No Ending
In sixth grade I wrote a scary story about a girl who goes to stay at her creepy aunt’s house. Freshman year I wrote a dystopian story about predetermined futures. Sophomore year I wrote a short story about meeting my seventy-five year old self. What do all these stories have in common? None of them have endings. Or at least, not satisfactory ones. The girl in my scary story may or may not have died, the protagonist in my dystopian story may or may not have ended up rebelling, and my future self may or may not have been successful in delivering her message. My stories never end with solid conclusions, which has often lead to friends complaining that they want to know what happens. But life doesn’t have clear endings, and things don’t get grouped into neat little conclusions, so neither will my stories. If you’re writing a story you have a point you want to share. It’s not necessarily a moral, but there has to be some reason for telling it, even if that reason is simply to entertain. A story does not, however, need to answer every question the reader might have. I have nothing against stories that tie up all the loose ends. A lot of my favorite books, for example the Harry Potter books, do, and I’m glad the series doesn’t just end when Harry figures out how to defeat Voldemort. But satisfying endings just aren’t my writing style. Besides, I think it’s much more effective to leave a scary story with a cliffhanger than to say “and then they died, the end.” I like to leave possibilities open; it will always be up to interpretation what the characters in my story would do after I write the final word. If anything, most of the things I write end with a realization that could be considered a beginning. Potential can be more fascinating to contemplate than hard facts, and it’s interesting to think that people might spend time thinking about something I have written and trying to decide what they think happens next. In conclusion, I will probably never write something with a tidy, clear ending because…