Like most writers I tend to fret over nearly every aspect of
the stories I write. It's natural to want them to be 'just so,' perfectly delivering
on that impression we have in our heads. But since we can't jack our readers
straight into our skulls yet, we're stuck using words. Not just any words
either. We quest endlessly for that perfect set of words, or at least as close to
ideal as we can make them.
Start to finish, a writer relies upon the right words to
deliver the story as intended. Every word is vital, though the opening and
closing ones do extra duty by drawing the reader in and then delivering the
final payoff of the intended, overall impression.
Namely, hook 'em. Then leave 'em with the lasting thought
and feeling.
Like most writers, I labor over my story openings. They're
tough buggers to nail. Twiddling, tweaking and tuning can be, and often is,
involved. Sometimes extensively. I think two things work here in the writer's
favor though. One is the writer quite often has a good sense of how the story
will begin. (Whether it's an appropriate or the best beginning is a subject for
another time.) The second thing is, if the writer's first few words aren't
supreme, there are a handful more that come right afterwards that can,
hopefully, pick up the slack.
Wrong way to look at it? Point taken.
It certainly pays to make those first few words the perfect hook.
But just in case the hook is slightly dull, the second sentence or paragraph
might be sufficient to set the barb. As a reader, I have never bailed out on a
story after sentence #1. Page #1, yes. In rare cases, perhaps paragraph #1 or #2
gave me enough to know the story wasn't for me.
This is not the case with the story's final words. Those sit
there on the screen or page naked... alone... with no hope of reinforcement. They
cannot be weak or inappropriate choices for the closing lest they compromise
that all-important payoff. They must deliver.
So I, as the writer, must provide the perfect, final words. Those
words must impart the final impression of the story, the last piece the reader
requires to complete the experience.
These two burning needs often vex me. For me, it's mostly a
problem of choice. As in, too many to pick from.
Some stories I write have what I'd call obvious endings. You
know the ones. They practically write themselves. Done deal.
Some story endings gel only after the tenth, fiftieth, or one
hundredth time reworking them. These elusive ones you know aren't quite right
when you first write them. Try, try again ultimately prevails though and it's a
small celebration the day your rewrite clicks. Whew.
Then, there are the bad boys. These tend to defy logic and
threaten sanity. The problem is not rooted in the story. It's me. The writer.
I'm the problem because I quite often haven't resolved
exactly, precisely what I want. Actually, that's a misleading statement. I want
perfection. Perfection is a real bitch to pin down. In fact, it's near
hopeless. But you still have to try because 'good enough' really isn't.
Good enough is compromised. Flawed. Left alone, you know the
story requires more attention. It deserves a hundred or a thousand or a hundred
thousand reworks to make it proper, whatever that ends up being. Whatever it
takes.
Then, reality intrudes. At some point, the writer is forced
to let it go and move on. I hate that point. Actually, I hate facing that
point, but once you're past it, it's a huge relief. Talk about getting an 800
pound gorilla off your back.
Unfortunately, I don't have any particular brilliancies to
share regarding these problem children. Except, like real children, the best
you can do is to love and nurture them as much as possible to the point where
they must fend for themselves, for better or for worse.
And that's OK to do, even if it's not guilt free.
