For some years, I’ve been writing the Frontier Trilogy. By writing, I mean first, second, third draft, submission, acceptance, editing, editing, editing (I could keep typing that one), and then proofreading it.
Now that the series is complete and has been released, it all feels a bit weird.
It’s not like I haven’t been writing other things as well over the same period – I have. I’ve completed a fantasy novel, written half a sequel, and have finished two thirds of a first draft of another science fiction novel. I’ve also written quite a number of short stories, and multiple blog posts.
I had always intended to only write three Frontier books – that is, after I realised that the story was longer than one book – and I always knew where it was meant to end. Or so I thought.
Ever since Frontier Defiant has been proofread and submitted, I’ve had more of the story suddenly begin to percolate away inside my head. I’m not sure whether this is a good or bad thing right now, as I really want to finish the fantasy series. (Mind you, it doesn’t have a publisher at this point!) In fact, I’m torn.
I think that I’m now so familiar with the world of Frontier and its people, that my brain keeps saying things like: What about character X? Has her story actually finished? Are you sure – what if such and such happened? Because, you know it will, don’t you? It couldn’t possibly just finish there – think about the mayhem! Think about what you’ve just set up! There’s so much about to happen on Frontier, not to mention the rest of the galaxy!
Anyway, that’s possibly way too much insight to the inside of my head right now. As I wrote that, the questions kept falling out of my fingertips onto the blog page and multiplying. So you can see my dilemma. I’m now wondering if I should answer some of those questions, or at least address them.
Of course, we’ve all read the author who should have stopped and didn’t. I don’t want to be that author, either.
Or maybe it’s just because I love my starcats and don’t want to let them go. Let’s face it, who can resist a hundred kilos of purring, glowing, love, parked on the end of the bed?