Whatever you’re ending on, it’s something you want to emphasize, right? So heighten that emphasis with repetition. It rivals rhyme as a device to shape language. – Roberto Bolano, “Last Evenings on Earth” RepetitionĪncient Hebrew poetry never used rhyme - it used repetition for emphasis. Tomorrow we’ll leave, tomorrow we’ll go back to Mexico City, thinks B joyfully. “Then his father walks toward the door stooping slightly and B stands aside to give him room to move. They were lean and seedy, unshaven, slouching behind the brims of their hats. “I turned and looked past the neighborhood kids - my playmates - at the two men, the strangers. “If you’ll secure the strap, Nurse Shepherd, then I think we can begin.” “Lie back, Michael, my sweet.” She nodded briskly at Pauline. It keeps the story alive, rather than closing it off. Extend the reader’s imagination beyond the story, so they finish hungry for more, and curious about the future of the storyline.Uses the “in media res” technique to go out on a high point, rather than dribble to a conclusion.
ENDING TO MY STORY QUOTES SERIES
Pique the reader’s interest for the next book in the series.But they absolutely can be used at the end of a story or book, for a few reasons: Normally, writers think of using a cliffhanger at the end of a chapter. And, ultimately, we’ll determine how the author crafts a sense of satisfaction in their closing phrases.Īfter collecting many, many endings, the following categories emerged: Cliffhanger We’ll identify how different types of endings contribute to a story. In this post, we’ll look at 100 ending lines from a diverse group of authors, both novelists and short story writers. It must be both satisfying and surprising, unexpected and also perfectly fitting.īut where do you stop? Which sentences are the last sentences? There is a certain magic in a well written ending. And she had destroyed herself, crushed by an insult that had appalled and amazed that childish soul, had smirched that angel purity with unmerited disgrace and torn from her a last scream of despair, unheeded and brutally disregarded, on a dark night in the cold and wet while the wind howled 100 Ways to End a Story (with examples) ‹ Back to blog She was only fourteen, but her heart was broken. Svidrigaïlov knew that girl there was no holy image, no burning candle beside the coffin no sound of prayers: the girl had drowned herself.
ENDING TO MY STORY QUOTES FULL
The stern and already rigid profile of her face looked as though chiselled of marble too, and the smile on her pale lips was full of an immense unchildish misery and sorrowful appeal. But her loose fair hair was wet there was a wreath of roses on her head. Among the flowers lay a girl in a white muslin dress, with her arms crossed and pressed on her bosom, as though carved out of marble. The coffin was covered with white silk and edged with a thick white frill wreaths of flowers surrounded it on all sides. The birds were chirruping under the window, and in the middle of the room, on a table covered with a white satin shroud, stood a coffin.
ENDING TO MY STORY QUOTES WINDOWS
The floors were strewn with freshly-cut fragrant hay, the windows were open, a fresh, cool, light air came into the room. He was reluctant to move away from them, but he went up the stairs and came into a large, high drawing-room and again everywhere-at the windows, the doors on to the balcony, and on the balcony itself-were flowers. He noticed particularly in the windows nosegays of tender, white, heavily fragrant narcissus bending over their bright, green, thick long stalks. A light, cool staircase, carpeted with rich rugs, was decorated with rare plants in china pots. A fine, sumptuous country cottage in the English taste overgrown with fragrant flowers, with flower beds going round the house the porch, wreathed in climbers, was surrounded with beds of roses. He kept dwelling on images of flowers, he fancied a charming flower garden, a bright, warm, almost hot day, a holiday-Trinity day. Perhaps the cold, or the dampness, or the dark, or the wind that howled under the window and tossed the trees roused a sort of persistent craving for the fantastic. But one image rose after another, incoherent scraps of thought without beginning or end passed through his mind. He was not thinking of anything and did not want to think.
There was a cold damp draught from the window, however without getting up he drew the blanket over him and wrapped himself in it. “It’s better not to sleep at all,” he decided. He got up and sat on the edge of the bedstead with his back to the window.
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