Can't stop, won't stop

The excruciation of writing endings

No pressure, but the ending can make or break a story.

For weeks, I’ve been driving toward the end of a first draft of my third novel. Each week I promised my critique group that “the end was near.” And for several weeks in a row, I failed to follow through.

Because just when I felt the conclusion awaiting me around the next turn, I kept writing and writing, prolonging the end.

I remember coming to the end of my first novel, The Pearl Farmers, on a boring weekend afternoon, a little unexpectedly. The ending was everything I’d dreamed it would be: transcendent and transformational without being too neat or unrealistic; inevitable in retrospect yet surprising in the moment. It didn’t feel like an ending at all—rather, a natural resting place where the story exhaled and trusted the reader to imagine what came next.

No matter how many times I rewrote The Pearl Farmers, my ending remained the same. Because to me, it was perfect.

The heat is on

So imagine the pressure for all future projects: I believe I must stick the landing flawlessly.

And for good reason. An exquisite ending can make readers forgive a writer for a story’s many other imperfections. They remember the ending most of all. And a story that goes off the rails toward the end can mar an otherwise perfect piece. How many times have I finished a book, movie, or TV series and turned up my nose because the ending was atrocious? (In the case of the TV show Lost, I’ve never forgiven the show-runners for wasting six seasons of my life!)

Plus, the majority of the time, the ending is the part I have the most difficulty figuring out: the part I rewrite multiple times, only to still not succeed at. It’s no wonder I procrastinate on reaching the end—I have performance anxiety! The ending is the resonance that lingers in the air long after the story is over. If not done right, it’s more of a womp womp than a shimmer.

Why is it so haarrdddd?

Endings are hard because they must do a lot of things at once.

Pragmatically, they have to close all the open loops in the plot, gracefully land a satisfying character arc, and resolve open questions.

If that’s not enough, they must perform emotionally. They need to help readers feel like something has shifted in the universe—even if it’s just for a moment, the protagonist’s heart perceives the world differently. The story needs to surprise readers without confusing them.

And it must feel inevitable, as if it couldn’t have ended any other way, even if the reader didn’t see it coming.

One of the reasons I slow down and approach the ending with caution is that I want to discover the truth in the ending. If I’m simply trying to wrap up loose ends and just finish the damn thing (and yes, sometimes that is my truth), I must take my time to pay attention to where the character actually wants to lead me. As short story author Garnett Kilberg Cohen says:

The most authentic endings are often the result of discovering different aspects of your characters and their situations as they develop and change. Enjoy where the writing is taking you. Remarkable endings feel honest and real because of the organic way they came about. Reportedly, when Flannery O’Connor composed the final scene to “Good Country People,” she did not know the Bible salesman was going to steal Hulga’s wooden leg until he did. Nothing beats the pleasure of one of your characters surprising you by making a fitting, yet unanticipated action.

Tips for endings

We spend a lot of time in the writing world talking about beginnings because of their critical importance in hooking readers and getting them to invest in a story. But the ending is harder and even more vital. It’s the moment that’s going to make a reader snap their book closed, sigh deeply, and feel grateful they decided to embark on the journey with you.

Here are a few tips on writing endings from some wise writers:

• Think about your ending throughout the entire writing process. Allow the ending to evolve, but never leave it completely to chance. (Jerry Jenkins)

• Use powerful imagery that resonates with deeper meaning and emotion, and language that suggests what might happen to characters in the future. (Garnett Kilberg Cohen)

• Circle back to elements from your opening, creating a satisfying sense of closure while highlighting how the character has evolved. This works best when the repetition reveals that something has changed. (Vered Neta)

• If you’re stuck, step away and let your mind keep noodling on the problem. The best endings often come when we stop forcing them. (Jerry Jenkins)

• Show transformation, positive or negative. Don’t say that a character has changed; show it through their words or behavior. (Garnett Kilberg Cohen)

• Know when to stop: when the central conflict is resolved, the character arc is complete, and the readers get closure on what truly matters. It’s okay to end the story without resolving every single detail. (Jessica Brody)