In stories, there is something called setting; in science fiction and fantasy we call this worldbuilding—because we do more and feel we deserve a word with more letters. If you ask most invented-world authors they’ll tell you that a fraction of what they build makes it into their novels. In order to give the illusion of reality, that there is more to the world—that it bleeds out of the frame like a proper photograph—writers go overboard. People, places, legends, creatures, and economic systems are crafted with the same meticulous care as the backdrop to a move scene that lasts seconds and is ultimately left on the edit room floor.



I personally built more than ten thousand years of global history to support a story that encompassed only four years. Kingdoms rose, wars raged, reality became legend and then myth, and many things were just forgotten. After spending years building such a grand stage, it should be understandable that authors are not eager to abandon their creations, and why never-ending series, or sequels, are so commonplace.



Also if a series is doing well; if it has earned out its advance, has its own television show, or con event, publishers as well as readers expect more. Demand demands supply. Secretly I think this is why there’s more than one Hawaiian island.



For most authors this isn’t a problem. Sequel after sequel is churned out until Fonzie jumps the shark in his leather; Archie is alone running a bar, and Fox Mulder leaves the X-Files. I don’t know of any book series that has gone that far, (written characters can’t get fed up with the lack of creativity or ask for more money) but I have confidence we’ll get there. I, however, have a completely different issue. My series ended.

I was six books and out. Orbit published all of them in less than three months, and before the last one hit the streets I had requests for more. I was baffled. Rhett Butler hadn’t just walked off leaving Scarlett to declare tomorrow was another day, the series had a very conclusive ending. Short of having the whole world swallow itself out of existence, I’m not sure I could have sewn things up any tighter.



Readers disagreed. What about the Ghazel problem in Delgos? What about human-elven relations? What about Calis? What about the amulet in the Bernum? What about children? Someone has to have babies! That last one came more from budding fan-fic authors, but really these were all excuses, all thinly veiled rationalizations masking what they actually wanted—more Royce and Hadrian. Readers of the Riyria Revelations wanted their friends back.



Be that as it may, I won’t force Royce to waterski with his hood on. The cloaked duo deserve their retirement just as much as Sam and Mr. Frodo. (And no, there has never been a secret meeting where Royce and Hadrian where they used that argument to secure their chance to do low budget artsy short stories and avant-garde novellas. That’s just a terrible rumor that no one has managed to prove.) Still I thought there might be another way.



Instead of a contrived sequel that would ruin the eloquence of the series close, I could do a prequel. Royce and Hadrian worked together for twelve unaccounted for years, years ripe with intrigue and action. If the Riyria Revelations series is the full length movie, the Riyria Chronicles is the television series based on the movie. The great part is that amazingly we got the all the same actors, writers and director to produce it. (About now, someone skimming this is thinking Riyria just got its own TV show.)