Bridges Are Essential Architecture

I am going to confess something rather serious with you, Dear Reader:

I’m not the biggest fan of my own book, Heir of Oberon.

Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with it. Quite the opposite, really! It has everything a powerful sequel should have:

• Picks up where we left off in the previous book (Ithandryll)

• Ties a few loose ends together while asking new questions and introducing new problems to continue on through the series

• Weaves in the magic and whimsy of the Otherworld we’ve come to know and love while introducing more of the darker aspects we’re about to encounter head-on

• Ends exactly where it’s supposed to, while promising far more adventure, answers, and awesomeness in the next book

So why can’t I be as deeply in love with this book as much as I was with its prequel?

And why—out of an ARC team of roughly 100 people, not including regular book sales—have only 10-20 people left reviews?

Unlike the marble and moonstone opulence of the palace, the bridge which connected palace grounds to the actual city portion of Baronane was primarily constructed with weathered granite covered in moss and vines and inlaid with cobblestone. The wide arch led pedestrians over a rush of river rapids that crashed over boulders in brilliant shimmers of blue and had to be at least a quarter of a mile wide, if not half.

“The Saphir River,” Meilyssa pointed out to Roxi as they strolled along the cobblestone. “It’s the largest river that runs through Ithandryll, from the northeastern mountains just on the other side of The Borderlands all the way to the western shores.”

Roxi stopped at the apex of the arch to peer over the side. “No sirens here, then?”

Mei snorted. “Not if they want to live. These rapids are deadly. There’s more of them beneath the cliffside.” She pointed at the section of the palace grounds that rose up into a steep cliffside, the apex much higher than the rest of area. “That area used to be used for executions. If the fall didn’t kill you, the rapids definitely did.”

I didn’t expect to come upon a genuine “break” in the story

The original lineup of books for the series were as follows:

• Ithandryll

• Blood of Balor

• Khali Rising

• When the Firebird Sings

And that was it. Four books, maybe a few extra side novellas like The Changeling (or Chandelina; I haven’t settled on an official title yet) and Son of the Sidhe.

The thing is, I’d spent roughly 23 years writing Ithandryll—originally titled Whitewater—and suddenly felt the urge to finish the umpteenth draft, get it edited, and publish the dang thing. I set a deadline, locked myself into it via Kindle Direct Publishing’s preorder setup (more on that later), and allowed no room for excuses.

The deadline for the manuscript came.

I was still several chapters away from the ending.

Where I was, however, in the manuscript happened to be a crucial point where the mic drops on everyone: Roxi discovers a different perspective that changes everything she thought she knew about some of the most horrific aspects of her life, Devon witnesses firsthand the truth behind some of his own most traumatic and heart-shattering moments that have driven every decision he’s made thus far, and everyone else in that room sees and feels a very tangible, visceral, no-going-back-now line being drawn in the sand.

So that’s where I ended Book One.

You know, like a television series season that needs to promise you next season is 1) definitely happening and 2) worth the wait.

It would be fair to compare the gap between the ending of Ithandryll and where I’d wanted to actually end it to a raging rapids churning between me and the other side of the literary river.

Necessary to get through, but challenging enough to require some careful re-mapping and consideration before just diving in head-first without any sort of flotation device.

Like an outline.

Or a vague idea of what to put between the two points.

I fell too hard and too fast for the way-too-understandable “villain”

Surprise, surprise.

But let me clarify something here: this isn’t romantic love I’m talking about.

This is the kind of love that forges itself out of empathy and compassion after discovering why The Bad Guy is doing what they’re doing and completely understanding every microbe of it.

I honestly went into creating Krav with a very specific mental outline (let’s not kid ourselves; I barely actually outline anything ever) for his point, his purpose, and his plot.

But there were aspects that needed to be addressed. Questions to answer.

Like, “What’s his deal?” and ultimately, “What broke him—and when?”

The more I dug into finding those answers, the more I realized how awesome he is. How full of love and passion and empathy he’s been this whole time, and how horribly misplaced his sense of judgment and vindication is.

There’s just one problem…

If everything is going to fall into place like it should, he can’t stick around for it.

I needed “filler”—and every ounce of it suddenly became important

Have you ever read (or maybe watched) an author explain how characters tend to go off the rails and change the plans and sometimes just “show up”?

Yeah.

Quite a few of those happened in Heir of Oberon, and one of them literally shouted at me until I included him on the page and into the scene—which, incidentally, ended up making him a surprisingly important part of the narrative.

“I know who you are.” The puca eyed her hand with pointed suspicion, then tentatively shook it. “Albion Finnicus The Third. You may call me Professor Finn.”

Her brow shot up. “Full name? Really?”

“No. Just the parts I’m willing to give someone who recognizes greatness.”

“Oh for the love of—” Devon rolled his eyes. “Do you actually have anything to offer by way of information? Or are you just here to yell at us?”

This is where “bridge building” begins, and why it’s so important in a fantasy series

This is also where I, the award-winning author who’s been at it for a while, learned something in terms of perspective that changed how I viewed this unplanned novel.

I’d mildly (eh) complained about my disappointment in the performance of this book—and my disappointment in my own lackluster joy over creating it, publishing it, and generally just doing it, compared to how exuberant I was over Ithandryll—to a friend who’s one of those people with incredible insights into everything.

 “Your disappointment and feeling of it being ‘filler’ is completely valid,” she gently told me. “This book was meant to feel like a bridge because it IS a bridge, but bridges are essential architecture.”

I don’t know why that slammed into me with such resonating truth…but it did.

Every piece of “filler” information, every scene created just to fluff up chapters and word count goals, every sacrifice of something or someone I’d grown attached to, became bricks and stones in the bridge needed to cover the river of internal lore between where I ended Ithandryll and where I needed to end Heir of Oberon (which was the originally-intended conclusion for Book One in the first place).

I needed to establish connections far stronger than the simple hints left in the beginning.

I needed to illustrate more of the beauty of the Otherworld’s various regions and inhabitants who have very little to do with the inner machinations of the capital city’s politics—yet everything to do with what’s around the corner.

I needed—and my primary cast of characters needed—space to process the tragedies and trauma of Book One in order to brace for everything coming in Book Three.

In so many ways, I needed to simply stand on that bridge next to Meilyssa, Michael, and Roxi, listening to the roar of the churning water below while gazing up at the harrowing cliffside of the past.

My friend went on to explain that in terms of reviews (and why there’s so few), there exists a good chance that readers are simply standing on that bridge as well, waiting for the next book while they process the emotional and psychological journey of the last two.

Honestly? She’s probably right.

And after all was said and done, and published…

I realized that the bridge didn’t land where Heir of Oberonends.

The bridge lands where Queen of Night begins.