Last week I attended the SCBWI winter conference in New York and we were so grateful to have Elle Cosimano fill in for me with a fantastic post on ENDINGS. This week we turn our attention to INSPIRATION.
There is a fine line between inspiration and terror. Maybe it is in overcoming our deepest fear when we are truly inspired? In the recent StoryMaster's conference I attended, Donald Maas said,

"What is it that moves readers hearts? What is it that makes characters more real than we actually know? What does that? Emotions. Feelings connect us to characters. In order to create that effect we need to open an emotional landscape for our characters to walk through. What is the feeling that you are most afraid to put on the page? What is scary for you to express? What have you never said to anyone? What hurts the most?"

When I think of what I consider my best, most honest, writing it is often the pieces that were closes to my deepest fears and heartaches. When readers relate to my writing, it is often when I take the biggest risks to share those deepest hurts. And that's when I'm inspired as well. But that kind of inspiration isn't easy. It's putting those deepest emotions right out into a very public world.

Last week was an experience in inspiration (and fear). My Monday started off at a sound studio in Soho. Just getting there for a small town girl from Texas was a bit nerve wracking, but I arrived on time and was interviewed for a bonus track to be included with the audio book for SKINNY. Next, I was off to lunch with marketing and publicity directors. Finally, the day concluded with my presentation and reading to about thirty of Scholastic's editorial, marketing and publicity folks. It was an absolute dream day, and completely inspiring, but also challenging. At lunch, the vice president of publicity suprised me by asking if anything was "off limits" for discussion, and for the first time I realized how public my private was soon going to become.


Current statistics estimate 14% of adolescents in the United States are overweight. This figure has nearly tripled in the last 20 years. Knowing statistics, however, is not the same as living it. For me, there is a much more personal story to tell. I've struggled with obesity my whole life and know first hand the mental and physical impacts--especially in a culture where the media tells our young women every day their value depends on the way they look. About ten years ago, at my top weight of 302 pounds, I made the decision to have gastric bypass surgery. I lost over a hundred pounds and have kept my weight fairly stable since. However, despite all the spin and yoga classes (and there were five last week alone), I’m still not skinny. But I can take spin classes and yoga classes and I can hike and snowshoe and walk through the streets of NY without gasping for breath. The surgery was a positive experience for me, but it wasn't a magic wand. I will always struggle with weight and body image issues. And now, writing and sharing SKINNY has suddenly put all those deep, closely guarded issues into a brillant, and very public, spotlight.

Hopefully, the story of SKINNY will find its way to inspire others with that battle, too. But I also hope it connects to any reader who wrestles with negative thoughts. Maybe those thoughts are saying "you're too stupid" or "too poor" or "too tall" or "too ugly." I just want to whisper in their ear, "Don't believe it. You are so much more."

Hearing how complete strangers connected with the story of SKINNY during my visit to New York was inspirational as a writer at the deepest level. After all, isn't that what we are all hoping to do? Connect? But those seeds of inspiration for writing, and hopefully what ultimately inspires readers, means risk. We have to challenge ourselves to give our characters our deepest held private emotions and then trust it'll be okay.

And that is inspirational.

My editor, Aimee Friedman, and my agent, Sarah Davies

This week, I decided to expand my pursuit of literary DNA since last week proved a major scientific/literary discovery of the Beginning “-ines” (though, I’m still waiting for the Nobel Prize Committee to call – they must’ve lost my number). Using the same methods and materials, I began cutting deep into Endings…boiling down the best of the best until I identified the most basic elements contained within. The End “-ines”, if you will (and, knowing you, dear reader, you will).

The first thing I distilled was abundant and familiar…Care-ine. Stating the obvious here, but proper Endings continue to engage us, the readers. The characters are in a pickle and we’re in it with them. We’re not sure how (or if) they’ll make it out. We want the bad guy to pay for the crime. All the trains scream toward the same spot at the same moment and we’re the unblinking witnesses. By the End, the mysterious nature of Care-ine makes a good book nearly impossible to put down (How will Dorothy escape the Wicked Witch?).

As it was in the Beginning study, Voice-ine was very apparent in Endings. The last words dripped with it as much as the first. Voice-ine is not necessarily the same structure as is was in the first pages, since things evolved over time, but the substance is consistent. It’s the eye color of a story…it may drift with age, but once it’s set, those windows-to-the-soul keep to a general hue. (The narration of Oz starts out charming and ends just as much).

www.joelescalona.com

The subtle Theme-ine was present too. By the finale, those BIG QUESTIONS have been thoroughly scrutinized with many angles being presented from a gaggle of viewpoints. A lot of times, the story presents a final thought or conclusion (Dorothy finds home is where those who love you are), but it doesn’t have to (Does OZ really exist?).

Guess what else I found? Yep-yep, Hook-ine, making every word hum with tension and that reason to “read on.” Presenting itself in different formats in the Ending, Hook-ine largely serves as an answer to the book’s central driving questions (Dorothy found her home). However, I noticed some other interesting traits. Sometimes, there were lingering/unanswered questions within Hook-ine’s structure. Things that made the reader KEEP thinking about the book after the pages themselves ran out (What happened to all those zany munchkins?).

And that was it. The same four “-ines” as the Beginning. No secret chemical making a satisfying Ending, just the same ole’ stuff as a stellar first page. The major scientific discovery here is as simple and as elegant (and DUH worthy) as it sounds: A good book is a good book, cover to cover. It implores all the same building blocks no matter where it’s cracked open.

Great! But HOW do you put all these “-ines” together in the right format? What’s the genetic sequence of a bestseller or award-winner or even the story that will land you an agent?

I’m glad you asked, because I came across something very, very interesting…something that will change the craft of writing forever…something that will make this whole writing thing as easy as pie –

Wait, my phone is ringing. It’s gotta be the committee. We’ll have to continue this conversation later. Sorry to run…Hello? Hello?

This week, we’re talking about novel endings. Here’s typically how I get there:

Write first chapter

Check out the Spanish Cover for
UNDER THE NEVER SKY!
Isn't it great?

Write Act One

Start Act Two, hit a wall

Stall

Fiddle with Chapter One

Fiddle with the rest of the first act

Force self to finish Act Two

Sail into Act Three

Stall toward the End

Revise first chapter

Stare at the muddle in the middle

Contemplate unwritten final chapters

Stall

Stall

Stall

Stall some more

Force self to write ending

What’s with all the procrastination of the ending (POTE)? Why is it so, SO difficult to take those last steps, after all the steps beforehand?

For me, it’s fear of completing the work and having to assess:

• Did I accomplish what I set out to do?
• Is this story ultimately satisfying?

Because, folks, that’s what it’s all about, right? We want to close the last page and say, ahhh….  don't we?

One of the best pieces of advice I ever received about endings, was to juxtapose your first and last chapters. When you compare the two side-by-side, your goal is to see clear growth and a direct relationship between questions raised and questions answered.

If your protagonist is wishy-washy about something in Chapter One, make them believe it, own it, reject it—it doesn’t matter what, as long as their stance has become firm--by Chapter Forty Five.

If they’re seeking knowledge, then they darn well better have it by the end.

If they’re seeking acceptance, or are in need of humility in your opening chapters, then get them there. 

Endings allow us to show growth and growth is what makes a novel ending satisfying. 

Now go forth, and End Wisely!

After years of saying I was going to do it, I finally got up the courage to finish a book.  I gathered up my strength and crawled under the bed and I slayed that monster.   It wasn’t perfect, but I loved it, and it never occurred to me that I should not query agents.  I mean, I had a book, right?

I wasn’t a complete rookie.  I had purchased three separate critiques in an online auction.  Two critiques of the first 30 pages and one of the first 50 pages, from a published author, an agent and an editor, respectively.  I took the constructive criticism to heart.  I workshopped the first 30 pages at a conference.

I was ready.

At least my first 30 pages were. 

Like most querying writers, I had a “dream” agent.  Dreamie had built an amazing list of successful authors and really seemed to know publishing.  Dreamie requested my partial.  Then my full.  I waited anxiously, daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, this was going to happen.  It didn’t.

Dreamie read the whole book and considered it seriously, but it just wasn’t ready.  I got some great constructive feedback, but the thing that sticks out in my mind the most, is the  comment (and I’m paraphrasing) that “I had hoped that Austin would play a bigger role in the climax.” 

Austin is a main character in the story. And he was nowhere near the climactic scenes.  Oops.  My ending didn’t live up to the promise of the story.  Dreamie did say that other agents might feel differently, so after nursing my crushed soul for about five minutes, I got over it and sent out a new batch of queries, thinking maybe my ending would still be okay.  It wasn't.

Fortunately, from that batch came an offer from a fabulous agent who was willing to take on SILVER even though it required a lot of work (read: overhaul).  In our initial discussion, she said that she really enjoyed the first half of the novel, but that she thought the entire second half needed to be replotted and rewritten.  And she was right.

And so began my education on endings.

Here’s where the back half of my story fell apart:

1.       Too many Plot Twists:  There were too many revelations, coming rapid fire.  They overcomplicated the story and the world, got confusing, and, most importantly, distracted from the primary conflict with the main characters. 

2.       Not Enough Focus on the Main Storyline:  This is the other side of problem number one.  The story went off in so many directions, that the main conflict got lost in the shuffle.  The payoff was lost in all the subplots, and the main character arc was murky at best.

3.       It Didn’t Fulfill the Promise of the Hook:  The end can’t stray too far from the promise of t Act I and the build up of Act II.  It’s fine to have twists, but it should still feel like the same story.  After investing hours in a story, readers deserve to have the primary conflict confronted and if not resolved, at least come out of it changed somehow.

4.       Major Characters Had No Role in the Climax:  Remember Dreamie’s disappointment that a key character had little to no role in the final outcome?  Yeah, that was still a problem. 

5.       Every Character Did Not Need a Full Character Arc:  Too many minor characters with their own storylines and character arcs are not only confusing, they steal page time from the main stories and themes, and rob the main characters of strong internal and external arcs. 

6.       Too Many Questions Answered at the End:  Tying up twenty plot threads at once is a tall order.  It leads to lots of boring exposition and many chapters of resolution.  Turns out, I didn’t need 20 plot threads (4 were plenty), and I could answer questions as I went along without diluting the tension, by raising new questions along the way. 

7.       The Ending Should Tie Into the Heart of Your Book:  The ending should not only fulfill the promise of your hook and plot, it should tie into the greater theme of your story.  The most important lesson I learned in going through this process was that as an author you should have something to say.  Your book should be about something more than the plot and the characters.  It should have some comment on the human condition, and the ending should tie into that.  In SILVER, the main character’s primary conflict centers around whether she would kill to survive, even if it means killing someone she loves, and her fear that she would.  The climax had to confront that issue head on.  (And no, it didn’t come close in the first version).   

8.       The Story Can’t End Too Soon or Too Late:  Remember all that talk last week about starting your story in the right place?  Turns out it has to end there too.  My tendency to want to tie up too many plot threads, led to too many chapters of explanation long after the main conflict was resolved (to the extent it was resolved (see above)).  Stories can also end too soon.  You know that horrible feeling when you’re reading a book and it is getting absolutely unputdownable and then you notice there are only four pages left?  I’m not a fan of that.  I want the big exciting climax, and then some down time to catch my breath and gain some understanding about how the characters have been changed.  But then, I like to write ten chapters too many at the end (see above). 

Endings, like any part of writing, are a combination of craft and art.  I was able to take what I learned and craft a new ending that I loved even more, but only because I was willing to not only finish a book, I was willing to start over.

Yesterday, guest blogger Elle Cosimano told us, “…the end lurks like a monster under the bed. It's the scary, dark thing none of us like to talk about. We're not really sure the end exists. And we're too afraid to look, because... well... what if it doesn't?”

Or the fog.  Sorry, didn't have a photo
of headlights at night

Isn’t it terrifying?  Heading inexorably toward the dark?  Who was it who equated writing to driving in the darkness – following the headlights, unable to see the destination, but trusting the road will lead us there?  (seriously, someone tell me, because I can’t remember).  The end is a dark and scary – and distant – place.

Yes, even for me.

Because I write historically accurate fiction, I have a good idea how my stories are going to end.  There’s not a lot you can do with Catherine Howard’s story.  You can’t make it a happily ever after.  If you’re absolutely historically honest, you can’t make a Romeo and Juliet out of her relationship with Thomas Culpepper (despite the debunked claim that she said, on the scaffold, “I die a queen, but I would rather have died the wife of Culpepper.”).  You can’t change the order of Henry’s wives, and the child’s device of remembering their ends: divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.

But that doesn’t make the end any easier to write.

Because, as Lola Sharp said in the comments yesterday, “…endings are as crucial as beginnings...and perhaps more difficult to do well.”  Even a writer of historical fiction can’t just lay down the facts and think that suffices as a satisfying end.  Because history doesn’t always offer satisfaction.

So what makes a satisfying ending?  Victory in battle?  The voyager returning home?  The final kiss?  Can we include the more tragic endings here?  Dying for love?  Losing the girl but gaining the self?  The death of every major character, quietly and heroically eulogized by Horatio and Fortinbras?

I think what makes a great ending is one that comes from the characters themselves.  They have to be the ones running the show.  If you have a brilliant idea for an ending, and it doesn't come from the character’s motivations, it will not be satisfying.  If Scarlett had run off with Rhett, leaving Tara behind, would we have been Happy?  Maybe for a little while.  Our hearts run romantically, and we want them to be together.  But our intuition tells us that they won’t be happy.  They will continue to make each other miserable.  And Scarlett will fade, wallow, and die without the land of her birth.  Mitchell ended Gone with the Wind the only way the characters would allow.  Listen to your characters as carefully as she did.

If you know the end before you get there you have to sculpt the characters toward that end.  Creating a character who will ultimately lose her head/betray her friends/get the girl/climb the mountain/win the war means building the character using preprogrammed parts.  This runs contrary to my natural tendency to pants a first draft.  I feel like I’m wrestling my characters into submission.  And this makes endings very, very difficult for me to write.  I have no desire to send my characters to their destruction.  But history must be satisfied as thoroughly as readers.

So I wrestle.  And I listen.  And somehow I find the balance.

And so will you.  I have no doubt.  Because you are here.  Because you are writing.  Because you will face tomorrow and the next day and the next curve in the road, seen only through your headlights.

Note from Donna:
This weekend, I am attending the SCBWI winter conference. My amazing editor, Aimee Friedman, AND my fantastic agent, Sarah Davies, are both speaking at the conference. However, that isn't the only exciting thing going on in New York. Today, I have the opportunity to tour the Scholastic building for the first time and meet with the publicity and marketing people helping bring SKINNY to the world. So I'm going to introduce you to our guest blogger today, Elle Cosimano. Elle, Talia and I are all represented by Greenhouse Literacy Agency and Elle just sold her debut novel in a preempt to Dial.

WELCOME, ELLE!

"Fortunate people often have very favorable beginnings and very tragic endings. What matters isn't being applauded when you arrive - for that is common - but being missed when you leave."  -- Baltasar Gracian

Oh, the pressure!

As writers, we're obsessed with the significance of an unforgettable first line, a powerful hook, and perfect opening pages. We lose months of sleep over the precise moment when our story should begin.

The importance of the right beginning is drilled into us early on.

At cocktail parties, we say, "I'm writing a book." Rarely do we say, "I've finished one."

And even after we've written 80,000 words, it's the first ten pages the agent requests. Never the last. As if our credibility as a writer is rooted somewhere in the beginning of a book.

Meanwhile, the end lurks like a monster under the bed. It's the scary, dark thing none of us like to talk about. We're not really sure the end exists. And we're too afraid to look, because... well... what if it doesn't? Maybe that's scarier than all the other shadowy, undefined monsters we've imagined while staring at the ceiling. All we can be sure of is our fear of it.

After we throw back the covers and look under the bed -- after we stare down the monster and wrangle it to submission -- who are we then?

Are we still aspiring? There's so much hope in that title, isn't there? It's the nightlight. The security blanket. The woobie!

Or are we what we fear most? Finished. Done. Writer of an unsold book.

Why are so many of us afraid to say,"I've written a book," as if that implies some degree of failure? Or maybe just opens the door to the possibility of it?

I've met so many writers who've been working on their books for years, writing only beginnings and revising them over and over, as if the secret to banishing the monster is hidden somewhere in the opening chapters. When they don't find what they're looking for, they move on and begin another story. These writers are the same ones who ask, "How did you do it so fast?"

My answer?

I finished it. That's it. No iron-clad secrets. No catchy hook.

It's easier to build sweet dreams out of aspirations than to build a career out of the reality of rejection, and maybe even failure. But the only way to conquer the monster is to face it. The confidence we seek isn't hidden in beginnings. Anyone can write a beginning. Only the fearless will make it to

The End.

________________
Elle Cosimano
DEAD BLUE (Dial/Penguin, Fall 2013)
@ElleCosimano
www.ElleCosimano.com