Will this day never end?!

I looked forward to the Eleventh Hour lectures every day. I called them the Elevenses because each presentation refreshed me, like an English morning cuppa.

Amber Dermont lectured on endings. She made the point that we must consider the structure—where does my story conclude?—and the existential question—when is my story done and how does it end? Addressing the existential, “writerly” stories wrap up the narrative in a satisfying conclusion for you, but “readerly” stories invite you in to contribute to the ending.

For example, in Andrew Porter’s short story “Skin” Chloe’s moist hands and mussed hair are telling details about her state of mind as she confesses something shattering to her husband. At the end, the reader is left to guess what she told him. Porter gives us clues, so we have choices to make.

My own thought is that you, the writer, should know how your story ends when you sit down to write, but don’t be surprised if your characters highjack your ending and make up one of their own.

Tidbits for Short Story Writers

In the beginning engage people and immerse them in your story immediately. Raise questions. Like dangling a toy mouse on a string in front of a cat, you are promising an adventure.

Use sensory detail to ground your reader in the world of the story. How does the temperature outside or the light in the room affect the mood of the story. What does the landscape symbolize? Your setting is never arbitrary.

Satisfying endings may surprise us, but they must be plausible. Author Mark Pourier warned us about “barely there,” endings that don’t work. Sudden realizations must never be forced. Don’t skip time to make your ending work. Amber shared different concepts about endings: Margaret Atwood’s take that every ending is a form of loss because all life ends in death and the story is what happens in between; Julian Barnes perspective that the beginning should give away the ending, and the ending should recall the beginning and add something new, an insight.

An ending should leave the reader with a feeling. Postmodern endings that resist closure risk being “barely there.” For example, in Carolyn Ziel’s story “Breathing In Phoenix,” about a failed relationship, I thought her last sentence, “I wonder if anyone can anyone breathe in Phoenix.” was clever, but tacked on to create ambiguity. I felt confused.

Stuck for an ending? Back your protagonist into a corner and see what he does; throw obstacles in her path and watch her figure out how to deal with them.

Next up, Iowa Part III Do you know what Transmedia Storytelling is? I didn’t either!