In Stories, Endings Are Not the End

Reflections on a short fiction experiment

I feel as though I may have been dishonest with you.

I said I would let you choose an ending to my short story, “The Schooling of Emery Dixon,” but what I really let you choose was my protagonist’s next step. Did she put one leg over the window ledge and run away, or let her parents put her in rehab?

Responses rolled in as phone calls, emails, Facebook messages, tweets, margin notes. It’s a really cool experience for a writer to find others invested in her story, or, in this case, her character. I got to see what elements of the narrative—paragraphs, sentences, transition points, notes of foreshadowing—made an impact. The experiment was a rewarding give and take, a conversation that helped me technically. But the biggest gift for me was insight into how readers connect emotionally with a character.

When I posted the first part of the story, I asked you what you wanted for Emery Dixon, what ending would satisfy. You repeatedly articulated concern for my character. “I just want what’s best for her,” someone wrote. “I know rehab would be a good option, but I feel like she needs to do it on her own, find herself a little.” “My heart breaks for her,” a friend said. “Can’t this just end in a wedding?”

Those of you who chose rehab often expressed worry that Emery’s life was at stake. I got more than one message from female readers saying that the story made you uncomfortable, because the tragic lack of confidence and hysteria reminded you of painful times in your lives. What I expected was an experiment on writing technique. What I witnessed was actually a beautiful exercise in empathy.

While I knew I could bring a character to a decision point that could realistically unfold two different ways, what I couldn’t do is abandon the artistic impulse to control everything from that point forward. I had a feel for both endings and what was possible in the world I had created. It’s a funny thing, as a writer, to go back to your work and grieve for your characters, to want to write them a happier ending.

I couldn’t exactly give that to you. I hope you understand.

When a friend of mine saw the chosen ending—Emery running away—she immediately remarked: “I feel guilty. I can’t believe I chose that for her.” That feeling, to me, is the cool part of bringing readers into your process; they become complicit and engaged in a different way.

What I love about short stories is the way they often cast out into the future. There’s nothing final about these endings, which you’ll see, as you can read them both. Emery Dixon is certainly tangled up in the mess of life, but for those of you who wanted something good for her—in the absence of hard and fast finality, there is hope.

Thanks for the smart conversation.

With gratitude,

Megan