The Greatest of These…

If I write a story to rival Hemmingway or Steinbeck, but have not an ending, I am only a whining blogger or a pathetic author wannabe. If I have the gift of prose and can understand the difference between “lie” and “lay”, and if I can write for thirty days straight, but have not an ending, I am nothing. If I pour everything I have into every page, but have not an ending, I gain nothing.

The ending is important, the ending is paramount. It does not leave you hanging, it does not leave you disappointed, it does not peter out into nothing. It does not annoy, it does not anger, it does not cause readers to petition Amazon.com for a “zero star” rating. It always satisfies, always suits, always gratifies.

The ending should never fail. When I was a child. I wrote like a child, I plotted like a child, I mixed up verb tenses like a child. When I became a writer, I tried to put childish ways behind me. When perfection comes, the pesky imperfect middle chapters are forgiven. This I finally realize, though I knew it all along.

So remember! Every story has three parts: beginning, middle, and end. But the greatest of these is the end.

(I’m screwed…)

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