Going back to that sequel: the one I had pledged to my agent without any idea what was going to happen in it.
I know why the industry likes sequels. A reader who has enjoyed the first book will want to read the second. Unlike the first time around, they have a good idea of what they are going to get. They’ve already invested all that work in building the world and the characters in their minds. This time the reward of enjoyment is both easier and more certain. Or, it should be. What could go wrong?
I’d say – several things.
Writer’s exhaustion: How many sequels have you read in which you’ve sensed that the action is either predictable, or too unpredictable, the characters stale, the narrative tending towards formula? This happens when the writer, who is a restless spirit, is starting to feel they’ve been too long in this particular world. They’ve already spend far more time writing this stuff than any reader will in reading it. They want to move on, try new things, create new people. They may even start to dislike their earlier writing or characters, as Conan Doyle famously came to loath Sherlock Holmes. He even sent Holmes over the Reichenbach Falls, but public demand resurrected his hero. He was trapped. He could not escape from the gravity well of the world he had created.
Writer’s Indulgence: The opposite problem – excessive love for the characters, so that they cease to be interesting creations and become super-beings who can do no wrong. I guess there’s a reason for this. If, in your first novel, you’ve had your lead character overcome their own personal shortcomings and rise to some kind of vindication, it is hard to send them round the course again. I could name some famous examples, but I won’t, for fear of causing offence. But yes, I was a founding member of the ‘Kill Weatherwax’ Club.
In my second novel, The Widow and the King, I sought to avoid this by changing the perspective entirely. I abandoned the viewpoint of my heroine from the first book – I felt I had already told her story. Instead I followed the action through the eyes of her son. Of course this was a risk. It won’t have pleased readers who felt that she was the best thing about the first book (and some did). But it gave me a fresh viewpoint someone new to learn about, with a new set of weaknesses and strengths. And in the third book I did it again.
Consistency: Obviously the sequel has to conform to the world-building you’ve already done in the first book. There are some things you obviously just can’t do. If the sky is blue in your first world it can’t be pink in your second. Less obviously, there will be a range of things that you might be tempted to do, because of how you want your story to develop, but really you shouldn’t because they’re going to force the reader to change their understanding of your world. Resurrecting characters who apparently died in earlier episodes is one of my pet hates (Mr C Doyle, I’m looking at you).
The best advice I could give someone considering a sequel is, you’ve got to want to write it. You’ve got to love what you’ve already done, and be interested in following where it leads. Many sequels are disappointments. But many are not. Some are even better than the first book – that happens too, and it happens because the author has developed their voice and their understanding of the world, and now they’ve found there’s something that they really want to do.
Last Updated on April 10, 2026 by John