A Good Ending
By Andrea Lingle
“Perfection isn't about consolation; it's about loving. We are rewarded by doing whatever we do with righteousness and love.”
-St. Teresa of Avila, Interior Castle, p. 81
Endings are important.
I am a great lover of fiction. To sit in the barren bridal chamber with Miss Havisham or weep bitterly in the ditch with Henry Fleming or shrink away from the slavering jaws of Shelob facets life lived between Mondays. My very favorites are the really long ones. Stories that spin out over years in a character’s life lure me into absurd friendships with beings who can only exist through my imagination. I am convinced that Jane spoke to me directly when she announced her marriage to Mr. Rochester. The tears I shed over the loss of David Copperfield soaked deeply into my dining table. I know he didn’t die, but his story ended. These friends show me courage in face of the aches and bruises of life. When the day seems to drag at my shoulders, I can hear Lewis’s unicorn shout, “Come further up, come further in!”
Stories embroider what it is to be.
But it is rare to find an ending that leaves one breathless. A good ending leaves something unsaid, unbuttoned up, unfinished. Just like life. We all leave this world mid sentence. There isn’t time to dash back to tidy up. Life vanishes midweek. The best ending says just enough but leaves you canted forward, leaning into the emptiness beyond the paragraph.
Pilgrims are haunted by arrival. Even before you begin, the ending looms on the horizon. Will it be worth the effort? Getting to the destination means that you will be returning—going back. Stacks of hours of planning and hope exchanged for a week or a month or half a year. Will it have been enough? Will you have become a pilgrim?
Endings are hard.
Pilgrimage does not end at the arrival. Whether it be the Santiago de Compostela or Katahdin, Maine, or closing worship at Iona Abbey, the end of pilgrimage is less like a period on the final page of a manuscript and more like a flower closing around its pollinated stigma. The bloom recedes like the memory of a journey, but hidden beneath the dry, crenelated petals lies life. Seeds are born of faded flowers.
That is an ending worth journeying for.
Writing Practice Rules:
Grab a pen and paper or dictation device or computer.
Write/record the prompt at the top of your page.
Set a timer (you can adjust the time to suit your needs…I keep the practices short so they don’t seem overwhelming).
Take a few moments to visualize what the prompt is bringing up.
Write or speak or type!! Try not to edit or criticize. Just write.
Write the details of what is coming up. I call this catching what rises.
If you get stuck, make loops with your pen or nonsense syllables with your voice or tap the keyboard.
If you get really stuck, rewrite/record the prompt as a new paragraph.
Write the details of what you are seeing until the timer goes off.
Writing Prompts:
The funny thing about yesterday…
A list of things I have done since Monday…
The last time it was quiet…
I can see…
My planner thinks I love…
When we get there I want…
Please help me remember…