then watched with awe as Tyrion Lannister spun around in a tight ball, landed lightly on his hands, then vaulted backwards onto his legs. Ghost backed away from him uncertainly. The dwarf dusted himself off and laughed. "I believe I've frightened your wolf. My apologies." "He's not scared," Jon said. He knelt and called out. "Ghost, come here. Come on. That's it."

"If I wasn't here, he'd tear out your throat," Jon said. It wasn't actually true yet, but it would be. "In that case: you had better stay close," the dwarf said. He cocked his oversized head to one side and looked Jon over with his mismatched eyes. "I am Tyrion Lannister." "I know," Jon said. He rose. Standing, he was taller than the dwarf. It made him feel strange. "You're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?"

Jon felt a coldness pass right through him. He pressed his lips together and said nothing. "Did I offend you?" Lannister said. "Sorry, dwarfs don't have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head." He grinned. "You are the bastard, though."

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father," Jon admitted stiffly. Lannister studied his face. "Yes," he said. "I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers." "Half-brothers," Jon corrected. He was pleased by the dwarf's comment, but he tried not to let it show. "Let me give you some counsel, bastard," Lannister said. "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you." Jon was in no mood for anyone's counsel. "What do you know about being a bastard?"

"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes." "You are your mother's trueborn son of Lannister." "Am I?" the dwarf replied, sardonic. "Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me, and he's never been sure." Loading "I don't even know who my mother was," Jon said.

"Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are." He favoured Jon with a rueful grin. "Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs." And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.