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WRITING A SERIES, OR NOT
by Beverly Stowe McClure
Series stories are popular. Many readers, myself included, are so intrigued by the characters and their lives that we aren’t satisfied when a novel ends. We want to know what happens after the first book. Authors gladly continue writing, satisfying our needs.
I write single stories, however. Or I did, until recently. My characters have a goal or a problem. They strive to fulfill their desires or to overcome the situation(s) in their lives¾parents, bullies, self-image, or whatever they’re dealing with¾that cause them trouble. Sometimes they succeed. Other times, they reach a new understanding about themselves and/or others and see a different side to their goals or their problems.
No sequels or series were in my thoughts. Then, a nice reader wanted to know what happened to Breeze in my tween contemporary novel Just Breeze. Gee, I don’t know. I thought her story was over. But I started thinking about the kids in the story. Did they want to tell us more about themselves? What other adventures awaited them? Well, Breeze whispered in my ear. And I liked what she had to say. So, I wrote a second book about Breeze and her friends. It took over a year because I was also working on other stories, but the manuscript now is at the publishers. I’ll soon know whether they like it or if the story ends with Just Breeze.
Also, with A Pirate, a Blockade Runner, and a Cat, my latest tween paranormal novel, it’s been suggested I write a sequel to this book. I hadn’t planned to, but plans do not always turn out the way we expect them to. So, ideas are bouncing around in my head. What could the kids do next? More ghosts? Possibly. Why not? Even a dear writer friend, who has written two popular series, has offered her thoughts. I like them. So, maybe we’ll hear more from Erik and his friends. Maybe not.
One thing I’ve learned about the writing world. “Change” is the normal. And if we as writers want to succeed, we need to be flexible and change with the times. Let’s see. Do I have other novels that the characters are waiting their turn to continue with their stories? Hmm, maybe I should talk to Lizzie or Rebel or Jade or Jennifer. I wonder what they’ll say.
Beverly, I bet your characters are clamoring to tell more stories. Because you are a good listener and a great storyteller, we can look forward to more wonderful books about our favorite characters. Thank you.
Readers, don't forget to leave a comment to be entered to win a copy of her new release,
A PIRATE, A BLOCKADE RUNNER, AND A CAT
Thirteen-year-old Erik Burks’ life is falling apart. When he discovers a lace bra in the glove compartment of his dad’s car, his mom leaves his father and drags Erik from being king of the hill in Texas to the bottom of the pits in South Carolina. No Dad, no baseball, no friends, just Starry Knight (a girl who reads minds) and her equally weird brother, Stormy, the twins that live down the block.
Just when Erik thinks life can’t get any worse, while hanging out at the beach one evening, he and the twins notice lights radiating from the lighthouse. The only problem is the lighthouse was deactivated years ago. Stranger still, a ship materializes in the moonlit harbor. Curious, the twins and a reluctant Erik investigate and discover the ghost of a blockade runner, a phantom cat, and a pirate who prowls Charleston Harbor, all searching for rest.
A former nonbeliever in the existence of ghosts, Erik cannot deny the proof before him. And he has a revelation: The ghosts may be the answer to his desire to return home. Erik soon makes a deal with the ghosts. He’ll help them find what they’re looking for so their spirits can rest in peace. In return, the ghosts will scare Erik’s mother so she’ll be on the next flight back to Texas. Star thinks his plan stinks, but Erik wants his life back, even at the cost of his mother’s sanity.
“Have you seen the lights?” Star asked.
On the day we met she told me to call her Star or Starry. Either way she was from outer space. I glanced over my shoulder at the football field length of tall grass separating the beach from the nearest houses.
“You mean those?” I pointed at the hazy glow around a street lamp. “What’s the big deal?”
“Not those. Over there.” Star tipped her head in the direction of the water. “Look.”
“I’m looking. I’m looking.” Why was she so excited? All I saw was a faint beam of light floating across the inlet. “So? It’s a reflection of the moon.”
Star shook her head. “No moon tonight.”
She was right. Yet stars (the heavenly kind, not the girl) glittered between the layers of gathering clouds. “Okay, it’s only the starlight.”
“The light comes from the lighthouse,” Star said.
“You can see it blink on and off,” Storm added.
Morris Island Lighthouse stood several hundred yards into the water. According to Mom, who was big on history, the water was land during the Civil War. Over the years the sea had eroded the shore and water now surrounded the lighthouse. I couldn’t deny the yellow glow flowing from the top of the building. I couldn’t explain it either.
“Impossible. Mom said the lighthouse has been out of commission for years. The lantern was removed. Sullivan’s Island Lighthouse across Charleston Harbor replaced it.”
“Then tell us what it is, Erik,” Star said. “You see it. Storm and I see it. This isn’t the first time, either. On cloudy, rainy nights the light flashes on.”
“It’s not raining,” I said.
“It is raining.”
Star had barely said the words when a gust of wind whipped across the beach. Sand spiraled like a Texas dust devil. Something wet slapped me on the nose. Several somethings wet—raindrops. The space girl predicted the weather. So what? Dark clouds usually brought rain. “Yeah, it’s raining.” Under my breath I mumbled, “And I’m getting wet.”
In a lame attempt to pep me up about my new home, Mom had promised many adventures waited for me in Charleston. Adventures? Yeah. If you called ocean waves slurping against the shore and neighbors with two grains of sand each for brains adventures, I was up to my wet nose in adventures.
The twins stared into the gloomy night, watching the light fading into a dim sliver.
The rain seeped into my T-shirt, gluing it to my skin. Lightning raced across the sky. I shivered. I’d had enough.
I shook Stormy’s shoulder. He kept his eyes focused across the inlet. Star didn’t budge. They could drown if they wanted. I was outta there. I jumped to my feet, turned, and took one step, before Star snagged my ankle.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“Home, before I turn into a duck with webbed feet,” I yelled above the whistling wind and growling thunder.
She freed my ankle and stood. Raindrops plastered her carrot-red hair against her face.
“Besides the light, we’ve seen a ship, Erik. It always comes during bad weather.”
Stormy sprang up. “We think someone in the lighthouse is warning the ships.”
“Who? How? They can’t.”
When Beverly Stowe McClure was a child she hated to read. Even though her eighth grade teacher sent her poem “Stars” to the National High School Poetry Association, and it was published in Young America Sings, an anthology of Texas high school poetry, she hated to write. Nevertheless, she managed to squeak through high school, where she played the clarinet in the band and was a majorette, and graduated.
Then she got married, had three sons (one an angel in heaven), and attended Midwestern State University, where she read more books than she had ever imagined. What was she thinking? Finally, she graduated cum laude with a teaching certificate and had a fourth son. She taught children in elementary school for twenty-two years. And along the way she discovered that reading was fun and writing was even more exciting. Forty years after her poem was published, she sent an article on fire safety in the home to Happiness magazine, and it was published. She was on her way.
Beverly and Jack have five granddaughters (one also an angel in heaven), two grandsons, two great-grandsons, and one great-granddaughter. They live in the country, with two cats that adopted them and a variety of wild critters that stop by for a visit. To relax Beverly plays the piano, enjoys discovering ancestors in her genealogy research, and takes pictures of wildlife and clouds and sometimes people. She teaches a woman’s Sunday school class. And she writes most every day.
Find Beverly on line at these links.