Today I want to talk about endings.
Usually I love approaching the end of a draft. Mostly because it means the thing is nearly (finally!) done, but mostly because endings tend to be easy for me. The climax of stakes and emotions, the loose threads coming together, the denouncement…. Words typically pour out of me in a rush at this stage.
At least until recently.
I really struggled with the ending of my CABIN draft. I got there, but it was arduous and ugly, and I didn’t feel as confident in the project as I usually do after typing The End.
I put the book away for a bit, reread it, and thought, Okay, this is not nearly as bad as I first thought.1 Phew! I sent the book off to beta readers.
But within a few days, the doubts were creeping back in. Something wasn’t quite right with the end of my book, I just couldn’t put my finger on what. I anxiously awaited feedback from my readers.
My good friend Susan Dennard was the first to come back with notes. She too had issues with the ending. Overall, she loved the book. She had some minor suggestions to strengthen subplots and emotions through the middle, but the ending… It wasn’t working for her.
“You wrote too much,” she said. “You wrote past the ending. The book actually ends when [redacted for spoilers] happens.”
She was completely right.
The beat Sooz mentioned was the true climax of the story. All the stakes came to a head there, with the main character’s goal on the chopping block. It was the do or die moment. And once I got through that moment and resolved the tension, I should have typed The End. Instead, I introduced a new goal and spent another 10K trying to wrap it all up.
But the hero’s goal can change before a book ends, you might say. And yes, it absolutely can, especially when the hero discovers new information. But goals tend to evolve more than they truly change in fiction. In most cases, the hero’s various goals push them toward one want, one thing, one desire that they are chasing.
Examples:
In The Hunger Games, Katniss’s goal evolves from 1) Save Prim to 2) Survive the games to 3) Win with Peeta, all of which helps her achieve her main want/desire: Protect and provide for her family
In Toy Story, Woody’s goal evolves from 1) Get rid of Buzz to 2) Get back to Andy to 3) Escape Sid, all of which helps him achieve his main want/desire: Be a valued toy to his owner
In my own Vengeance Road, Kate’s goal evolves from 1) Find out who murdered her father to 2) Steal back her dad’s journal to 3) Kill every member of the Rose Rider gang, all of which helps her achieve her main want/desire: Avenge her father’s death.
Once these characters get their want/desire, the stories don’t introduce entirely new goals. No, once the heroes succeed, the stories end.
Sure the characters have to undergo some growth in order to be able to succeed, but this emotional journey (character arc) is usually completed before or during the climax.2 Then, once they get what they want, the physical journey (plot) is also over. The denouncement begins, and the novel can conclude.
The trouble with CABIN’s false ending was that I did all this—the hero grew, she achieved her goal—but I then wrote another 10K in which I introduced a completely new want, with new problems, new stakes, new goals, and new opportunities for character growth.
“This is a potential sequel,” Sooz said about my false ending. “If you’re going to write it, give it the time it deserves. But right now you’re trying to cram another book into the last 10% of the novel.”
She then apologized for not having better news, and I told her to not apologize. This was incredibly helpful, and now that she’d pointed it out, the issue was so clear, so obvious! I completely agreed with her notes and eagerly jumped into revisions.
As I worked, I found myself wondering why on earth I had tried to introduce all these new problems, goals, and character arcs so late in the novel. What was I thinking? How had I not noticed that I’d gone past the ending? I’d written enough books to know the general shape of a story, so why was I unable to see this very obvious error?
The short answer? I was treating my outline like law.
The true ending—the moment Sooz suggested stopping on—felt too soon when I originally plotted out the novel. Back then, I was merely brainstorming in a notebook. I hadn’t written a word yet, and needing more plot felt like the right decision at the time. So I kept outlining.
But once I finally got to drafting, I was so married to my original outline, that I couldn’t see anything else. I failed to realize when I’d wrapped up the main conflict and completed my character’s arc. I powered on, making sure to hit every beat outlined in my notebook.
No wonder the last 10K of the novel were such a pain to write!
Unsurprisingly, the moment that Sooz pinpointed as the actual ending? The 10K leading up to that moment had poured out of me. And of course it did. It was the natural culmination of all the stakes and tension, the emotional release for the main character, THE END.
Much like last month’s newsletter, the takeaway here is that we writers are often too close to our books to see them clearly. Similarly, we need to remain flexible when we draft. Just because we came up with a plan doesn’t mean that the plan can’t change.
I finished editing my manuscript about two weeks ago. The false ending is gone, replaced with a much stronger climax, denouncement, and closing image. When I sent the book to my agent for her review, I felt confident in a way I hadn’t just a few weeks earlier.
Granted, I’m still anxious to hear my agent’s feedback. I hope she likes it, and I hope we can take it out on sub soon. I’d very much love for this story to be my next published novel.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Publishing is slow and uncertain. One thing at a time.
For now, I’ll get back to brainstorming a new book idea.3 And when I inevitably get around to writing this new idea, I will be sure to remind myself that the outline can change. It’s not written in stone. If it doesn’t feel right, I don’t have to stick to it. And you don’t have to stick to yours either. When your well-laid plans no longer work, change them. Throw out that part of the outline. Imagine a new one. You’re the writer after all. You’re in charge of what happens next.
Until next time,
Erin Bowman is the critically acclaimed author of numerous books for children and teens, including the Taken Trilogy, Vengeance Road, Retribution Rails, the Edgar Award-nominated Contagion duology, The Girl and the Witch’s Garden, and Dustborn. A web designer turned author, Erin has always been invested in telling stories—both visually and with words. Erin lives in New Hampshire with her husband and children.
I talked about the perks of stepping away from our books aside last month.
For more on the want v need dynamic, see this post: Your hero has to be wrong.
This is how I try to distract myself while I wait for my agent’s editorial notes.
Erin, this advice is so golden. Thank you so much. I spend so much time thinking about my stories rather than writing them. Writing becomes dictation to a certain degree.
This is great. Reminds me a lot of a quote from the TV show “Legends of Tomorrow.”
“Make the plan, execute the plan, expect the plan to go off the rails... Throw away the plan.”