Warning: This blog post is an experiment in forcing myself to sprint to the finish line. The timer is ticking. I gave myself thirty minutes to formulate this post, edit it, and hit the Publish button. Let’s see how this goes. If there’s no real ending, you’ll know why. 

When will it ever end?

That is what I keep asking myself about the current story I’m working on. The longer I spend writing and developing the story, the further I get from the end. I now realize I’m running the opposite direction, hoping I’ll never finish because when it comes down to it—I hate endings.

Why? So glad you asked.

  • Endings can be painful. In life, ending means saying goodbye. Maybe not forever, but one never knows when one goodbye will be the last. Badly written story endings are painful for other reasons. The pain of realizing you just wasted an afternoon or a night’s sleep is the one that I dislike the most.
  • Endings can disappoint. I’ve read two novels in the past couple of weeks—one satisfied me and one was somewhat disappointing. Both were quick summer reads (Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Book Store  and Innocence) that I read just for fun. I read Innocence simply to enjoy the experience without trying to second-guess where the story would go. I was pleasantly surprised with the story’s resolution. On the other hand, with Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Book Store, I was fairly certain that it would be difficult to end the book in a satisfying way. I enjoyed the book and the ending had a clever twist, but I still shut the book wishing the ending would have been different. It’s like the joke that stops, but you somehow missed the punch line.

I don’t like to hurt or disappoint people. So is it any wonder that I’m running from ending my story because I know that I’ll likely do both? My only hope is that story is really a circle and if I run away from the ending long enough, I’ll eventually find it—satisfying or not.

Okay. Thirty minutes are up.


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