Somehow -- impossibly -- we only have two more weeks of Teachers Write.
I know, I know, I'm as sad as you are. Maybe sadder.
Since we're getting near the end of camp, I thought maybe we should talk about how to write a good ending and then I thought, nobody better than my real life pal (and virtual bestie), Amy Fellner Dominy, author of OyMG
and Audition & Subtraction (and many more to come!),
someone I view as my personal plotting and story-arc guru, to talk to you about how.
The great thing is, in reading Amy's offered post to prepare my post, I actually learned a ton. A TON!
So, it's long and I'm not cutting a word!
Before I introduce you to Amy, please remember (as with all my guest authors) that she's spending a lot of time here today, so please check out her truly wonderful books, share them with your students, and help spread the word.
Also, remember the RULES for Friday Feedback, or read them HERE.
Okay, on that note, here is Amy.
Thanks, Gae. And, hi, all! So, yes, let's talk endings!
Great endings make you sigh, tear-up or smile. They make you sad for the book to be over, and
they make you want to flip the pages and go back to the beginning and start
again.
Great endings are, simply put, satisfying.
If only they were simple to write! So, here are a few tips and suggestions that will hopefully
help. I'll see you for feedback, in the comment section!
ANSWER THE QUESTION
In a way, a story is really just a series of questions you
create in the reader’s mind.
What will happen next?
What will she do? How will he get out of this? Where do they go from here?
Think about books you love. There is nearly always one BIG question that keeps you turning
pages. This is the central problem, or the story
problem.
Will Frodo destroy the
ring?
Will Katniss survive
The Hunger Games?
Will Wilbur the Pig
avoid becoming bacon?
Think about your own story—what’s the central problem? Your most important job at the end of your
book is to make sure you answer that question.
Seems obvious, right? But it’s easy to wander off with other
characters and plot turns and lose sight of the story you’re telling.
(Gae chimes in to say: oh, yes, how I have wandered. In THE SUMMER OF LETTING GO (March, 2014), this was one of my editor's biggest issues with the manuscript. She felt I had hedged at the end, and she pushed me to really go back truly answer the story's central question! I'm so glad she did and I did. But, it really is easy to wander and avoid, and not even realize you did...)
In fact, when I start a new book, I tape the story
problem above my computer screen because it keeps me focused as I write. In OyMG, it was this: Will Ellie win the scholarship & get into Benedicts? One other point to mention: The story problem is often an EXTERNAL
conflict but you may also have an internal (emotional) conflict. For Ellie, it was a matter of her faith and
identity. As the author, you want to
resolve BOTH conflicts at the end.
FOLLOW THE RAMEN RULE
Along with the STORY PROBLEM, you’ve probably got your
readers wondering about a dozen other things. Will Aragorn become King? Does Katniss choose Peeta or Gale? What
happens to Charlotte and her babies? Resolve
your sub-plots—make sure you haven’t left any unanswered questions (unless
you’re doing it deliberately.)
I call it the Ramen Rule because I once listened to a book where a lady brings a guy a hot meal. (Ramen
noodles.) He’s touched by the gesture. A beautiful romantic moment blooms to
life but do I care? NO. Because I’m thinking about the ramen noodles and how
they’re getting cold. In fact, the guy NEVER EATS HIS DINNER! The author
obviously forgot about the noodles—they were just a plot device. But as the reader, I didn’t forget. So tie up loose ends.
(I love your "Ramen Rule," Amy! Before I was ever close to being published, I hired KL Going to critique a manuscript I wrote and she referred to this concept as sewing a quilt. The threads that start at the beginning of the quilt and weave their way through the middle, must come out the other side and be tied up at the end. That imagery has always helped me. Now I will balance a bowl of ramen noodles on my quilt for good measure!)
BE TRUE TO YOUR CHARACTERS
Whatever happens at the end of your book, happy or tragic,
funny or heart-breaking, make sure it’s believable. I just read an early Jack Reacher novel by
Lee Child. Jack did some insanely far-fetched stunts to save the country. I
believed every one because he does that stuff.
But there was also a moment when he was broken-hearted over a lady FBI
agent, as if he would have married her. Does that make Jack seem like a loving, sensitive guy? Yeah. But I
didn’t buy it. That’s not the kind of man he is and the author didn’t convince
me he’d changed.
Don’t give us the
ending you want or the ending you think we want: give us the ending earned by
your character.
Another note on this: Perfectly happy endings are difficult
to believe. Why? Because they so rarely
happen in real life. Not everyone gets
everything they want without anyone paying the price. If you’ve written an ending that’s too good
to be true, then readers will sense this and not feel satisfied.
KEEP SUSPENSE HIGH RIGHT UP TO THE END
Don’t let the reader guess the outcome, if you can help
it. Right up until the very last second,
failure and disaster should be possibilities.
AVOID BARN DOOR SYNDROME.
If you’ve never heard of this, it’s because I just made it
up. But it describes a common
phenomenon. Because authors nearing the end of a book are often just like
horses nearing the barn: We want to get there. FAST. So remember: Endings
deserve the same amount of love and attention that we give to our beginnings.
WHEN IT’S OVER, IT’S OVER
Once you’ve resolved the conflict, then give the reader a
brief moment of happiness or calm or a sense of completion. Then…THE END.
Don’t drag it out or tack on a new problem. If you’re writing a series, you give that
brief moment of calm and then drop a new shoe.
(Pet peeve: Series books that end in mid-conflict. That’s not an ending
to me. That’s a chapter break. Resolve
the conflict. Then…create a new one for book 2.)
So, those are some tips for endings. But really, the one single most important
thing I can tell you is to get there.
Some way. Some how. Reach the
ending because it’s a truly amazing feat to complete a book, flaws and
all. And, only after you’ve finished,
can you start revising. J
Okay, so I guess it's my turn to share. Because I can’t share the end of my WIP titled A MATTER OF HEART, here’s a brief moment
when my character has reached a different sort of an end. She's gotten some bad news that could really change her life for the worst.
If you'd like to share a similar "ending" in your WIP, please do! Or, of course, share whatever you want to share (as long as you follow Gae's rules)! Oh, and btw, I'm on Pacific time, so it may take me a few hours in the morning to get here. See you then!
If you'd like to share a similar "ending" in your WIP, please do! Or, of course, share whatever you want to share (as long as you follow Gae's rules)! Oh, and btw, I'm on Pacific time, so it may take me a few hours in the morning to get here. See you then!
* * * * *
I’m
running into the dark into nothing and it’s exactly where it feels like my life
is going. Tears stream unchecked and I
push harder with my legs, pump my arms, the sound of my sobs like an echo that
follows me. Prickly bushes catch and rip
at my pants and a loose branch flies up and scrapes my arm. It feels good, the pain. More pain. Pain layered on pain, and I want to burn it
all up on this trail. I want to go so fast I leave it all behind. I want to
leave me behind and I want to fly to where the pain can’t reach me at all.
Amy, thanks for this great list of advice. So much advice is given for polishing openings and general revision, that it's great to have someone offer advice for the end.
ReplyDeleteIn my last few stories, I had an easy time imagining an ending, but I struggled with knowing where my characters would end up in my current WIP. The simple question's answer was "together" (the MCs had lost each other before their son's birth, and the inciting question was the son asking about his father, so I wanted them together at the end) but I wasn't sure how that should look. Early versions felt too much like your "happy endings" advice -- questions were tied up too neatly. I found the answer by thinking of how the book opened: with the father's voice expressing regret, then the toddler son watching his mother bury a dead bird. The draft below is new-ish, so I'll revise it further, but what works is it puts the father and son together (indirectly answering the simple question) and ties up some "ramen noodle" questions by using objects that appeared earlier in the book: the grandfather's gravesite (he was a motorcycle racer, and motorcycle parts are left on his stone by fans) and a bag of locks that were symbol of Roonan's emotional burden.
* * *
The last night in Ridell, Roonan walked down the lane with his son riding on one hip, a heavy leather bag on his other shoulder. Beyond the iron gate in the churchyard wall, he lowers Liam to the ground and allows the boy to follow him through the thick, soft lawn between the crooked stones to where his father and brother lie. The boy traces the carved motorcycle on the grandfather’s gleaming black stone and plays with the sprockets, linking them together with a piece of chain and a slim pin to assemble something he thinks important.
Roonan crouches on his heels and watches his son, in no rush, until the boy nudges the bag to one side of him, pointing at the spade he has brought along. “Are you going to bury it?” Liam asks.
The earth is damp and soft, well before the cold days that will come. Roonan keeps his eyes on his brother's name as he digs beneath the second stone. The son watches, the two silent, as Roonan forms a hole large enough to plant a tree, to bury a family pet. Liam wants ceremony and runs to gather flowers from the taller grass. He throws these into the bottom as if seasoning a stew. Thinking better, he adds in the chain of sprockets and pins. A rare smile spreads Roonan’s expression. Fitting. Waiting for emotion or relief to come to him, he crouches beside the aging leather holdall his father originally used to carry helmets to race. Sun glints off bare dings in the aged brass inside. Roonan takes them by the handful, two and three at a time, lobbing them heavy into the depth of the earth.
“What are they?” Liam asks.
“Locks.”
“Why do you bury them?”
Roonan nods to acknowledge the boy can help, his littler hands interring the paranoia of his grandfather one lock at a time. There is satisfaction in the dulled thud as they meet earth or collegial clink as they meet each other. Liam turns his face, waiting for an answer.
“We don’t need them anymore,” he says.
Liam nods. It is a good answer. It is a good idea. Together, father and son cast the locks, at least fifty in all, heavy as boulders, rich as treasure, into the earth above his brother’s grave.
Elissa, thanks so much for sharing your ending. And I've had the same problem as you, not always sure how my stories will end. I used to want to know before I started but I've since realized that I would work to make that specific ending happen--and it wasn't always the right one, once the story had been written.
DeleteI really love your excerpt! It has such a lovely feeling to it--a little bittersweet but also hopeful. And it does feel like you're resolving important things. One of the things I especially like is that the actual burying (external action) is resolving the internal (emotional) conflict. That makes it more powerful. I also really like the first person present POV (you missed one verb in the first sentence) and the imagery like: "seasoning like a stew." Very nice. Keep working at it--it can always use some tightening, but overall it sounds like a story I'd love to read.
I agree... the mood/tone/voice of this piece is so lovely, and here is what I copied before I even read Amy's reply: "Liam wants ceremony and runs to gather flowers from the taller grass. He throws these into the bottom as if seasoning a stew." Just gorgeous. The first sentence is in past and the rest present which confuses me (?) and some other minor tweaks would help clarity. But the language and pace and tone are just stunningly lovely. Keep going!
DeleteAmy and Gae, you guys made my day, as the words you used to respond help me know that this ending was conveying the mood and effect that I intended. I lived with several different versions until I knew the story well enough for the objects and actions to present themselves for this. Amy, your comment about external action resolving the internal conflict was exactly what I was working toward. It's cute that you both liked the detail about the son seasoning stew (I was partial to the dad sitting on his heels, since I love that poor, broken MC so much.) But the POV shift is exactly the kind of thing I have left to edit. The WIP is all in past tense, but I sometimes draft in present tense then edit for consistency, since that lets me use the immediacy of how it feels to think in present tense. Still lots to edit -- revision seems to grow worse than my kids' laundry. Thanks so much for your generous feedback.
DeleteGood Morning!
ReplyDeleteI took some great notes on your post this morning- wow! I'm always struggling how to teach conclusions in class... the kids like to end with "it was all just a dream" or "the end". We try to teach them to leave a lasting impression, but I like your concrete examples: great endings make you sigh, tear up, or smile. LOVE that! And, I also love the concrete titles you give for some of your important points. Makes them easier to remember...
I don't have anything to share, but I'm motivated to work on the ending of my WIP today!
Thank you!!!!!! (extra exclamation points are not appropriate endings either, I'm guessing)
And, I pushed the button, before I added my feedback, sorry.
DeleteYour passage keeps the suspense high, and I can totally relate to what the MC is feeling...trying to run from her problems, through the woods. You've identified subtle details that put the reader right in the moment. I want to read more :)
One more thing- although I didn't read it all, I liked hearing about your journey on your blog. thanks for sharing...
HI Andrea! Thanks so much for the nice comments here. When I'm learning (and I always am!) specific examples always work best for me, so I'm glad if my tips here will help you with the kids. And I think exclamation points make for great endings. And smiley faces. :-)
DeleteI'm not even close to having an ending to share, but I love, love, love the bit you shared with us. "Tears stream unchecked" really hits me with a great visual. GREAT advice on endings, and I'll attempt to find a bit of a chapter ending or some such to post in a bit. Thank you so much for being here and for sharing with us.
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad you liked the excerpt. It was a hard passage to write because the character is so miserable, and it was exhausting to be in her head. But it felt "right" when I finished. Of course, I'm never really sure something works until someone objective reads.
DeletePlease do post something if you're ready. This Teacher's Write program is so cool--I'm just really happy to be a tiny part of it.
Thanks Amy! I appreciated your list & explanation for endings. I've spent most of the Teachers Write time researching, looking for mentor texts, lurking, & participating in random Quick Writes - basically just getting in the personal habit of writing again. Nonetheless, I appreciate the suggestions you've made so that when my story actually formulates, I'll stay true to the character (my dad).
ReplyDeleteI loved the "ending" you shared. I've experienced that feeling of trying to escape but having "things" grab at me, slowing me down or holding me back. I felt what you wrote. Thank you for sharing!
Thanks! Sounds like you've spent the time well. Creating the "habit" of reading is a challenge but such an important first step. Keep working on your story, and I'm glad if my tips will come in handy when you're ready for them.
DeleteAlso, I love your comments about my excerpt. Thank you! I know I've felt that way myself and I'm really glad I've conveyed a relatable moment. (Even if it is a difficult one.)
Amy,
ReplyDeleteI love your little snippet! How the action deepens the pain and helps us feel this through and through, fully present in the reading.
Thanks,too, for your most awesome and easily accessible advice about endings. Once I decided on my ending for my first middle grade novel, I made the mistake of rushing to it. One of my readers pointed it out, and I had to stretch it out. I tend to rush toward ending rather than helping the reader feel it with me.
I am working on a verse novel and have posted a few times from it this summer. Hope it isn't getting tiresome. I am revising. The MC is talking to God in each section. I recently wrote this section to try to show that the boy interest is responding more like a buddy than a love interest. Thanks for reading!
I had the stomach bug.
I threw my guts up. Then I threw up more.
I lay in my bed, praying for you to take me.
Just kill me right now, relieve that wavy nausea,
relieve my guilt. The letter to Todd was such a stupid,
idiotic thing to do. My body went into revolt.
Mom gave me chicken bouillon water
and saltine crackers an hour ago.
They seem to be staying put.
But my head feels like a two-ton dump truck
full of hard brown mud.
I wish I could stop thinking about Todd
and imagining the worst.
He must think I am a fool,
a Willy Wonka blown-up-blueberry girl
who wouldn’t stop, even when she knew
it was the wrong thing to do.
80.
I got my response.
At least I’m not a total idiot,
and Todd is not a total jerk.
He sent me a card.
He heard I had the flu.
The card had a picture of a little boy with his finger up his nose.
I picked this just for you.
How sweet, just for me?
Heard you had a bug.
Hope you kill it soon.
The cartoon card boy smashes a giant green bug.
Did it come out of his nose? Gross!
He signed it,
Ha ha, your friend, Todd.
I guess he was trying to be thoughtful.
I’d guess Simmy didn’t help him pick it out.
Reminds me of my nose-picking brother, Benjie.
A little bit cute, a lot uncouth.
Hi Margaret. Thanks for sharing your excerpt. Secretly, I've always wished I could write verse...guess I will settle for getting to read it. :-)
ReplyDeleteI love the idea that she's talking to God as if he's her friend. I think that gives you an opportunity to make it more present and immediate. So for instance, the first three lines of the first verse reads a little bit as though she's telling a friend about what happened but it's the next day. I wonder if you really put yourself in her spot, lying in bed, talking to God, your hand on your stomach because you've been sick (but really you're sick because of embarrassment...) well, would you say "I had the stomach bug?" Probably it be more like "I'm so sick, I want to die. Just kill me now, God...." etc. So, that's a spot where you might be able to strengthen things...something to think about and look for. Once you get past those lines, the rest is wonderful. I especially love the blown-up blueberry girl line.:-)
In the second verse, I was at first skeptical that a boy would send a card but I LOVED the actual card as you described it; that felt true to me. Again, always keep in mind that you want these conversations with God to feel real. Which means she probably wouldn't say "reminds me of my nose-picking brother, Benjie." God would already know who Benjie is, right? It's a subtle thing but might make these very good sections even better!!
Hope that helps--keep going until you reach THE END. :-)
Margaret... as you know, I love, love, love this book and NEVER get tired of reading excerpts. For me, this one wasn't working yet quite as well as your others and my thoughts were more general than Amy's, but in some ways I think they mesh -- or I think we are both feeling the same thing, but expressing it in a different way. Before I even read Amy's comment, this is what I was thinking: In the first verse, your MC sounds too old to me and in the second verse, too young. I'm not sure what about these, except that when I read Amy's suggested edit of the first para. it sounds younger again. So, I think what it means is you have to still dig down to find the consistency in your narrator's voice. I haven't had this issue with excerpts before, so it may just mean you haven't settled into this part yet. Walk away from it and come back in a week or two with fresh eyes. Maybe bring to it a trait of the character that is reflected throughout the story? Let me know your thoughts. - gae
DeleteHey, all, I'll be around with feedback soon. And Amy ran to the gym but will be back! In the meantime, here's a post from John S. from his WIP. He has trouble logging onto blogger so he asked me to post for him:
ReplyDeleteWe drove to the place where mama was going to be laid to rest in daddy’s old black 1937 Ford. He kept the engine running real good, but the body was quite rusty. It was a quiet ride, bumping and jarring as the tires rolled over the brick streets all the way to the gravel roads to the cemetery.
Dark, grey clouds hung heavily low, stretching and touching each other blocking out the blue sky and the sun. I looked up trying to catch a glimpse of the sun, but I couldn’t find it. The sun was hiding and wouldn’t peek out to let me see it; to let me know that everything was going to be okay.
Four men trudged slowly on the wet green grass, leaving shoe marks with every step, two on each side of the rectangular box. Each man wore a dark suit, a white shirt, and a tie. The finest they had. And a dark brimmed hat. All four looked down, hiding their faces under those dark brims. The box was of the finest oak the box maker could find. The lid was shiny and closed. It was also locked. Wooden handles were built on both sides. Two handles on each side. For two men on each side.
Inside the box lay my dead momma.
She died cause she couldn’t breathe anymore.
She died from asthma.
She coughed so much that she coughed up blood.
She coughed so much cause she couldn’t breathe.
She coughed so much cause of her asthma.
I was there when she died.
So were my sisters.
So were my brothers.
My daddy was working. He wasn’t there.
But he’s here now. With us. With all six of us. Me. My three sisters. And my two brothers. Trudging. Looking down at the wet grass just like the four men. Trudging slowly. I cried the whole way. Looking down so no one could see me. My shoulders jumped up and down with sadness. My brothers and sisters, dressed in our best clothes, began to cry too. And the clouds began to cry with us.
Hi John. I really like the "voice" of your piece--your writing (and the language) has a very nice rolling rhythm to it. I get a picture of a main character (a boy, I think) living somewhere rural, not greatly educated, poor, and living in an earlier time. I also think you set up the mood nicely to fit the scene with the clouds and dark sky -- I LOVE that last line.
DeleteIf I could suggest anything to improve on, I'd say give the reader more of an idea of what is at stake here. You've given me details about what happened in the past with the mom sick and dying, but I don't really know what this means for the future. A mother dying is an awful thing, but what's the fear? What's the story problem? Even as your MC is walking to the grave sight you can weave in some of that through his thoughts. The fact that he's crying and doesn't want anyone to see hints at a sense of pride or responsibility -- that's good--but the more I understand what he's up against, the more I'll emphasize and the more I'll want to read on.
Hope that makes sense...keep going with it! :-)
wow, I think Amy's comments are really good. Mine are more mechanical. I really LOVE this little excerpt and I feel like if you pulled back on just the tiniest bit of unneeded repetition, it would be even stronger. Also, the shoulders jumping with sadness feels awkward to me. I feel like sad shoulders slump or sag... not sure on the jumping? Also, I've played with ending the third para on the box being locked. I wonder if that adds drama to the next line about it being mama. You already talk about the two men in the paras above? Hmmm. I've done a superspeed flash edit for the fun of it. Other than those two changes, you likely wont even notice much of what else I pulled (it's not much, just stuff said more than once?). Wonder what you'll think:
DeleteWe drove to the place where mama would be laid to rest in daddy’s old black 1937 Ford. Daddy kept the engine running real good, but the body was quite rusty. It was a quiet ride, bumping and jarring as the tires rolled over the brick streets all the way to the gravel roads to the cemetery.
Dark clouds hung heavily, stretching and touching each other blocking out the blue sky. I looked up trying to catch a glimpse of the sun, but couldn’t find it. The sun was hiding and wouldn’t peek out to let me see it; to let me know that everything was going to be okay.
Four men trudged slowly on the wet green grass, leaving shoe marks with every step, two on each side of the rectangular box. Each man wore a dark suit, a white shirt, and a tie. The finest they had. And a dark brimmed hat. All four looked down, hiding their faces under those dark brims. The box was of the finest oak the box maker could find. The lid was shiny and closed. It was also locked.
Inside the box lay my dead momma.
She died cause she couldn’t breathe anymore.
She died from asthma.
She coughed so much that she coughed up blood.
She coughed so much cause she couldn’t breathe.
She coughed so much cause of her asthma.
I was there when she died.
So were my sisters.
So were my brothers.
My daddy was working. He wasn’t there.
But he’s here now. With us. With all six of us. Me. My three sisters. And my two brothers. Trudging slowly. Looking down at the wet grass just like the four men.
I cried the whole way. Looking down so no one could see me. My shoulders heavy with sadness. My brothers and sisters, dressed in our best clothes, began to cry too. And the clouds began to cry with us.
***
Oh, and I, like Amy, love that last sentence. :)
I didn't get a chance to read all the posts and comments today, but wanted to share. Gae knows this character, Kate, who has just returned home from Washington, DC, where she translated German documents for the government during World War I. The translators have worked themselves out of a job and been dismissed. This is the original ending of my historical fiction. I don't know how she'll end now that I have changed so many things, made her more rebellious. But I like the chickens...and Kate missed them terribly. Coming home has been on her own terms this time.
ReplyDeleteThe coop was warm, an oven, really. The smells mingled into one; fresh straw, the dusty cracked corn smell (grain smell), and chickens themselves - the stink of them, the smell of possibility in unlaid eggs. She eased her hand gently beneath a feathered breast, reaching, reaching, for the warm smooth fullness of the egg. Chalky stillness lay cupped now in her hand, and she backed herself out, murmuring, “Hssh, shh-shh,” as the hen settled herself back down to rest in the warm box. One by one, slow and relaxed, she visited them. Her girls. She cosseted them and talked to them. Treated them as her own children. They lent a liveliness to her days, a focus for her energy outside her work at the store.
She protected their peace from predators, from small boys. She arranged their nest boxes as they each preferred. Henrietta always kicked extra straw out, seeking the bare bottom of the dusty box, while Flossie pulled the straw closely around her as she patiently rested in the nest. Each of them had a distinct personality, these six feathered women strutting and clucking through their days. Kate loved them with an almost frightening fierceness.
She’d always had this affinity for the animals in her life. The cats, so dear, steady yet fickle companions, demanding partners in her comings and goings.
She had friends aplenty, Lord knew, but always the animals turned out to be the easier companions. She examined the contents of the basket, smiling at the memory of Gracie the hen’s almost boastful look as she pulled the third egg from the feathered warmth. Was she getting soft over her girls? Nonsense. She was already soft over them. My, but she was glad to be home.
She turned and gently pushed open the hen house door, closing it gently behind her as she stepped down into the bright, shining noon.
Valerie, this is lovely!! I think the imagery is great and the chickens as "six feathered women" is such a great picture: that tells me how much she sees them as friends more than simply chickens or egg producers. One small revision note: I'd caution you not to use the same word too many times (smell in the first paragraph.)
DeleteI get the sense that this is a home-coming of sorts and that's really nice. It's hard to comment since I haven't read the book, but it does feel like you have more here than you need. We should already know at this point of her affinity to animals. Also, some of the things she does for them (protect them from predators, etc.) is nice but not needed. I can tell by the way she knows each of them and sets up their nests that she does those other things. I think, by thinning out that other stuff, this will feel more present, more immediate and will pack a bigger punch. Already, it's really really nice and I like how you finish with her going off to a beautiful day, at peace. Great ending!
Valerie, as with everything in this story I've been lucky enough to see, this IS just lovely. I see the reason behind Amy's comments... as a stand alone, it didn't bother me or occur to me, but she's right, it may be repetitive of stuff your reader already knows, so you can pull back, but of course, it sounds like you're rewriting some anyway... one last thing, if you do stay with the chickens, I might change the word stink to something softer to allow the reader to fully immerse in her affection without pause, even tho part of that affection is with warts and all... but just lovely. Can't wait to read this as a whole book.
DeleteOh, thanks to both of you! Yes, as Gae knows, I'm cleaning house and this ending is the first draft. It's so nice to know the imagery works, and nice to know that what I'd remove is what you suggested I clean up. I went away sailing for the weekend and came back to this on Monday morning, perfect beginning to a writing week!
DeleteAnd Gae, just you wait! It will be a pretty good book, with all the help I've gotten from folks like YOU.
Hi Gae and Amy! So fun that you are here this week. I'm remembering our pool party from last summer. That was fun! I actually got through revising what I think will be my first chapter of my WIP from last summer. Yay! It feels great...even if it's still only one chapter. I'm ready to keep going. This isn't an ending, but it is the end of this scene, so I'm going with it. Amy, the piece you shared sounds freeing to me. I have been running a lot lately and I love being able to get emotions out while running. It sounds sad but it also sounds like she's moving past what was bothering her, at least a little bit. Great visual.
ReplyDelete***
Hayden leaned forward, keeping his eyes on mine. He looked at my lips, I looked at his. He leaned closer. His eyes back on mine. Then he closed his eyes. And that’s when I turned my head.
His breath in my hair was hot. The comfortable warmth I felt a few seconds earlier was now like a heatwave, roiling, and blazing, on fire, but frozen. Neither one of us moved.
Breaking the trance, Hayden stood. He ran his fingers through his hair and started to say, “I…” but he never finished. Instead, he turned in circles a few times.
Meanwhile, I was lost in time. My heart racing, my brain frantically piecing together what happened, what I did, what I should say. Why hadn’t I just kissed him?
He tried again, “We…”
I covered my face with my hands, trying to shut out the water and the sunset and him, trying to think and get a grip.
When I looked up again, he was gone.
****
Thanks for your feedback, girls!!! xo
ah, good stuff, Jen. Good, wonderful, girly stuff. Keep going!
DeleteOh, so painful! You did a great job making this vivid and real. My only question is whether Hayden literally is turning in circles--somehow I stumbled over that. I remember Hayden and your MC from a prior post, I was glad to see more of your WIP. How crushing to get to the moment you've been longing for and then turn away. Ouch in a very good way.
DeleteAmy - I loved the information you shared. I pulled out my notebook and made some notes. Good reminders of how to end a story. I hope to eventually get to the end of my WIP, but for now, I'm happy I wrote another chapter. This is an excerpt from that chapter. My main character has somehow traveled to a small village, looks to be historic, and she is trying to figure out what is going on. The story takes place in present time, so this village is very odd to her and she has no idea how she got there. This part is from the end of that chapter. (I tried to keep it to about 5 paragraphs, so sorry if it's a bit long.) Hope you enjoy and I'm looking forward to the feedback.
ReplyDelete------
I reach the door, slowly pull it open, and slide into what seems to be the back of the room. No one seems to notice me enter, probably because they are all watching a group of girls near the front. They are acting like they are all nuts – jerking around, screaming, falling over. Maybe this is one of those church services in which people get possessed by God or demons or something, and they can speak in tongues.
Suddenly the girls start pointing and someone in the front row.
“She’s doing it! She’s making us hurt!” screams one girl.
“Make her stop! I don’t want to go with her! Don’t make me go!” yells another.
A man at a table at the front of the room, looks over at the woman the girls are pointing to and says, “Sarah Good, do you not see now what you have done? Why do you not tell us the truth? Why do you thus torment these poor children?”
The woman, Goody Good, looks at this man, and says, “I do not torment them.”
“Who do you employ then?”
“I employ nobody. I scorn it.”
This cannot be going on. Is this what I think it is?
“How came they thus tormented?”
Sarah Good answers, “What do I know? You bring others here and now you charge me with it.”
Suddenly, I feel like I can’t breathe. I’ve got to get out of here. I reach around and sneak back out the door. Taking some deep breaths I try to figure out what I just saw and heard. This has to be a re-enactment. They are really good, I mean, they set up the town, the season, the people are dressed right and speak the right way. Really good re-enactors. No way this is real. Catching my breath, I head back to finish watching their scene.
Now another man is jumping in. He seems to be her husband. “I fear that she is a witch, or shall be one soon enough. She is always mean and muttering. She is an enemy to all good.”
The man at the table asks, “What say you Goody Good?”
“It is not me who torments, but Osborne.”
Osborne? She was an accused witch too. This must be a witch trial. Suddenly Goody Good is taken away. The girls settle down it seems once she has left the room. As I look around some more, I see that these people do not look like tourists. There’s no one taking pictures, no cell phones, no applause for the scene that’s just been completed. If this is a re-enactment, why is no one in regular clothes? Why no cameras?
I hear shuffling. The girls are being escorted out of the building. As they walk past, they are quiet, reserved, withdrawn. I quickly try to shrink into the shadows, but one of the girls glances up. Our eyes seem to meet. She mouths, “Witch”. I gasp as everything goes black.
Renee, really great scene here and I love the names! Goody Good is just fabulous, isn't it? :)
DeleteThe only thing I'd warn is of repeat words ("seems", "suddenly", etc. and passive "starts ___ ing" something instead of just "did" that something...) Suddenly is a big no-no - common current writing wisdom is to never use it or at least use it as seldom as possible. You have it here three times. It takes away from the emphasis suddenly is intended to give if there are multiple sudden occurrences and the surprising thing is, when you remove it, it is seldom missed). Here's a superspeed flash edit with just the repetitive stuff removed:
I reach the door, slowly pull it open, and slide into the back of the room. No one seems to notice me enter, probably because they are all watching a group of girls near the front who are acting like they are nuts – jerking around, screaming, falling over. Maybe this is one of those church services in which people get possessed by God or demons or something, and they can speak in tongues.
Suddenly the girls point to someone in the front row.
“She’s doing it! She’s making us hurt!” screams one girl.
“Make her stop! I don’t want to go with her! Don’t make me go!” yells another.
A man at a table at the front of the room, looks over at the woman the girls are pointing to and says, “Sarah Good, do you not see now what you have done? Why do you not tell us the truth? Why do you thus torment these poor children?”
The woman, Goody Good, looks at this man, and says, “I do not torment them.”
“Who do you employ then?”
“I employ nobody. I scorn it.”
Is this what I think it is?
“How came they thus tormented?”
Sarah Good answers, “What do I know? You bring others here and now you charge me with it.”
I feel like I can’t breathe, like I’ve got to get out of here. I reach around and sneak back out the door. Taking deep breaths, I try to figure out what I just saw and heard. This has to be a re-enactment. They are really good, I mean, they set up the town, the season, the people are dressed right and speak the right way. Really good re-enactors. No way this is real. Catching my breath, I head back to finish watching their scene.
Another man has jumped in who seems to be her husband. “I fear that she is a witch, or shall be one soon enough. She is always mean and muttering. She is an enemy to all good.”
The man at the table asks, “What say you Goody Good?”
“It is not me who torments, but Osborne.”
Osborne? She was an accused witch too. This must be a witch trial.
Suddenly Goody Good is taken away. The girls settle down once she has left the room. As I look around, I see that these people do not look like tourists. There’s no one taking pictures, no cell phones, no applause for the scene that’s just been completed. If this is a re-enactment, why is no one in regular clothes?
Shuffling ensues and the girls are escorted out of the building. As they walk past, they are quiet, reserved, withdrawn. I try to shrink into the shadows, but one of the girls glances up. Our eyes meet. She mouths, “Witch,” and I gasp, as everything goes black.
I was thinking the same things as I was writing. I knew I was repeating words, but I had to get the ideas out. Figured I'd go back later to pull out/replace certain things. I'm glad I was thinking along the correct lines. Thanks :)
Deleteyes, of course on revision is where/when we ALL fix such things. Just a great opportunity to point some things out for purely learning purposes. I used to put "suddenly" all over my ms's until someone pointed it out to me. Keep going, Renee! This is going to be a terrific (if nail-biting and disturbing?) story!
ReplyDelete