Some Answers: On Sequels

I want to know what the biggest challenge is working on a sequel.

Two things about this. First: one of the biggest challenges of working on a sequel, for me, is that It Will Exist In Large Quantities, IE, Will Be Published. When I wrote the first book, I wrote knowing that there were no guarantees; chances were, no one would ever read it. Now, writing the second one, I know that eventually people will read it, which means that I am constantly thinking about people reading it while I'm writing it, which makes it harder to break out of The Safe Box and explore things and fail miserably and start again, and so on, which are all integral to my writing process, especially the failing miserably.

It has been very difficult for me to turn off the "people are going to read this so it better be good!" voice that shouts at me all the time, but I've tried to develop a new way of thinking when I sit down to write, and that has helped some. I also think it just takes some getting used to.

Second: the trouble with sequels is this. In the first book, I explored some deeper themes (choice, moralism, goodness, etc.) as I was writing, not with the intention of Making A Point, but with the intention of...well, exploring. Questioning. Examining.

But with the second book, I found that I was just continuing the story I'd started in book one, which is fine, but somehow lacking. Certainly the story has to continue, but the deep exploration can't vanish, or the book is not as meaningful to me, which means it probably won't be as meaningful to the reader. It's something I wish I had kept in mind when I started, and that I am now remedying as I continue, and will keep trying to remedy as I revise.

My advice to people writing sequels is to think of the work not just as a continuation of the first book, but as a whole book in and of itself, with the same story arc, the same character arcs, and the same undercurrents of thoughtfulness that you would have in a stand-alone. Easier said than done, right?

How do you handle new ideas, when you know that the trilogy is just beginning? Do you write them down and then just plan to tackle them after all three books are complete?

What I do is: I let the idea percolate for awhile in my head--write it down, think it over, let it develop--and then I start to write whatever scenes I've got floating around. I usually get to about 30 pages before I get stuck and would normally have to do some serious thinking/exploratory writing, if I was going to commit to making it a full-length work. But instead of doing that serious thinking/exploratory writing, I just save the 30ish pages I have and put them aside. That way, if I decide to go back to that idea once the trilogy is done, I haven't forgotten anything crucial.

I know it sounds a little crazy to devote so much time and energy to a new idea, like I should just try to shove it out of my head. But if you're a writer, you know that doesn't work--the idea just pokes at you over and over again, begging you to write it. So I spend a little time on it, knowing that it will ultimately make it easier for me to re-focus on my trilogy writing.

Also, do you ever get nervous or anxious at the thought of working on the same story for so long?

Yes, definitely! But it was before I started book 2. Now that I'm almost done with the rough draft of book 2, it seems more like "well I'll just revise this, then write the next one, and that's it." (Yes, I do manage to sound extremely cavalier about putting WHOLE BOOKS together in my head...trust me, it's all talk.) I think the key is not to look too far ahead. Just take it one step at a time--one book at a time, one scene at a time. That's how I stopped feeling nervous about it.

Did you write Divergent as a stand-alone novel with series potential or just as a stand-alone? And if you wrote it with series potential, how did you leave it open ended enough that sequels can follow but not so open ended that agents reject it for a an ending that doesn't wrap up perfectly?

I wrote Divergent as a stand alone with series potential, which means that I worked very hard to find the right balance for the end: satisfying, such that the story could stop right there if it had to, but intriguing enough that people would want to read more. In my mind the world and greater story were always big enough for three books, so when I was asked how many I thought there would be, 3 was always the answer.

I don't know if I can answer the question of HOW I did that "satisfying but intriguing" thing without giving the ending away (although I will say--and I hope this doesn't sound arrogant-- that I believe I did strike that balance successfully), but I'll try. Basically, in Divergent there is The Immediate Conflict, which forms the plot of the book, and The Greater Conflict, which is essentially, how do these people get themselves out of this downward spiral (even if they just end up getting themselves into yet another downward spiral)?

It's like this: you're in a tiny, crappy boat in the middle of the ocean. And your boat springs a leak. ("CRAP! WE'RE GOING TO SINK! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE IF WE DON'T PLUG UP THIS LEAK RIGHT NOW!") You manage to plug up the leak, but once the leak is plugged, you are still in a tiny, crappy boat in the middle of the ocean, and really need to find land. ("CRAP. WE'RE STILL IN THIS BOAT!")

The plot of book 1 is like the leak. The series arc is being in the boat.

I think you try to answer the most pressing questions, like "what happens to Character X?" and "Does Character X ever reach Very Important Goal X?", etc, but leave other, not essential but still intriguing, questions unanswered. It's hard to figure out. If you have beta readers to tell you how they felt at the end, that's extremely helpful.

Awesome questions all. Thank you! Next week I'll be talking about Divergent specifically (inspiration! Writing process! Revision process! Etc.), if you want to check back again.

Dear Veronica. Freaking Jump Already. Sincerely, Veronica.

I do actually intend to write a series of blog posts about SCBWI, but today is not the day, because I've got something else on my mind.

I haven't really written in about three weeks. And it doesn't feel good.

So for the past week and a half I've been wondering what the heck is wrong with me. Am I ill? Am I depressed? Do I no longer like to write? THE HORROR.

I keep telling myself the answers to these questions:

A. No. I feel fine.
B. No. I feel fine.
C. I've been writing since sixth grade. If I haven't hated it before now, it's probably not going to happen.

After a week and a half of fretting, I think I have finally isolated the cause of my writer's block, and it's unsurprising, given my personality: fear.

I'm not going to lie to you and say that it's exactly the same now, writing under a book contract. When you have The Contract, writing becomes your job (even if it's a part-time job), because someone is compensating you for it. And not only that, but in The Trilogy Zone, you know that there are people relying on you to make the new book at least as good as the last book. And you are fully aware that several important people are going to read one of your initial drafts. All of this floats around in your mind when you write, because it's awesome, and because it's real, but the unfortunate side effect of this incredible blessing is that it's not the same, because it's not just me and my computer and my desk chair anymore.

But the lesson I am trying to teach myself is: it must become the same.

Like so many of the lessons I try to teach myself, this one is about courage.

Before, I was writing alone, and I felt secure not because I was brave but because no one had a vested interest in how my work turned out, no one but me. This time, people do, and every time I sit down to write I put this pressure on myself for it to be good. I really don't want to let those people down.

I am not, despite how I may seem, insecure about my writing. When I sit down at the keyboard and I shut out everyone else, I know exactly what I'm doing. I don't mean that in an arrogant way-- I don't think I'm perfect or brilliant or that I've learned everything I need to know. I mean that in this space, and at this desk, I am fully convinced of my ability to do good work. This is what I am supposed to do.

But this time, when I sit down, it's hard for me to shut out everyone else, so I have a problem. I have to create space for myself to mess up. Badly. I don't think I realized how scary it is to launch yourself into a draft without knowing where it's going or if anything will work the way you want it to, not because I haven't done it, but because I've never thought about it before. It's like when you're young and you'll just launch yourself off the swings without worrying about how you'll land, and then you grow up and you know about physics and broken bones and fragments of glass potentially waiting in the dirt, and you won't jump anymore. I know a lot more about what screws up a draft now, and that makes it hard for me to jump.

But you can't be afraid when you write. You have to take ownership of your talent and shut out the world's opinions and do the work you love because you love it, and for no other reason. You have to fire your internal editor, who is telling you that every move you make is a mistake. You have to realize that you are the only one who knows your characters so completely that you understand all the inner workings of their stories. But most of all, you just have to get over it and freaking jump already.

Be brave. That's my plan. It's not very sophisticated, but there it is.

(Psst. Myra McEntire also has a post about this today. And it's awesome.)