Better Endings: Surprising Yet Inevitable—and Astonishing

Tamara Dean’s stories and essays have appeared in The American Scholar, Creative Nonfiction, The Georgia Review, The Guardian, One Story, Orion, The Southern Review, Story Magazine, and elsewhere. Her essay collection, Shelter and Storm, is forthcoming in 2025. Several of her pieces have been nominated for Pushcart prizes. “Safer Than Childbirth” received a special mention in the Pushcart Prize XLVIII: Best of the Small Presses anthology, and “Slow Blues” was a 2021 National Magazine Award finalist. She earned an MFA in writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts and has received fellowships from Brush Creek Foundation for the Arts, Mesa Refuge, and the Tyrone Guthrie Centre. More online at www.tamaradean.media.

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Soon we’ll be faced with the media’s many year-in-review lists and articles. They remind me of strategies for crafting a great end to any tale.

Some writers say that the best endings are “surprising yet inevitable.” But that’s subjective. And it offers no hints about how to achieve the effect.

As readers, we know a successful ending when we see it, just as we know a great painting when we see it (again, subjective!).

As writers, we understand that we should balance the two qualities. An ending that’s only surprising—an alien appears to scoop up the child who’s running from a tornado—will leave the reader feeling cheated. An ending that’s only inevitable will be boring and predictable.

We also understand that endings resolve a story’s essential questions. If the first scene introduces a character who’s debating about embezzling money from his employer to pay for his ailing wife’s life-saving treatment, we expect to learn by the last line whether he embezzled the money and whether his wife survived.

(And yet… not every question needs to be answered unequivocally. Ambiguous endings can be satisfying, while those that wrap up tidily can ring false.)

An ending that meets these requirements—surprising but not too surprising, inevitable but not too inevitable, and answering the story’s central questions—might still fall short of its potential.

Think of your favorite ending. Is it breathtaking, mind-blowing, gut-punching, reverberating? How do we craft endings that accomplish more?

While there’s no universal formula to follow (sorry), clues to a great ending can be found in the text that precedes it. As a wise writing friend of mine says, The material is in the material. Review your beginning and middle. Examine these key elements of your story, essay, novel, or memoir for clues:

• Causal chain of events – The linked actions that generate momentum and tension. They could appear as points on the dramatic arc or in a plot summary of the “and then, and then…” type. You should be able to connect the actions in a causal chain with “because” statements. For example, “Because Anton embezzled from his employer, he was able to pay his wife’s medical bills. Because he paid the bills, she was given the treatment she needed. Because she got the treatment, she recovered.” If your story’s actions can’t be linked in this way, then you have a broken or skewed chain that probably won’t lead to a satisfying ending.
• Emotional logic – Similar to the causal chain of events, but instead of actions, emotional logic connects feelings. For example, “Because Anton loved his wife and would do anything to save her life, he stole to pay her medical expenses. Because she recovered, he was ecstatic and realized that being fired wasn’t the worst that could happen to him.” Solid emotional logic will lead you toward a rich, believable resolution.
• Meaning from change – Readers expect that characters will be different in the end from who they were in the beginning. The story’s events have changed them. (Less often, characters fail to change, but readers understand that their world has changed.) The change carries the story’s meaning. Why does it matter that Anton’s happier than ever, although he’s unemployed and facing criminal charges? What is it about his changed self that enlightens the reader?

Maybe it sounds like a dull exercise to map out a story’s chain of events, emotional logic, and meaning. Often, I think I already understand these aspects of my drafts. But then I prove myself wrong. Closer examination shows me where and how a draft falls short. Inevitably, readjusting these elements in the beginning and middle of a piece leads me toward a more powerful ending.

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