Happy Endings

All the stories I write have two things in common: they’re as true my memory will allow, and they have, for lack of a better term, a happy ending. Happy endings often get a bad rap, and for good reason, I think. Before I get to why, let’s remember that there is no story without some kind of problem or conflict. This is true of fiction and non-fiction. When I’m sitting at my desk, wondering what to write next, my mind naturally gravitates toward moments in my life when I felt sad or anxious or disappointed. The problem provides the story’s narrative juice, the question that must be answered, the tension that must be released.

In almost every case, that conflict arises from an event: the rejection, the snow storm, or argument. Something happened that I didn’t want to happen, and now I’m unhappy. The problem seems real – physical, describable, a block in the road. Though, in truth, often I have to paint that event with care so the reader will understand exactly why I’m so upset. Everyone reacts to things differently, after all. If a father walks out on a family, one kid might think, “Good riddance,” the other might think, “He left because I’m not lovable.”

This fluidity of perception is important to remember when I get to the end. It’s rare that my stories resolve with a happy event. That is, my problem isn’t solved because something better happens: I got a bunch of rejection letters and I was really unhappy and then I got an acceptance and I was happy. The end. My girlfriend left and I was miserable then she came back and everything was right in the world. Not only is this unsatisfying, but it’s not usually how life itself works. Typically, something seems like it’s a problem and then it doesn’t. It’s my perception and my belief that changes and that provides a story’s uplifting landing place.

It's understandable to be suspicious when circumstances alone seem to solve a character’s troubles. Whenever I’ve thought, “I just need this thing to happen, and then I’ll be all right,” that thing rarely happens, and even if it does, it isn’t long before I’m not all right again. The only happily-ever-after, which is to say an enduring well-being, is unconditional. This I have learned again and again. Every time I tell a story and find that satisfying, soothing, reassuring ending, I’m reminded that it already existed within me, a kind of beacon that needed no one to light it, only see it.

Check out Fearless Writing with Bill Kenower on YouTube or your favorite podcast app.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com