Many years ago, I shyly sent the URL of one of the first stories I ever had published - Violent Silence* - to a colleague. He was very nice about it, but said something that took me completely by surprise.
"I want to know what happens next."
The story, at least as I'd written it, was complete in itself. I had no plans for what the characters would do next; the entire premise of the story was to reveal something that was now, well, revealed. It hadn't occurred to me that Garth and Latimer had a "next".
My colleague urged me to consider it, and for a while I tried. However, the only logical direction was for a future story to be the sort of military SF that I have absolutely zero interest in writing (or reading). Garth and Latimer go about their further adventures undocumented.
Over Christmas I - unusually for me - watched a whole series on Netflix. It was Bodies, an 8-part adaptation of the Si Spencer comic of the same name.
[Note: I am going to write about the ending of Bodies here, but - I believe - not in a way that constitutes a spoiler.]
Bodies was delightfully comicbook detective mystery, spanning four separate timelines. I loved it (though I also had to listen to a good friend of mine for around thirty minutes explaining all the reasons it was awful, so your mileage may vary). I loved the way all the disparate threads came together and formed a coherent story, with a satisfying conclusion.
And then - and then - right before the closing credits on the final episode, two things happened. Neither of them really made any sense, and both screamed "setting up for a sequel". I haven't read the comic, but I'd taken it as read there was no second volume (there isn't). The mystery was wrapped up neatly, all the things were explained. Sure, one could take some of the characters and send them on more adventures in the same world, but the fundamental engine of the plot had run its course.
This is, of course, not a new problem. Humans like things that they like: if we enjoyed a film, we want the sequel. This is why franchises are so popular, and why the Harry Potter novels slowly inflated in spine-width as they took over the world.
My first encounter with the issue was watching Highlander as a teenager. Again, the film tells a complete story whose arc finishes, leaving no room for "what happened next". I was completely baffled to find out that there was a Highlander II - and, to be quite honest, I wasn't any less baffled after having seen it. As a friend of mine was fond of saying: Highlander, there should have been only one.
You will observe from this that, even though I couldn't see how a sequel would work, I still watched it. And yes, the attempt to make a story that kept the vibe of the original, while having none of the actual plot-parts still in working order, was a disaster. This was a valuable lesson: when it seems like a sequel is going to be awful, give it a miss. If it turns out to be brilliant, I'm sure someone will let you know.
Mosca Mye (a character from Fly By Night, by Frances Hardinge), says towards the end of the novel: I don’t want a happy ending, I want more story. Of course she does. We all want more story. But the key is in not wanting the ending. Once you've had the ending, you don't get to have more story.
Highlander, Bodies, my own Violent Silence - they all ended. Although in each case some characters survived, writing "what happened next" would either be quite dull - MacLeod gets married, settles down, and enjoys a nice domestic life - or require something completely new to drive the story forward. And if it's completely new, it may well not contain any of what delighted people in the first instalment.
The Radio Times described it as "disappointing news" when Bodies' director appeared to play down the idea of a second series. I don't. I think I'd find it more disappointing if he were planning one; declining it, letting the original story stand by itself, would be a brave and admirable choice.
Success doesn't have to mean a sequel. We, as consumers, don't have to howl for more, and demand to know what happens next. Some things are complete in and of themselves, and let's let them be that way.
* At the time of posting, the story was free-to-read online. However, since then the magazine has taken the decision to remove all past issues from their website. You can still read Violent Silence by purchasing an e-book or p-book copy of Issue 38 of Luna Station Quarterly (available from Amazon, or from all kinds of other retailers).