Beyond Nornö: Adventures in Writing a Sequel

My new novel—coming this Fall!

I couldn’t wait to unveil the cover of my new novel, Nornöns Eko! I love everything about it—the image of a young woman leisurely floating on her back, the title, the font… A book cover conveys so much, and I wanted this one to catch your attention and signal that my story was moving in a new direction.

However, when Sommaren på Nornö was published, I never imagined I would write a sequel. Nornöns Eko can most definitely be read as a standalone novel, but I rely on the main characters from the first book to drive this new storyline forward. Still, while I had the creative freedom to explore new territory, the endeavor presented me with some technical and literary challenges.

One of the first difficulties I encountered was realizing that I was unintentionally boxed in by details I had introduced in the first novel—details that I now had to honor. Zoë Holmgren’s father, JG Latour, for example, lived in Miami, meaning much of the sequel needed to unfold there. This geographic shift necessitated a crash course in Miami neighborhoods, landmarks, and restaurants, along with a research trip to capture the city’s vibe firsthand. But as I got to know Miami better, it was almost as though I could see Zoë walking its streets and taking in the rhythm of life around her.

JG also had two Haitian parents and three sisters (with seven children between them). What began as passing references now required me to develop an entire extended family, ensuring each character had a distinct identity. But the deeper I dove into their personalities, the less daunting it became. In fact, their existence heightened the drama, creating space for cultural clashes and complicated family dynamics.

Another limitation I hadn’t anticipated was the timeline. Sommaren på Nornö was intentionally set in 2019 to avoid including the pandemic. However, the sequel unfolds two years later, meaning I had to acknowledge real-world events and pick up the narrative after that period. At first, this felt like a restriction, but in hindsight, the pandemic created a natural pause—an opportunity to explore how my characters had changed during those lost years. Their experiences reflected a shared ordeal, so the fear, isolation, and uncertainty would resonate with readers.

I also learned to stretch my imagination in unexpected ways. Rather than play it safe with beloved characters, I challenged myself to present them from a different angle. I love reading about flawed and messy characters, yet I sometimes instinctively want to make mine likable. This time, I leaned into their questionable traits and uncomfortable choices because that’s reality. It was both liberating and necessary to let my characters make mistakes, struggle, and evolve in ways that felt authentic.

Writing a sequel also forced me to think about balance—between consistency and growth, the familiar and the unexpected. Readers return for established characters and enduring themes, but a sequel must introduce new issues and obstacles. It should build upon what came before without simply repeating it. At the same time, I had to consider whether the book should stand alone or lean heavily on its predecessor. I wanted new readers to enjoy Nornöns Eko without feeling lost, but I also wanted to reward returning readers with more intricate layers of the story.

Finding the right amount of exposition was one of the trickiest parts. Too much, and the narrative slows down with unnecessary backstory; too little, and new readers might struggle to understand the stakes. I had to weave past events into the story organically—through dialogue, flashbacks, and subtle references—rather than relying on long stretches of explanation. Through multiple revisions, I aimed to create an environment where both returning and first-time readers could immerse themselves fully in the world of the novel.

Perhaps the biggest lesson was understanding the raison d’être of this sequel. It had to propel the story in a meaningful way, not just exist for the sake of continuation. Many readers assumed the suggestive ending of Sommaren på Nornö hinted at a sequel. I thought I was being artsy with my vagueness—haha—but their feedback inspired me to be bolder, unleashing a wave of new ideas. The stakes had to be bigger, more personal, and timely. Nevertheless, I needed to respect reader expectations—some crave more of what they liked, while others want to be surprised—and maintain the emotional core of the narrative. I think finding that sweet spot is the essence of writing a sequel.

Though some days were more difficult than others, I embraced the process, knowing it was essential for my growth as a writer. I learned to shape plot points with greater intention, think more expansively, and trust my instincts. What once felt impossible became all-consuming. More than anything, I fell in love with my characters all over again. They felt like old friends, and I became deeply invested in their lives and possibilities. So, readers, I hope you will be too!

On Being a Black Author in Sweden

Around the time Sommaren på Nornö was published in 2021, Boktugg asked me to recommend five feelgood novels with Black protagonists. I loved this brief—so many books came to mind, stories that had moved me, made me laugh, or stayed with me over the years. But there was a catch: each novel had to be available in Swedish.

I took a broad approach to “feelgood” (more hopeful than overly sentimental) and immediately included Suad Ali’s Dina händer var fulla av liv—one of the most powerful books I’ve ever read. However, as I searched for other homegrown Black Swedish novels within this genre, I had difficulty finding them. So, I turned to Swedish translations of English-language books by beloved authors Terry McMillan, Mike Gayle, Kiley Reid, and Brit Bennett.

This exercise made me realize that I was stepping into the Swedish publishing landscape as something of an outsider. As a Black writer or Afro-Swede (as we’re called here), with a Swedish-language novel featuring Black and Swedish characters, I found myself in a space where stories like mine are still relatively rare. Despite having lived here for over 25 years, raising two biracial children, and holding dual Swedish and American citizenship, the usual pre-publication jitters felt more pronounced, taking on a deeper significance.

Once Sommaren på Nornö was officially released, I breathed a sigh of relief, heartened by the positive reception it received. The novel reached a wide audience, chosen as a summer serial and published in over 40 newspapers nationwide. Readers’ kind messages and meaningful discussions exceeded my expectations and affirmed that stories from diverse perspectives do, indeed, strike a chord.

My novel was published in the wake of 2020, a pivotal year that ignited a global reckoning with race and representation, sparking heightened interest in Black narratives worldwide. This shift created new opportunities for authors like me, but as time has passed, the momentum seems to have waned. While Afro-Swedish memoirs and children’s books have carved out niches in the market, Afro-Swedish fiction titles remain scarce, emerging perhaps once every two or three years. This rarity makes Kayo Mpoyi’s novels all the more impactful, as they enrich the Afro-Swedish literary canon by illuminating themes of family, identity, and migration.

Even proven Afro-Swedish authors face challenges. Despite being a 2024 NAACP Nominee for Outstanding Literary Work, Nigerian-American-Swedish author and travel writer Lola Ákínmádé has yet to see her two bestselling, Sweden-set novels translated into Swedish. Meanwhile, her nonfiction book Lagom is available in over 15 languages—but none of them Nordic. Philadelphia native Kim Golden, a USA Today bestselling author of romantic fiction, has called Sweden home since 1995. Her novels celebrate smart, sexy Black women finding love and fulfillment both at home and abroad—including in Scandinavia. Yet, none of her books have been translated into Swedish. Ákínmádé and Golden's experiences underscore the uphill battle Black authors face in the Swedish publishing industry.

The commercial success of titles from Ali, Mpoyi, Ákínmádé, and Golden is a clear indication of readers’ desire for diverse narratives that reflect the multifaceted experiences of society. Yet, the publishing industry appears hesitant to embrace this demand fully. This reluctance is not confined to Sweden; a 2023 survey revealed that 72.5% of the dominant U.S. publishing industry remains white, emphasizing a systemic lack of diversity that inevitably shapes which stories are told and promoted.

Afro-Swedish hip-hop and R&B thrive in mainstream culture, benefitting from widespread support and exposure, while Afro-Swedish fiction still yearns for the same nurturing and visibility. What accounts for this disparity?

From my perspective, several factors contribute to this situation. Swedish publishers often prioritize established international Black authors with proven track records, viewing them as safer investments for translation into Swedish. In contrast, emerging Afro-Swedish writers without large, established audiences often struggle to be perceived as commercially viable. The historical underrepresentation of Afro-Swedish voices in literature creates a self-perpetuating cycle: publishers perceive limited market interest and are less likely to invest in these stories, which only makes them more scarce. White debut authors, however, are often given more opportunities to break into the market. Access to key literary networks is another roadblock for many Afro-Swedish writers; without connections to key industry players, they find it difficult to secure publishing opportunities.

Additionally, industry biases often champion narratives that align with conventional Swedish cultural norms. Afro-Swedish experiences—frequently exploring themes of marginalization, integration, racism, cultural appropriation, and belonging—are sometimes regarded as subversive or damaging to Sweden’s image as an inclusive and progressive society. In Sommaren på Nornö, I examine some of these issues through the character of Zoë Holmgren. However, I intentionally present a more holistic view of her existence, not only her struggles but also her wins, growth, and resilience. As an Afro-Swedish writer, my goal is to transcend prevailing narratives and tell stories that capture the full breadth of the Black experience—love, friendship, work, and joy—not just the pain, violence, or trauma that is disproportionately portrayed in popular culture.

Since Sweden prides itself on being a color-blind, egalitarian society, the government does not collect official statistics based on race or ethnicity. Instead, it tracks data based on nationality, country of birth, and parental heritage. While this approach can be seen as noble, it inadvertently erases the unique experiences of Afro-Swedes, reinforcing the importance of literature in lifting voices that might otherwise fade into the margins.

Sweden’s demographics are evolving, and projections indicate that the population will reach an estimated 11.16 million by 2040, with roughly an equal split between ethnic Swedes and those with foreign or mixed backgrounds. A more multicultural society not only creates new literary opportunities for Afro-Swedish and other underrepresented writers but also increases the reader base for publishers. One key strategy to meet this potential would be for publishing houses to actively recruit and promote qualified individuals from diverse backgrounds. With a more varied team, the industry can gain broader perspectives and advocate for stories that might otherwise be overlooked. By establishing forums where authors from marginalized groups can connect with publishers, collaboration can flourish. Instead of treating diverse narratives as a fleeting trend, the industry must commit to sustained support, ensuring that all voices have a solid presence.

Furthermore, initiatives like workshops for non-white and immigrant writers can provide guidance on storytelling techniques, navigating the publishing industry, and building author platforms. Mentorship programs that pair emerging writers with experienced authors and industry professionals can offer advice, feedback, and support. In addition, literary events, book launches, and festivals can spotlight multicultural narratives. Traditional and social media can further elevate diverse authors, showcasing their work through interviews, articles, book reviews, podcasts, and digital content.

Click for the link to the Stockholm Writers Festival

Language inclusivity is another effective approach—encouraging writers to create in both Swedish and their native languages broadens readership while preserving cultural heritage. Utilizing AI-driven translation tools could make these works more accessible, integrating them into the national literary conversation.

Fortunately, several organizations and individuals are working to amplify underrepresented voices. Literary magazines such as The Stockholm Review publish poetry and fiction, championing diverse perspectives. The Uppsala Internationella Litteratur Festival, taking place from March 27–29, will provide a space for literary voices from around the world to engage in discussions on identity, migration, and cultural exchange. Multi-hyphenate storyteller Lola Ákínmádé has added to her impressive repertoire and is developing an innovative publishing and author discovery platform sharing diverse stories from the Nordics and beyond. She has launched ATTVARA Foundation to support and facilitate storytelling workshops, author development, and mentoring.

For over a decade, Johanna Lundin has been a prominent figure in the book community. Born and raised in Sweden to a Swedish mother and a Ghanaian father, she developed a keen passion for literature early on. However, she struggled to find books that resembled her own identity and background. “Literature can be both a window and a mirror. I always had a window but never a mirror. We don’t like to talk about race here, so I read Black stories in English,” she explains. Today, Johanna is well-known to book lovers as a reviewer on Go’kväll (SVT) and as a moderator for various author discussions. She is also a strong advocate for a more inclusive publishing world and books that embrace diverse voices and experiences.

Studies indicate that reading fiction is important as it enhances empathy and deepens our understanding of diverse perspectives. It allows readers to step into the lives of others, fostering connection and emotional intelligence. As such, readers can play a crucial role by supporting multicultural writers—buying, reading, listening, discussing, and recommending—signaling to publishers that diverse stories are in demand.

But beyond reading, writing Black fiction—especially as a Black author in Sweden—is, in many ways, a radical act. Despite barriers, we are asserting the power of our imaginations, challenging dominant narratives, and reclaiming space on the page. We are redefining assumptions about whose creativity resonates and broadening the notion of what Swedish literature can be.

One of the greatest compliments I received about Sommaren på Nornö was from a Swedish mother who told me how much her mixed-race daughter appreciated seeing herself represented in the novel. Sweden, the land of Nobel and literature’s most prestigious prize, is uniquely positioned to celebrate the voices of non-white and immigrant communities at home, embodying Toni Morrison’s belief that literature should expand, not limit, the imaginative possibilities of whose stories are told.

TURNING THE PAGE

Happy 2025! We are already halfway through this decade, and it’s amazing how quickly time flies. As I look back on the past five years, I’m filled with gratitude for the experiences and milestones that have shaped me. The publication of Sommaren på Nornö in 2021 marked the beginning of an exciting journey in the Swedish literary world. My daughter graduated from university in 2023 and is working and playing in a bustling metropolis, reminding me of my exhilarating days in the 90s. My son is enjoying his second year of college stateside, and whenever he comes home for breaks, I’m struck by how food shopping and laundry once dominated my life! Empty-nesting has been an adjustment, but my husband and I recently celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary, and the love, bond, and support we share make this phase full of new plans and adventures.

Yet, despite the joy and fulfillment in my personal life, I found myself at a professional crossroads. Books and writing have always been my passion, and having a career as an author has been a dream come true. Therefore, it was with a heavy heart that I parted ways with the publisher of Sommaren på Nornö a year and a half ago. I was super pleased with our collaboration and proud of what the novel had accomplished—selected as a summer serial in over 40 newspapers across Sweden and selling thousands of copies in all formats. We had verbally agreed that I would write a sequel, and after a year, I delivered a completed manuscript. However, months passed without their feedback—despite my multiple attempts at outreach—and I began to doubt their commitment to the project. This lack of clarity and communication was not how I expected our working relationship to be, and the situation eventually became untenable. I ultimately made the difficult decision to move on in order to preserve both my professional and artistic integrity.

My instincts told me I had made the right call, but our “breakup” left me with mixed emotions. I kept wondering what I could have done differently, particularly the importance of securing a signed contract in advance! I felt embarrassed discussing my predicament, afraid of being seen as a failure or overly sensitive. Literary pursuits—reading, writing, blogging—which had once been my haven, became stinging reminders of what I had lost. I became disillusioned with an industry I long revered. To heal, I needed to distance myself from it and shift focus—friends, travel, mentoring—anything to distract me from thinking about my languishing manuscript.

However, with time and reflection, I adopted a more philosophical outlook. I came to believe that these challenges protected me from making choices that would have felt inauthentic. They forced me to confront difficult questions about the kind of author I aspired to be and the collaborators I wanted by my side. I learned to trust the process and have faith that these detours were guiding me toward the right path. I also realized the importance of timing; my book wasn’t meant for the moment I had originally envisioned, prompting me to reassess my goals and priorities.

Once I let go of regrets, my mind opened to different possibilities. I explored new ways to rekindle my passion and reclaim my identity as a writer. Reconnecting with my book was the first step, and I sought the guidance of an independent editor who encouraged me to dig deeper and write without fear. Oftentimes, I felt mentally drained, but the process of revising and refining unlocked creative pathways and brought fresh energy to my manuscript. I also commissioned a Swedish translation and found myself loving the story even more. Svenska språket enriched the narrative, firmly linking the characters and plot to the first book. Although pitching a sequel to new publishers was a hard sell, I developed a more neutral mindset and did not take rejections as personally as I once did. Instead, I began to see them as proof that I was taking risks, putting myself and my work out there. 

As I step into 2025, I am positively buzzing with excitement for the future and sharing Nornö 2.0 with a Swedish audience! Finding valuable lessons in challenging situations wasn't easy or painless, but my transformation—from roadblocks to resilience—restored the power within me and reaffirmed my sense of purpose.

Thank you for reading and your support. I hope your year will be brimming with inspiration, growth, and fulfillment!

All photos by Stefan Anderson.