This week’s article by Nancy Lamb is a repost from 2008. It includes information on easy readers as well as on shaping other stories for children (or for any reader, really).  Nancy Lamb, author of The Writer’s Guide to Crafting Stories for Children, has edited many books by those hoping to enter the young adult and children’s book markets and the wisdom in the chapter she has offered us comes directly from her first-hand experience working with people on their writing. She hopes to educate those writing for children or adults on important elements in their stories so they can make them strong before they submit them for publication. Whether you need clarification on the subcategories of books for young readers or a lesson in structure for any narrative writing, Nancy’s instruction is clear, to the point and enlightening, and she has given Writing It Real permission to reprint “Chapter Ten: Journey’s End” from her book.

In a note to Writing It Real readers, Nancy reminds us:

When you pose a question at the opening of your narrative, you form an alliance with your reader. And — because everyone wants to know how the story ends — once that question is asked, it’s your obligation to answer it. What happened? What happened next? What changed the situation? How did you survive? Without any one of these elements, the narrative feels weak. But without a credible conclusion, the narrative fails. Fulfilling the need for a satisfying ending gives us a sense of order restored and wrongs righted. And it also offers hope that we can navigate the tempests of life and find safe ground at journey’s end.

For most new authors, the primary angst of writing arises at the beginning of the book — how to hook the reader and create a set-up or central question that’s strong enough to carry characters and ideas through the length of the story. In the midst of these initial concerns, we forget how important the ending is . . . how critical it is to the success of a book.

Story is, after all, how we define ourselves as individuals and as members of a group. As Henry Bamford Parkes posits, the vitality of nations depends on the social myths it embraces. Stories are how we — as children and adults — make sense of confusing times. Whether it’s Freud talking about the Oedipal complex or Max sailing into the “underworld” where the Wild Things are, combinations and permutations of epic stories have lasted thousands of years and created profound impacts on our lives.

Given the consequential role story plays in our intellectual and emotional lives, the ending then becomes as critical as the beginning. Whether you’re writing fiction or narrative non-fiction, it’s not always possible to know how your story will end when you embark on your story. And even if you think you know what the ending will be, the organic nature of storytelling often carries us in directions we haven’t anticipated. When this happens, it’s more important to follow your intuition than to stick to your original ending.

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[The following is reprinted from The Writer’s Guide to Crafting Stories for Children by Nancy Lamb with permission of the author and Writer’s Digest Books]

Chapter Ten: Journey’s End

Begin at the beginning. . .
and go on till you come to the end: then stop.

– Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

THE FINAL CURTAIN
Just as it’s easier to work a maze backwards, it also helps to know what and where your ending is when you begin your book.

From the moment you conceive your opening sentence, you will write with more confidence and move forward with a stronger sense of purpose if you have a general idea about how your story will end. It’s not necessary to focus on the fictional destination with every word you write. It’s a matter of maintaining a general awareness of your ultimate goal.

You don’t need to know all the details of the ending. Nor do you need to know how every step of the final scene will play out. But it’s a good idea to have a strong sense of the general direction in which you are going. Setting your sights with this literary compass is a solid way to avoid getting lost in the dark woods. It’s also a way to maintain a steady forward momentum throughout your book.

The first thing to keep in mind about your ending is that it must honor the contract you made with the reader in the opening paragraphs. This does not mean the ending must be predictable. But it does mean that the ending must be inevitable.

When art students learn to draw, they are taught perspective. In order to indicate near and far, a road made up of two ostensibly parallel lines grows narrower as it moves toward the horizon line. Think of your story as that road, and the ending of your story as the precise point at which the two parallel lines meet. In order to convey the full depth and distance of your picture, the convergence of the lines brings the story together at one final, inevitable point.

THE FUNDAMENTALS OF ENDINGS
There are lots of ways to end a book — from happy, sad, and mysterious to ambivalent, comic and tragic. But when it comes to endings, the bedrock issue to bear in mind is to keep the promise you made with your reader at the beginning of the book.

Whatever ending you choose, you must lead up to it in an honest way. Again, like Hansel and Gretel, even in the simplest story you must have dropped enough crumbs for the reader to follow so the ending is a logical outgrowth of the path you have traveled through the book. In other words, you can’t spring a surprise on the reader at the last minute that you haven’t laid the groundwork for in advance. Whether you’re writing a drama, a coming of age story, a thriller, or a mystery, you must drop crumbs that lead to the inevitable ending. The groundwork might be obscured and the hint might be subtle, but the clues must be there in order to justify the surprise you create.

Keeping your Promise
Critical to the understanding of the ending is the understanding that if you’ve made a promise to the reader, it’s your obligation to deliver on it. Anything less than a full payoff is a violation of the author-reader contract.

• If you promise a mystery, end with the solution.
• If you promise action, end with resolution.
• If you promise sin, offer redemption.
• If you promise confusion, end with understanding.
• If you promise anguish, end with relief.
• If you promise humor, end with a punch line.
• If you promise a coming of age story, end with insight and growth.
•  If you promise a love story, end with a resolved relationship.

In other words, the ending of your story should be the inescapable outcome of the plot lines you have woven together throughout the book and the promises you have made. And it should be played out onstage in full dramatic regalia.

DIFFERENT STROKES FOR DIFFERENT-AGED FOLKS
In children’s fiction, the endings of books vary with the age of the reader. Some readers require certainty. Others don’t. It all depends on the kind of book, the subject matter and the age of the readers.

1) Traditional Picture Books
With little children, the way stories are resolved is critical. The endings of the more serious stories offer comfort and closure to fragile psyches. Little children need to feel safe, need to feel protected from the vagaries of a capricious world. Time enough for them to learn about unpredictability and its messy aftermath.

It’s no accident that fairy tales end with, “And they all lived happily after.” Endings such as this give children a sense of security, a feeling they can cope with the circumstances they confront in their daily lives. Robert Browning expresses this sentiment perfectly in his poem, Pippa Passes: “God’s in his heaven — All’s right with the world.” Max arrives home and his supper is still hot.

In lighter picture books, humor plays a major role. There’s often a twist to the tale, a gentle tweaking of the world in which the characters cavort. Never underestimate a small child’s ability to “get the joke.” Presented properly, humor evokes a giggle and creates a quiet sense of satisfaction in the reader or listener.

In The Cat in the Hat, the mother leaves her two children staring out the window on a rainy day. Everything is quiet and orderly. Then the cat comes along and creates chaos. Before he leaves, the cat cleans up the mess. And when the mother comes home, everything is perfectly tidy again. The story ends with the question,

Should we tell her about it?
Now what SHOULD we do?
Well. . .
What would you do
If your mother asked you?

2) Easy Readers and Chapter Books
Again, these stories end on a comforting note. There are no developments left dangling. All’s well that ends well. The readers of these books are still fragile, still searching for the signposts in life that allow them to negotiate their way through the increasing challenges of a confusing world. They, too, need to know that things turn out all right.

At this age level, most of the stories deal with subjects kids can relate to in their daily lives. In their search for security in a larger world, children this age count on the fact that a satisfying ending awaits them.

If you’ve written a humorous story, it’s important to give the ending that clever comic twist, such as the revenge of the slimy, versatile critters in David Greenberg’s Slugs. Kids love this kind of reverse-situation humor.

Usually, these endings aren’t full of laugh out loud yucks. A gentle get-the-joke humor is what most of these books aim for.

In No Tooth, No Quarter, Jon Buller and Susan Schade find the balance between humor and satisfaction in their story about a boy named Walter who loses his tooth, then saves it in his pocket in order to give it to the Tooth Fairy. But, he later explains in an apologetic note to this capricious night visitor, the pocket had a hole in it and he lost the tooth.

That night the Tooth Fairy — who is already in trouble for handing in a dog tooth, a fake vampire tooth and a cracked tooth with a filling — reads the note and informs Walter that she can’t give him his quarter unless she has the tooth. After a trip to Tooth Fairy Land and a useless plea to Queen Denteena, Walter finally cuts the pocket from his pants and trades it for his quarter. “Will you wake me up when you come for my next tooth?” Walter asks the Tooth Fairy. “Sure,” the Tooth Fairy tells him. “Only try not to lose it before I get here.”

3) Picture Books for Older Kids
In the olden days, picture books were geared toward little kids. That’s not true anymore. Today some picture books are written for kids up to eight or nine years old and deal with difficult subjects and serious themes.

Florence Parry Heide’s Sami and the Time of the Troubles takes place in Beirut during the war. And Margaret Wise Brown’s The Dead Bird examines the ramifications of death when some children discover a dead bird. In this simple but powerful book, the children learn about the finality of death and the necessity of saying farewell as they find a place in the forest to bury the bird amidst ferns and flowers, ritual and remembrance.

Obviously, picture books for older children are more complicated. They aren’t required to have a happy ending. But as Janet Zarem, the distinguished children’s book consultant, says — “If you can’t leave them happy, leave them hopeful.”

4) Middle-Grade Fiction
By this age — 9 to 12 years old — the endings don’t have to be happy, but they do have to be satisfying in some fundamental way. In younger books, stories deal primarily with situations and feelings the child might encounter. Here, stories grow out of the characters, their internal changes and their ability to understand and cope with the world around them. As a consequence, the endings to these books are more complex.

For instance, sometimes life doesn’t turn out the way the hero wants it to. Yet she does get some of what she needs — an understanding of how the world works, perhaps, or a new-found ability to cope with a confusing and challenging event. She might have to accept adverse circumstances or even mourn a deep loss. But in all of these situations, the hero learns something. She changes. She grows. And she begins to get a firmer grasp on the complexity of the world around her.

In Bridge to Tarabithia, Jess Aarons must cope with the death of a friend. And in doing so, he learns to appreciate the invaluable gifts she gave him. In spite of Leslie’s death, by the end of the book the hero has grown in courage and vision and creativity.

5) Young Adult
By their teen years, kids have developed a high tolerance for ambivalence. They may rail against the fact that their world isn’t painted in black and white. But by now they’ve absorbed the message that things don’t always turn out the way they want them to; that often conflicts are beyond their control and life isn’t always fair.

Personal challenge and internal change are hallmarks of books at this age. So is a kind of dark vision of the world. The perennial popularity of Go Ask Alice, The Outsiders, and Holes, attests to this. Death, loss and existential angst color the endings of many YA books in shades of gray. “Sadder but wiser” is the phrase that springs to mind.

Given the angst teenagers experience when their hormones are raging and their lives are chaotic, it’s no surprise that the endings of their books are often ambivalent. What is a surprise is that young adults embrace this irony and ambiguity so readily.

The Ending As Beginning
As certain and inevitable as the ending of a book should be, this does not mean the story stops at this point. In fact, you should do everything you can to convey a sense that the story will continue after the reader closes the book. A believability in the future of the characters is one of the primary elements that makes a book memorable.

In Middle Grade and Young Adult fiction, especially, you have created characters who live and breathe, love and hate, rage and submit, avoid and desire, embrace and deny, coax and bluster — characters whose lives are lived out in all their multiple manifestations and contradictions between the pages of a book. What they were doing before the story began will continue after the story ends. The circumstances of their life may have changed. The course of their life may have shifted direction. They may have grown in understanding and depth and character. But they will continue to live their life in a way that the reader is invited to imagine.

After going to summer school and special classes, Lucy raises her SAT scores by 250 points and gets into the college of her choice. But after the story ends, will she overcome the remaining obstacles in her path in order to succeed in the wider world?

Will Rawlf become the man his father wants him to be? Or the man he wants to be? Will Ben’s wish come true and Noah’s ambitions are realized?

If you structure your endings skillfully, these questions remain in the reader’s mind long after the door is closed on your story.

Readers will embrace your book, and often want to read it again, if you give them the impression that the story doesn’t end when it ends. Characters continue to grow and lives continue to evolve. This sense of future possibility creates the longing to know more — the sense of hope that extends beyond the back cover of your book.

In Mom, the Wolf Man and Me, Norma Klein ends her story with:

“So, a new life is beginning for you,” Wally said, sneezing.

“Here’s to a new life!”

Walking downstairs again, I wondered if he was right.

There’s no question this story is going to move forward. No question the hero will do her best to live life in the new direction that was set during course of the story.

That is what makes the ending satisfying and the book worthwhile. And what makes readers come back for more.

BEYOND THE END TO THE SEQUEL

Not everyone can write books with an ending that is, in fact, a beginning. Not everyone can write with enough clarity and confidence to herald the coming of the next book. J.K. Rowling is a master of this technique in her Harry Potter stories. The astonishing success of this series is not only a testament to the author’s talent and vision. It is confirmation of the fact that children are willing to follow a character through the next book if the previous book leads them to it with skill and intrigue.

In Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Rowling ends her story with,

 “I hope you have — er — a good holiday,” said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

“Oh, I will,” said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face. “They don’t know we’re not allowed to use magic at home. I’m going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer. . . .”

There’s a distinct sense that some naughty fun awaits the hero. Even if he’s not allowed to use his new magical power, Harry is confident he knows how to avoid being a victim at the hands of the wretched Dudley. Needless to say, readers wants to share this experience with their hero. . . and to learn how his next year at wizard school will play out.

In Philip Pullman’s absorbing fantasy, The Golden Compass, the author creates a poetic and lyrical tale of classic depth and breadth. Here, the heroine, Lyra Belacqua, is drawn into a world where mystery reigns, hideous things happen and momentous struggles take place. In a masterfully-written story that appeals to both adults and children, Pullman deals with complex and provocative subjects — with life and death, with truth and reality, with good and evil. And he ends this first book in the His Dark Materials trilogy with Lyra speaking to her companion — her daemon.

“I reckon we’ve got to do it, Pan. We’ll go up there and we’ll search for Dust, and when we’ve found it we’ll know what to do.”

Roger’s body lay still her arms. She let him down gently.

“And we’ll do it,” she said.

She turned away. Behind them lay pain and death and fear; ahead of them lay doubt, and danger, and fathomless mysteries. But they weren’t alone.

So Lyra and her daemon turned away from the world they were born in, and looked toward the sun, and walked into the sky.

This is an irresistible ending, one that ties up one story as it creates anticipation for the next. A perfect model to look to when you’re writing your own series.

PITFALLS AND POTHOLES AT THE END OF THE ROAD
Sometimes when we write a book, we commit ourselves to an ending that doesn’t work. We’ve constructed a story that has one inevitable conclusion, but by the time we’ve actually written that story, it becomes apparent that the previously-planned outcome is a mistake.

As much as I talk about the necessity of the inevitable ending, you should be prepared to change it if your story leads you in a new direction. Sometimes characters and circumstances force you onto a different path — one you hadn’t planned, but one that is ultimately more intriguing and more appropriate. When detours happen, the most important thing to remember is not to shy away from re-thinking and re-writing your story to accommodate the new ending.

U-Turns and Detours: A Personal Aside
Every time I make a major revision, I remember the six full drafts of my first novel I typed out on my trusty Smith Corona portable typewriter. Each draft represented at least three or four weeks of re-writing and typing. That doesn’t include all the literal cutting and pasting and constructing of new pages with scissors, scotch tape and a Xerox machine.

Compared to the old method, computers make revisions a snap. Cut, paste, insert, rewrite. . . no scissors, no scotch tape required.

Not long ago I was ghostwriting a book, and in the final, down-to-the-wire edit I realized the outline I had followed so carefully no longer made the sense it did when I set out on the project. The person for whom I wrote the book kept giving me new material that hadn’t been factored into the initial outline. These contributions changed the approach I had originally conceived. The deadline was three days away and the manuscript suddenly felt overly complicated and confusing.

Instead of crawling under my blankie and hiding (which I was sorely tempted to do) I sat down at my computer and spent three intense days reconfiguring the entire book. I eliminated old chapters and sections and created new ones. I cut and I pasted, then re-wrote old text and tied it all together with new text that bridged the gaps I had created.

I could not have done this on a typewriter. It wouldn’t have happened. I would have bowed my head and resigned myself to handing in a book that wasn’t as good as it could have been.

With the help of a computer, serious, sweeping revisions are always possible. You should never shy away from them. Nor should you think they are not worth the effort.

No matter how hard or painful the work might be, improving your manuscript is always worth the effort. That said, however, I would emphasize there’s a good chance you can spare yourself this re-write trauma if you acquaint yourself in advance with the pitfalls you can encounter at the end of your book. If you put in the effort now, you’ll save a lot of time in re-thinking, re-plotting and rewriting later on.

FOUR HAZARDS AT THE END OF THE ROAD
At the end of your narrative journey, there are several road hazards to look out for as you travel along the home stretch. Considering these issues in advance can save you lots of time, anguish, and trouble as you wrap up your story and end the fictional lives of your characters.

1) Dead Ends
Two years ago I was asked me to edit a young adult novel the publisher had commissioned. As I read the story, I edited the prose for precision and clarity, tracked the plot and the subplot, and made notes in the margins, notes for a critique, and notes in my head. I also followed the progress of the hero who was on an ostensible journey toward personal authenticity. By the time I reached the end of the story, I didn’t care whether the hero succeeded or failed. I felt as if the publisher and I had wasted a lot of time — and in the publisher’s case, money — on a story that didn’t work on any level.

Some background — with circumstances disguised, of course. At the beginning of the story, the hero wants to go to a special ski resort where his mom and dad don’t want him to go. So he lies to his parents in order to get there. Without a trace of a guilty conscience, the hero travels to the resort, sees his friends, has some adventures, gets into trouble, has his driving emotional problem solved for him by someone else, and returns home. At the end of the book — since his lie goes undetected — the hero tells another lie to his parents in order to travel somewhere else he’s not supposed to go.

The hero has learned nothing. He hasn’t grown. He hasn’t changed. He lacks essential integrity. He’ll do anything to get what he wants. He’s still a shameless deceiver. So at the end of this novel, why in the world would any reader care about him? And why in the world would someone choose to read another book by this author?

The answer is, they wouldn’t.

It probably won’t come as a surprise to learn that, ultimately, the decision was made not to publish the book.

I offer this editing saga as an example of just about everything you can do wrong in a story. The hero is dishonest, and it’s hard to cheer for the success of a liar. The hero gets into trouble and someone else gets him out of it. Furthermore, the hero doesn’t have enough conscience or insight to understand he has done anything wrong.

Beyond those obvious failings, the author constructs a totally unsatisfying ending. If the hero hasn’t grown or changed or learned anything, there’s not an ending in all of literature that could convince me this novel is worth reading.

At the beginning of this book, once the hero lies to his parents, the implicit contract with the reader states that he will learn something from his mistake. He will grow. He will change. The hero will learn that deceit has its price. Everything points toward that ending. But the author ignores the signs. This leaves the reader feeling angry and dissatisfied and determined never to read another book by this writer.

Ending Rule #1: If the hero doesn’t change or grow or learn something important, create a new ending or don’t write the story.

2) Speed Demon
One sin that many writers are guilty of is ending a story too abruptly. I’ve seen it time and again. You make your way through a wonderfully-constructed, artfully-paced novel, only to have the author tie up the ending in two pages. The reader is left with a sense of “Huh? What happened to the ending? Where did it go?”

Now you see it, now you don’t.

This fictional sin isn’t that uncommon. I suspect the reason this happens is that the author just grows tired of writing the book. He’s busted his fictional rear for a solid year and he’s understandably weary. Patience is not the only thing that wears thin on an arduous and demanding journey.

I recently edited an outstanding YA novel that was both intriguing and memorable. But when the author reached the end of the story, he tied up all the loose ends in a flash. Even though the hero was forced to overcome one dreadful thing after another that had been perpetrated by the villain of the story, he never confronted the villain in a final, decisive scene. All the action was played off stage, depriving the reader of the satisfaction of watching the hero stand up to his nemesis. It was as if the author couldn’t write one more scene with this character. So he tossed the balls in the air and caught them all at once — wrapping up the story in one page.

Which brings me to the moral of this story.

Telling the reader what happened in an abbreviated flashback, or exposing a three-penny ending played off stage is no substitute for the full dramatization of your story.

Ending Rule #2: You must always play out your ending on stage.

3) Surprise Intersection
Have you ever driven down a road and suddenly come upon an intersection you didn’t know was there? Without a warning, the side road appears out of nowhere and its presence makes no sense.
The same can be said of amazing coincidence that pops up in a story. Granted, life is full of coincidence. But fiction isn’t. Furthermore, you can’t introduce a solution to a problem from out of left field.

Let’s say you are writing a mystery that involves a solution the hero can’t solve because he doesn’t know how to lift fingerprints off a windowsill. So three-quarters of the way through your book when the villain is about to get away with his dastardly deed, your hero runs into a long-lost friend who just happens to know all about fingerprints. By using this coincidence instead of having the hero himself learn about fingerprints, you’ve just blown the story into disjointed little bits. Again, Charles Dickens might be able to get away with this. But we ordinary mortals cannot.

Ending Rule #3: If you haven’t prepared the reader in advance for the amazing coincidence, you’re not allowed to include it in the story.

4) The Secret Exit Ramp
In classical Greek drama, when one of the gods was in a major pickle, sometimes Zeus would sweep down on the stage from the wings, pluck the hero from harm’s way and carry him off to live happily ever after while cavorting with nubile goddesses in the meadows and peaks of Mount Olympus. This theatrical technique is called Deus Ex Machina — literally, “the god from the machine.”

Children have used Deus Ex Machina for years. Every time they end a story with “And then Tammy woke up and realized everything was just a dream,” they’re introducing a suddenly-contrived, last-minute-reprieve element into their tale.

Another rabbit-out-of-the-invisible-hat situation might take place when the villain confronts a hero. Just when things get dicey and the hero is going to be defeated, he reaches into the desk drawer and pulls out a laser sword. But if the reader doesn’t know in advance there’s a laser sword in the drawer, you can’t have the hero use it.

Deus Ex Machina is the literary equivalent of being saved by the bell.
The lesson here is simple. Never ask the reader to buy an ending that’s built around the sudden entry of a savior — whether that savior is a bell, a hero, or a beast. Even if you hide them well, you must sprinkle those plot crumbs in the forest for us to follow. Not only will I not buy the last minute entrance of the savior, I’ll resent his intrusion into the story.

Ending Rule #4: No Deus Ex Machina allowed!
Study these Road Hazards. Make them an integral part of your consciousness as you plan your story. Writing with an awareness of these four rules will allow you to bring your book to an intelligent, inevitable close with minimum plot pain and maximum creative pleasure. And it will make the process of writing your book a positive and rewarding experience.