Every Story Must End

This is the first in a two-part series on endings. Read Part Two here.
==

Every story needs to have an ending.

I don’t mean the simple fact of there being no more words—the fact of the last page. I mean the story itself has to come to a conclusion.

This seems self-evident, but endings can be hard.

“Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible. You try to tie up every loose end, but you never can. The fans are always gonna bitch. There’s always gonna be holes. And since it’s the ending, it’s all supposed to add up to something. I’m telling you, they’re a raging pain in the ass.”
— Chuck Shurley, Supernatural, Season Five: Swan Song

Yes, I am a fan of the show, so my rant about endings will start here, but this isn’t about one show or one particular storyline. I think this is an excellent example of the dilemma writers find themselves in—how to wrap everything up.

In order to address this question of how, first we need to examine what endings do. Why do we need an ending? What makes a good ending (serial or otherwise)? And what happens when you don’t give your story—or your readers—the ending it/they deserve?

There’s a special subcategory of ending relating to sequels. I’ll get to your story’s Big Question and the Lure of the Sequel in a follow-up post, but first, let’s look at what an ending does for your story.

Satisfying is not the same as closure

One of the primary questions I ask when I am doing a developmental edit or a manuscript evaluation is this one: Is the ending satisfying?

“Having an ending” is not to be confused with “no more writing.” You could stop your writing at any point in the book…that doesn’t mean your story has an ending.

Closure is when you wrap every plot point or narrative segment. You’ve addressed every issue; there are no loose threads.

Satisfying is an emotional/psychological state. We come to an emotional resting point—even if some (or many!) questions remain open and outcomes unclear.

What does Supernatural have to tell us about endings and closure?

The show’s creator and principal writer for five years, Eric Kripke, planned from the beginning for the show to run five seasons. Period. “Swan Song” was originally meant to be a series finale. And from viewer comments, you can tell that’s how the story landed for them, too. “I could have totally seen the show ending here,” one commenter says.

“Swan Song” was emotionally satisfying. It remains the show’s highest-rated single episode, achieving a nearly perfect 10 average across more than 9,000 reviews on IMDB. Fans LOVE it. They were gutted—in the best possible way.

The episode did not, however, tie up every plot line or subtext with a neat bow. There’s still plenty to wonder about what happens to the characters next.

The show left room for the story to continue…although it didn’t have to. Whether or not you want to create any sequels, your story should emotionally satisfy.

Endings shape the reading experience

While “Swan Song” was meant to be a series finale—spoiler!—Supernatural went on to run for TEN MORE SEASONS. Kripke left after five, as he’d planned. But the show continued. And fans have argued about whether this was a good thing ever since.

The fact is, subsequent seasons (or chapters, or sequels) “ruin” (read: “change how readers feel about”) the story.

Characters continue to change and grow—sometimes in directions we like (Garth, Jody Mills), sometimes in directions that make them weaker (Crowley, assorted angels).

Events that happen later cast earlier happenings in a new light.

The ending gives readers information on how to interpret everything that came before. End wisely.

I confess, Supernatural created some good material in the seasons after Five. Several of my favorite comic episodes appear in Season Six (“Weekend at Bobby’s,” “Clap Your Hands If You Believe”). And one of my favorite characters, Charlie Bradbury, doesn’t make an appearance until Season Seven.

But this later material does change how I (the “reader”) view the “whole” story.

Endings help you write your story

Beyond the somewhat ineffable story-internal usefulness of endings, they serve a great practical purpose.

If you know where your story lands, you quickly learn the important events that need to happen (or which you need to include) along the way.

As the writer, knowing the ending gives you clues about how to build your story.

If you know you’re going to end with an epic showdown between Good and Evil in the form of humanity versus Lucifer, we have to both believe that the battle is tilted in favor of Lucifer, and yet somehow, there is a chance for humanity to succeed.

If you move beyond Lucifer as the ultimate or singular Evil entity, then we need to catch sight of that before you get to the end. (And you need to give yourself room to one-up the stakes.)

Kripke knew where he was going in Seasons One through Five. Despite some standout material in later seasons, occasionally the show did—pardon the pun—lose the plot.

Bottom Line

Stories need endings the way a car needs a chassis or Jell-O needs a mold—this is what gives them shape. The shape in turn helps you (the writer) decide on features and details, and gives your reader the context to interpret what they read. If you satisfy the psychological and emotional needs of your audience, they’ll follow you anywhere…

… including into your sequel.

But your story does need to land before it takes off again.

(To Be Continued…)

==

Want to talk about how and where to end your story? A book structure intensive may be just the thing.

Subscribe to the monthly newsletter & receive instant access to How to Find an Editor: a Resource for Independent and Self-Publishing Writers, plus all blogs delivered straight to your inbox, plus any upcoming local events and indie publishing tidbits I share.