I only mention this because I've heard myself say that sequels don't interest me. And they didn't until, apparently, they did. I can explain the urge to find out what happens to Kevin, the narrator of the Shakespeare books. Mostly I just wanted to write poems-in-forms and have that pay off in real money instead of contributor's copies, the standard payment for literary magazines.
But for the other sequel, it wasn't Ben who called to me. It was Colleen. Potty-mouthed, difficult, intransigent Colleen. Ben is still the narrator of the sequel, but Colleen is the star. Every time she'd step onto the page, the book lit up. I heard her voice everywhere, telling me where to put her and Ben next and what they should say. Until, a hundred and forty-five pages later, she was through with me.
Now I feel like the guy who woke up with a new tattoo in a strange room. And like that guy, I miss the person who led me there.
RK
Better that than a strange tattoo in a new room where you're in big trouble for bleeding all over somebody's expensive couch.
ReplyDeleteI've sworn that I won't do another sequel unless called to do it. I just finished a trilogy and writing the second book was one of the most difficult writing experiences of my life. It took about 150 pages before I no longer wanted to spend every day in fetal position in a corner of my office.
ReplyDeleteInterestingly, as I near the end of my novel, I find myself thinking about more story after the story. I have characters that want to tell me more.
ReplyDelete