Exit Strategy: Your Novel’s Ending as a Structural Tool

By Michelle Barker

While we all look forward to the day when we can write those two wonderful words—The End—and sign off on our magnum opus, some writers actually fear reaching the conclusion of their novel. There’s an important emotional component to this milestone. Your novel may have been ordering your schedule for months if not years. You’ve spent all that time with characters you’ve come to love (or hate). Once you finish the novel, then what? What if you give it to your trusted critique partners and they hate it?

While emotions are an important consideration, there’s another reason you might fear reaching the end: I’m talking about the very legitimate oh-shit moment of truth when you fully understand that your novel is a mess, and you don’t know what to do about it. (This, by the way, is also why many writers fear drafting a synopsis.)

But what if we flip this? Instead of being afraid, this is the time to get curious and use that ending as a tool: specifically, a compass. Because how you end a novel can point you in some interesting directions and help you figure out what you’ve done (or not done) structurally to get you there.

If the ending works but creates a mismatch

I’ve edited several novels that end brilliantly but don’t quite match the story they’re capping. I like to think of this kind of ending as a clue. In this case, the end is an indication of the story you wanted to write, the story you hoped you were writing—but not quite the one that made it onto the page.

That’s okay. Often this happens in a discovery draft where you don’t really know where you’re going until you get there. This kind of ending gives you tons of information about your intentions. If you use it as a compass, it will point you to the True North of your intended story.

Ask yourself: if this is how I want the novel to end, how must it start? The ending should always contain the seeds of the beginning. Chances are your novel hasn’t started in the right place. Getting curious about your ending is one way to find out where that place should be.

Look at the climax that has produced this ending and then see if you can line it up with a corresponding inciting incident that makes sense. I’m not talking about crafting something predictable but rather something fitting. If we continue thinking in terms of navigation, the inciting incident and the climax are key landmarks in your novel. They have to line up so that the reader doesn’t feel lost.

If you have no idea how the novel ends

Fear not. This is another clue. It might mean you don’t know your characters as well as you thought or that you’ve lost the thread of your story (which can happen if it’s particularly long or you’ve written it over an extended period and no longer remember the earlier chapters).

Characters can wander for several reasons but two are most common:

• They lack a strong narrative goal.
• You’re forcing them to follow an outline even though they’re trying to tell you they would never do the things you’re making them do.

This might be the time to curl up on the couch and read your draft all the way through, in as close to one sitting as you can. If you let go of your outline and try to listen to the characters, there’s a good chance they’ll let you know how this story needs to end.

If the ending is a disaster

This has certainly happened to me, where I reached the end of a manuscript and made a clean-out-the-fridge soup of it because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t need my critique partner to tell me this wasn’t working (although you can be sure she did). I knew it even as I was writing it.

What to do in this case? Reverse-engineer the story. Work backwards and see if you can pinpoint where the whole thing has taken a wrong turn (or maybe more than one). Usually, this kind of error is multi-factorial. It’s not just a plot point; it’s probably also at least one character who has gotten lost and made a weird decision that doesn’t mesh with the story or who they are.

Try to pinpoint the main structural beats: inciting incident, point of no return, midpoint, all-is-lost (or false victory) and climax. Nail down the main character’s narrative goal and make sure it’s specific, measurable, and tangible. List your plot points and see if they all connect with causality. Usually when you do these things, the ending falls into place naturally.

If your ending is predictable

The gold standard for endings is "inevitable but unexpected." If your critique partners tell you they saw the ending coming a mile away, chances are you’ve lined up your inciting incident and climax with a little too much transparency. If you give the reader a straight shot from Point A to Point B without enough side journeys or obstacles, they’ll get bored.

This is another opportunity to go back to the structural drawing board, list out your plot points, and see where you can make things more difficult for your protagonist.

Predictability can also be caused by the lack of a subplot. If you don’t have one, there’s your answer.

Sticking your landing

The ending is really where everything you’ve done shows its true colors. Don’t be afraid to find out that something isn’t working. It’s rare to stick the landing on your first draft. Instead, use your ending to evaluate your intentions for the novel and then work backwards to see how you can seed those intentions into the story to create a cohesive whole. Use it as a structural test to make sure it’s strong.

That way, when you finally do come to the end, it will be a moment of celebration and satisfaction. For a few days anyway—until you realize there’s a whole lot more revision in your future. My critique partner and I always joke that we don’t write The End, but rather, The End… For Now.

Michelle Barker is an award-winning author and poet. She is the co-author of two craft books: Immersion and Emotion: The Two Pillars of Storytelling and Story Skeleton: The Classics. Her fiction, non-fiction, and poetry have appeared in literary reviews worldwide. She has published three YA novels (one fantasy and two historical fiction), a historical picture book, and a chapbook of poetry. Michelle holds a BA in English literature (UBC) and an MFA in creative writing (UBC). Many of the writers she’s worked with have gone on to win publishing contracts and honours for their work. Michelle lives and writes in Vancouver, Canada.