You always used to tell me:
Every story needs an ending, Jen. That’s just the rule.
But what if it’s not ready to end? Or it is, but, it’s not really sure how?
Why can’t a story just go on a hiatus, or take a sabbatical? Can’t it just use some of its paid vacation days or go on a pregnancy leave—it’s trying to birth something anyway, isn’t it?
And I’ll remind you that some stories end with a To Be Continued. Some stories even have sequels!
Look at the boy with the lightning bolt scar on his head. He got 7 fat books AND a movie deal before his rendezvous was over.
Can’t we carry this one on a bit longer? You can even change the plot. How about in the next book, we leave the fights over stained dishes in the sink and who is going to pay the electrical bill this month behind and go on a wild vacation to Costa Rica. We’ll spend the first 37 pages jumping off cliffs and zip lining through the rainforest. We’ll get matching Henna tattoos right above our elbows and stay up all night picking off the scars of our childhood and drinking fruity wine out of jars. You’ll kiss me before sunrise, before high tide, before it all has to end.
If you stare at words long enough, they become so unfamiliar and bizarre. Same with people.
Jen, I just don’t—uh—feel the same—you know—way about you anymore.
And that’s how our story will end. It has to. Because you can’t write a love story about one person, just like you can’t keep a relationship going when only one person is in love. That’s just the rule.
Thought Catalog
Every story needs an ending, Jen. That’s just the rule.
But what if it’s not ready to end? Or it is, but, it’s not really sure how?
Why can’t a story just go on a hiatus, or take a sabbatical? Can’t it just use some of its paid vacation days or go on a pregnancy leave—it’s trying to birth something anyway, isn’t it?
And I’ll remind you that some stories end with a To Be Continued. Some stories even have sequels!
Look at the boy with the lightning bolt scar on his head. He got 7 fat books AND a movie deal before his rendezvous was over.
Can’t we carry this one on a bit longer? You can even change the plot. How about in the next book, we leave the fights over stained dishes in the sink and who is going to pay the electrical bill this month behind and go on a wild vacation to Costa Rica. We’ll spend the first 37 pages jumping off cliffs and zip lining through the rainforest. We’ll get matching Henna tattoos right above our elbows and stay up all night picking off the scars of our childhood and drinking fruity wine out of jars. You’ll kiss me before sunrise, before high tide, before it all has to end.
If you stare at words long enough, they become so unfamiliar and bizarre. Same with people.
Jen, I just don’t—uh—feel the same—you know—way about you anymore.
And that’s how our story will end. It has to. Because you can’t write a love story about one person, just like you can’t keep a relationship going when only one person is in love. That’s just the rule.
Thought Catalog
