What's in an Ending?

Some of us write in a kind of stream of consciousness way. Some of us plot. Some of us outline. Some of us have an idea that writes itself.

We all must find a way of coming to an end: one that is appropriate, comes at the right time, is both logical and emotional so that the reader puts the book down with a feeling of satisfaction.

None of us want to hear that our ending was disappointing, unless that disappointment is because they wanted the story to go on and on.

One of the most iconic endings was written in a novel published on June 30, 1936 and very quickly became the most quoted ending for decades to come at the end of a novel 1037 pages long.

“After all, tomorrow is another day.” (Gone with the Wind)

This is the only ending completely suitable for this book, because the readers know this heroine very, very well and are assured that yes, one day, she will get him back.

However, this open, promissory ending has the drawback of inviting others to continue the story to suit their own wishes. The Margaret Mitchell Trust has only ever authorized one sequel, Rhett’s People, but all potential sequels pale in comparison to MM’s achievement.

Many of the best endings are in the classics, both modern and ancients. Here is the ending of one of my favorite books by American author, Anne Tyler:

“…She was frantically waving down taxis—first the one ahead, then Macon’s own. ‘Arrêtez!’ Macon dried to the driver. The taxi lurched to a halt. A sudden flash of sunlight hit the windshield, and spangles flew across the glass. The spangles were old water spots, or maybe the markings of leaves, but for a moment Macon thought they were something else. They were so bright and festive, for a moment he thought they were confetti.” (The Accidental Tourist)

And the ending by a much-acclaimed author, Gabriel Garcia Márquez:

“Florentino Ariza had kept his answer ready for fifty-three years, seven months, and eleven days and nights.

“‘Forever,’ he said.” (Love in the Time of Cholera)

Some endings intentionally leave you wanting more, particularly if they are part of a series but cliff-hanger ending are best left to chapters in a single book, not a series that requires a purchase—being left in the lurch or forced to buy is not necessarily pleasant.

As in Gone with the Wind, a novel that ends leaving us wanting the story to go on can lead to “fan fiction.” Whether that is a good thing is a matter of personal choice and taste.

If for any reason, an ending cannot be found that is satisfactory, some writers (and script writers as well) used the epilogue. Like the prologue, the epilogue serves a purpose—the device can cut off any further speculation in the same way that a prologue sets the stage before the story begins. These address backstory and closure but, as Elmore Leonard said,

“Avoid prologues.” (10 Rules of Writing)

I extend that admonition to ‘Avoid epilogues’ as well. If we’re writing a series (or think a book may become a series), an ending can keep that door open as well as close the chapter on that particular story without leaving us with the sensation something is missing.

Or an ending, a final sentence or paragraph

·      Ties everything up

·      Brings all the pieces together

·      Clears up the mystery

·      Identifies the culprit

·      Puts all characters at peace

·      Or leaves all possibilities on the table.

Although the total of the reading experience is the ultimate determinant, we still want the final word to linger and resonate, not as an ending, a finality, but as a promise of forever, hope.

The End. Or is it?

When we come to the end of a novel, film or trip, we are sometimes left with a feeling of loss or emptiness. Playwright, Eugene O'Neill, faced criticism for the ambiguous endings of his dramas. His response was to say that life sometimes ends on a comma.

First Edition Cover via wikipedia.org

Some endings can be frustrating, leading to endless speculation (pun intended :-D) and the result of that can be fan fiction, such as for Gone with the Wind, the ending of which led us to hope Margaret Mitchell intended a sequel. Or Twilight, that resulted in thousands of fellow travelers in the vampire sub genre, as well as other genre fiction. 

A drunken driver put an end to any hope of a sequel to Gone with the Wind and gave rise to many Gone with the Wind wannabes such as Scarlett and Rhett's People — neither of which have engendered the reader response of the iconic achievement of Margaret Mitchell. Her life ended on a comma as did Scarlett O'Hara's story. 

We know from our experience of the novel and her character  when Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler says “After all, tomorrow is another day” she will rise from this defeat. We do not have to know the details; we can imagine how she will get Rhett back once she has time to think at Tara.

Margaret Mitchell finished her tale. The lesson we gain and the conclusions we draw from reading Gone with the Wind are for us to discern. 

via wikipedia.org

Some of my favorite last lines of beloved novels have the same ambiguity, intentional or unintentional. 

For instance, at the end of The Accidental Tourist, Anne Tyler leaves us with: “The spangles were old water spots, or maybe the markings of leaves, but for a moment Macon thought they were something else. They were so bright and festive, for a moment he thought they were confetti.” 

This symbolizes a significant change in Macon's outlook on life and is the beginning, rather than the end, of his transformation. It is satisfying because, as in Scarlett's last words, we know the future will be different.

At the end of the novel Salsa Dancing with Pterodactyls, Emily Gitano tells her doubtful husband, “I also know whatever comes, David, we’ll handle it, all of us, but right now, I can’t think of anything better than telling your tenant to rent us that house for the weekend and watching you remove the door of that amazing shower and using tools to do it.”
    “I’d rather make a soufflé.” 

David has never used tools in his life, but he has learned to cook, a step toward his domestication from the predator Emily has come to depend upon, a sign he is willing to admit he is neither invincible nor alone. 

via Amazon

In her inspirational novel, Borrowed Light, Carla Kelly's heroine, Julia Darling, comes to terms with her future when she says to herself, “I came to cook... cherishing a little girl in the snow, whose parents had stuffed scraps of scriptures in her shoes to keep her feet from freezing. Thanks to you, Mary Anne Hickman, I came to stay.” 

This novel does have a sequel, Enduring Light, which I intend to read, if only to enjoy the company of the hero, Paul Otto. Even so, this book is sufficient in itself, because Julia's journey is complete.

With Wait a Lonely Lifetime, I chose to end on some ambiguity, but with a positive note: “Sylviana ducked her head to look up into his glistening blue eyes, surprised to see that magic-place, world-of-wonder smile jump out of his soul. 'Nothing a meat locker of ice won't fix, ma'am.'” 

I've been asked to write a sequel, to take Sylviana and Eric through the first years of their marriage, but for me and most readers who have read this novel, my characters have crossed their barriers and come to terms with the difficulties that raising teenage stepdaughters and marriage at a distance will bring in their future. 

Tying up all the loose ends of a story can be a tricky proposition. One of my favorite answers to this decision-making process comes from John Gould's foreword to Up Here in Maine by Gerald E. Lewis: “Gerry was after the usual fatherly advice about publishing a book. I told him what I tell anybody, and have often, that litt-ree consummation comes when the pile is big enough and you send it to a publisher.”