A version of this article appeared in THE WRITER magazine, August 2002 issue.
Once your first novel’s published, what’s next? One answer is to follow
that debut effort with more books using the same characters and settings.
Writers as disparate as J. K. Rowling, Patrick O’Brian, James Lee Burke, Philip
Roth, and P.D. James have made trips back to the well. I’ve done three
series myself, and am starting a fourth. But it pays to do your thinking
before you jump out of the airplane, rather than on your way down!
Writing any form of fiction involves a succession of unsatisfactory compromises among irreconcilable ends. Writing follow-on books involves the same problems involved in writing one, plus fresh quandaries. For example, the protagonist must persist in a recognizable form, yet somehow change in each work. Here’s another: If the character’s in danger at any point, and the reader knows there’ll be more books, how can you create suspense?
Another sticky requirement: Each work must stand alone, for readers who haven’t followed previous books. Yet you can’t bore those who have with repetitive details of earlier events.
Writing a series has its advantages, though. They’re easier to sell. Commercial publishers are more willing to underwrite a follow-on to a book that made money than to finance an entirely new project. In fact, sometimes it’s hard to get them to stop, as the careers of V.C. Andrews and other long-deceased authors illustrate. The reason? Subsequent properties begin with the guarantee of a preexisting audience. Why throw away such a marketing advantage, to start ab ovo?
From the writer’s point of view, series work can be easier in some ways. He or she already knows the characters, has done much of the research, and established tone, point of view, motivation, and other matters of technique.
And some writers simply discover more possibilities in the character and milieu than they can exhaust at one pass. I never set out to write more than one book about Hemlock County, Pennsylvania, or about a black-sheep diver from Hatteras. I simply found, when I’d published one, it was only the beginning of a larger story.
On the other hand, series work imposes unique strains – creative, budgetary, and chronological. It puts you on the line for many years, perhaps even for a working lifetime.
These are the challenges and realities I’ve had to cope with over the last
twenty-five years. Some of my early solutions worked, others proved
wrong. All had to be fine-tuned as I learned the business and craft.
I hope some of what I’ve learned can be passed on under the headings below.
1. Plan your series front to back, not middle to both ends (or worse
yet, backward!).
I did neither my Dan Lenson books, nor the Hemlock County novels, in chronological order. Instead I wrote what I thought at the time was a stand-alone (also called a “one-off”). Then, belatedly, discovered I had stories to tell predating the one I’d written. This led me into the jungle of the dreaded Prequel.
Prequels are the opposite of sequels, stories that happened before the current action. For instance, in my first three Hemlock County novels, the central character’s a prickly recluse in his seventies. But as I wrote them, his codger cronies kept talking about events in 1936. Gradually I realized they were pointing me toward a story from their youth, one that went far toward explaining what they and Hemlock County, Pennsylvania had become.
In the same way, I began my Navy books with Lenson as a lieutenant (jg) in THE MED. In the second volume, THE GULF, he was a lieutenant-commander. In order to clarify the progression of events, both in my own and the readers’ minds, I then had to go back and write books dealing with him as an ensign and as a lieutenant.
Through considerable sweat and argument with my publishers, I was able
to correct these achronicities. They agreed to do THUNDER ON THE MOUNTAIN:
A NOVEL OF 1936 because I’d established the Halvorsen character in the previous
books. And I finally straightened Dan out by going backward for several
years before I could go forward again. But how much simpler everything
would have been if I’d designed it front to back! So that’s what I made
sure to do with the Civil War at Sea series I started last year, opening in
April 1861 with FIRE ON THE WATERS and continuing with A COUNTRY OF OUR OWN.
2. Give your protagonist not just a “problem,’ but a tragic flaw.
A problem can carry reader interest through a short story or short novel;
but to sustain interest longer – say, for four to ten novels – your character
must have more depth, and continuing depth. That means a personal, internal,
problem in addition to the challenges that book presents; a flaw or continuing
dilemma that at least in the short term looks insoluble.
3. Never repeat your plot.
To some extent, series books are looked down on because they can be formulaic. The antidote? Consciously struggle against the formula.
Actually, if your character’s growing, he or she will not encounter the same challenges again, or at least, will not respond in the same way. This can be a formula-breaker: Present the same challenge, but have the character respond in a different way – either more maturely, or less morally defined, depending on his arc at that point in the series.
Another way is to shift focus from the original central character, either
by adding a co-protagonist, or replacing him or her (at least for one book)
with a supporting actor.
4. Develop supporting characters.
Don Quixote had Sancho Panza. Shreck had Donkey. Supporting characters provide alternate takes on events. They can be played for comedy. They allow you to appeal to different audiences; in the Harry Potter books, Hermione Granger gives girls someone to relate to.
If you have a continuing antagonist, a formula-breaker would be to write from the point of view of that antagonist. I wonder what Professor Moriarty would have had to say about Sherlock Holmes!
Finally, over time, subordinate characters may spin off individual books
or even a series of their own.
5. Let continuing characters leave the stage from time to time.
This is something to consider both within each book, especially if they run over 60,000 words or so, and for the series as well. Confining your work too tightly can lead to burnout, repetition, and formulaic writing.
Shift your locales. Shift focus to a son, a daughter, a parent, a sidekick. Give yourself freedom within the book. The Civil War series I just started has not one but five point of view characters, male, female, black, white, Southerner and Yankee. I’ll be following them around all the theaters of the war from 1861 to 1865.
Realize, though, that if you have a central character established over
a number of books, shifting focus will confuse and turn off some readers.
You’ll likely want to give him at least a “walk-on” in every book.
6. Never let the reader assume a character survives.
In fiction slanted to an undemanding public, the hero’s survival is accepted as a convention. We know that as the comic book ends, Batman will emerge unscathed. In more ambitious work, we have to modify this convention.
This applies most directly to situations in which the character faces physical danger, but it has some application to every type of fiction. The physical death of a protagonist may be nothing compared to the emotional, spiritual, intellectual, or other defeat that might face him or her.
In my diving series, Tiller Galloway is no invulnerable hero. He
suffers wounds, losses, and defeats, usually due to his own greed and poor
judgment. When we last saw him in DOWN TO A SUNLESS SEA, he had serious
decompression sickness with obvious aftereffects. Now that his son is
working and diving with him, his mortality is even more in evidence.
That’s not to say he’ll die in the next book, but clearly, it’s not impossible.
The reader senses that, and hey presto, suspense has returned.
7. Take control of the “look.”
It’s a sad reality that over any book deal taking more than a year, you’ll
have to live with personnel change. The art director, editor, publisher
(the editor’s boss), publicist, or all four may “move on,” as they say in
New York. The only person who really owns your work is you. It
behooves you to take an interest in every aspect of its presentation.
If you suspect there’ll be more down the road, take extra thought over the
jacket art, design, title, and internal layout of your first book. That
“packaging” should be distinctive enough to establish a series look.
(Realize, though, that it may evolve over time, depending on the marketplace.
Also, publishers like different looks for different formats and price points;
that is, for hardcover, trade, and mass market editions.)
I never succeeded in doing this with the Hemlock County books. Each package was different. This crippled series identification and lost repeat sales. We never gathered enough momentum to launch them into enduring print status, though each volume got excellent reviews and sold well in hardcover.
On the other hand, the Lensons and Galloways have evolved a consistent
look. Readers who liked one can easily locate the rest, and they’re
consistent earners long after their initial publication.
8. Aim your work at an existing audience.
I’ve always reckoned that if I’m having fun, readers will too. Their letters, and my sales figures, warn me when they aren’t. But I don’t think waiting for this belated feedback is the smart way to work. A really dedicated commercial writer should have a much sharper sense of who their audience is and what they want than I do.
In general, screening out ideas that won’t elicit a mass audience is the publisher’s job. And they do it all too well, in that they tend to avoid concepts that don’t pigeonhole into an existing category. But you need to be aware of the market, too. If you write a book no one will buy, you’ve just wasted a year or more.
From a cold, hard sales perspective, then, you should probably aim your
first series at a niche already inhabited by other successful authors – what
I call a “me too” book. That doesn’t mean to slavishly copy someone,
but to reinterpret a preexisting genre with your own individual style and
themes. Once you’ve got a toehold, you can reorient later work toward
where you really want to go.
9. Match your publisher to your intended audience.
Most beginners don’t understand this. To them all publishers are alike; they print books, don’t they?
Let me offer an analogy. If you confected a tastier pork sausage, it would be futile to market it through a New Age vegetarian store. Gay fiction will not sell well through a conservative publisher. Work with a right-wing slant will not sell at a house that prides itself on advanced ideas. Literary fiction will not do well with a genre publisher, and vice versa.
Note that I don’t say the publisher won’t buy it. They sometimes do. To present the appearance of a balanced list, or because one of the editors has an individual agenda, or just to dip a toe into a new market. What I’m saying is that, over time, your series will not flourish, no matter how good it is, how much you like your editor, or how hard you work to promote it. Simply because it’s at the wrong publisher.
Ask retailers and agents about “your” house’s reputation, read its lists,
note who else publishes with them. If the match isn’t right, move on.
You’ll both do better in the long run.
10. Set a sensible delivery schedule.
Once your first book makes a reasonable showing, you’ll be asked when you can deliver the next one. Think hard before you answer this question!
Today most “brand name” commercial authors publish a book a year, with new hardcovers tied to the release date of the previous book in mass market. If you want to ascend to bestseller status, you might need to work at that pace.
But each writer’s life is different. You may have a job and/or a family. You may write poetry and like to travel. Don’t base your delivery schedule on how long it takes you to write a book. Base it on how much of a complete slice of your life writing that book will take.
In other words, if you have six months’ work in a book, but due to everything
else it took you two years to put in that six months on the keyboard, don’t
give way to euphoria and commit to delivering your next book in six months.
Build in a cushion for alternate approaches, research, false starts, and overcoming
blocks. Include time for your family, too. Writing’s great, but
it isn’t everything!
11. Build in some stress-releasers.
Just knowing you have extra time is the biggest de-stresser I know of, but there are other ways to stay happy over the long haul of series work.
One is crop rotation. That’s what I call running two or three series simultaneously, alternating types of books. Since each of mine is different in tone, setting, and their demands in terms of craft, I find swapping out quite refreshing.
(Again, you’ll have to clear this with your editor, or perhaps do different books with different houses. Many mystery writers juggle multiple series, as do some thriller writers. But your publisher may want you to reserve your name for one particular series, especially if it’s selling well, and use a pseudonym for the others.)
Vacations and sabbaticals are good. Occasionally doing a part-time
gig at something entirely unrelated to writing is a great stress-reliever,
and can give you new material. It also reminds you, usually in short
order, of why you became a writer in the first place!
12. Have a graceful exit in mind from the beginning.
Just as every creature dies, as every piece of fiction has a natural end, so does every series. If sales are good, the publisher may pressure you to keep on after you’ve said all you have to say. We’ve all read the result: tired, half-hearted, regurgitated work.
The solution? Plan for the end from the beginning.
The simplest ending to a series is the death of the protagonist – though Conan Doyle couldn’t make it stick, it landed him in such hot water with his fans. Artistically, the final work should mark the resolution of the central conflict that has propelled the character throughout the chain of books. A driven character may find rest. A doubter, faith. A drifter, home at last.
Formal ceremonies can mark a transition or ending. A funeral, a retirement ceremony, a wedding, a decommissioning, mark consummations in our lives. The last instalment in your epic should also come full circle, if only in internal monologue or some symbolic reminder of how it all began.
Once you’ve finished, don’t look back. Look ahead to the next book, the next series if you will, and use what you’ve learned to make it better than the last.
Good luck!
THE END
David Poyer is possibly the best known writer of American sea fiction
alive today. His most recent book is THAT ANVIL OF OUR SOULS (Simon
& Schuster, July 2005). Check out his work and career advice at
the Home Page location below.
Return to the David
Poyer Home Page.