There's always much more to the story than ever reaches the page -- or at least, there ought to be. Part of what gives a novel its reality is the reader's sense that things are being left out, that much more could be said than ever will be, that the imaginary world keeps ticking once the book's cover is closed. While I learned this a long time ago, I'm appreciating it in a whole new way now.
Back on Murder, the first of my crime novels set in Houston, is more or less written, and now I have two more to go. The sequel is very much in process, and will be done before the first hits the shelves next summer. Because all three of the contracted books will feature the same hero, I'm living with him in a way I normally wouldn't. One thing I'm beginning to realize is that, in just three books, there's no way I'll manage to tell all his stories.
Already, I have a file full of them. Various cases and incidents, some full-blown in my mind, others fragmentary, some connected to what happens in Back on Murder, some not. Over the weekend, I tried organizing them all, asking myself which episodes were the most promising, the most telling, and it quickly became clear that I have four of five novels worth of material.
So this must be how a series develops. The character's world expands, and the only challenge is to figure out which places are worth going, and for how long. Because like I said, you can't use everything, or even most of it. The lion's share needs to be left out to give what's left a sense of compressed urgency. The trick is knowing what to keep.
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