What's in an Ending?

After writing every day for three months I'm coming up to the final scenes in a new stand-alone. This is usually an exciting time for me because I have an idea of what will happen and I'm eager to see how all the elements play out. But as I approach this section I'm not as decided on the various threads as I usually am, which means I have far greater flexibility on the ending. So, how much choice do I have? What do I want in my ending?

In a cozy or traditional mystery, all the questions should be answered. Based on the form of comedy, the cozy mystery is expected to answer all questions, solve all problems, mete out punishment, and bring the community together again into a coherent whole. We want to see the villain get what he has coming to him or her. We want the virtuous sleuth to be rewarded with praise and new regard. That's exactly what happens in The Widows of Malabar Hillby Sujata Massey. The tidy ending is heartwarming and clear, much tidier than in real life. 

The second type of ending is a variation on the first. In this one the villain is caught, but another criminal in the midst of the community is revealed and departs. It doesn't matter how involved in the instigating crime this second party is; only that he or she walks away. This is the ending I chose in Friends and Enemies: A Mellingham Mystery.

The third type of ending is popular in a series that the reader especially likes. In this type the mystery is solved but then another mystery or problem occurs, and the sleuth doesn't have a moment to rest in glory. One crime is solved, and another is hinted at or committed, which means the sleuth can't walk away and move on. This is the ending chosen by Alexia Gordon in Murder in G Major.

In the fourth type the reader confronts a question of responsibility that transforms the mystery and its crime into a larger question, and no two readers may have the same response. In The Nine Tailorsby Dorothy L. Sayers, a man is found dead from what looks like a tortuous experience. Lord Peter Wimsey searches doggedly for a murderer to no avail. He stumbles on the answer quite by accident, but how the victim came to be where he was, unable to escape and thus unable to protect himself from death, raises questions of the nature of guilt, of responsibility and justice. No villain is arrested, no one is charged. Sayers addresses the underlying questions and offers one possible response.

There is a fifth type that few writers attempt, but it is delicious when tackled successfully. In this form, the crime may or may not be a murder but there is always deception around a death, perhaps a lesser crime, and a question of justice and responsibility. In The New Sonia Wayward(The Case of Sonia Wayward) by Michael Innes, a man goes sailing with his wife, a famous novelist who has been supporting him generously all their married life. When she falls overboard and drowns, he faces a bleak future. He decides to conceal her death, tell everyone she has gone on a trip, and write her romance novels himself. This has been called Innes's most cynical novel, though written with his light, wry touch.

The ending chosen tells us about the story structure, for example, but it also challenges the reader's view of justice and right or wrong. Not everyone will agree with Sayers's conclusion in The Nine Tailors, and not everyone will agree that community is restored in Murder in Mellingham, the first Mellingham mystery. Each ending is an interpretation of what justice means in a particular situation, and forces the reader to think about the choice that has been made. In a few more days I will have to choose one of the five possibilities, and right now I only know that it won't be the first one.

Assessing the Pandemic in My Writing Life

Over the last several days I've thought this would be a good time to pay more attention to my blog and get back to writing every week or at least every month. I've begun a number of posts on various topics--problems related to endings, choosing the right detail to illuminate a character, reworking a first draft. But all of them fell flat. 

As interesting as these problems may be to me and other writers, I felt like I was sitting on a raft whose anchor had been cut and I was drifting out into the middle of a fast-flowing river, ignoring the current, hazards, and struggling boats. My ideas seemed irrelevant to the current circumstances.

We are in the middle of a national crisis not of our own making and certainly not under our control. If you're like me, you're glued to the television news in the evening and scanning the morning paper for anything hopeful, reading posts from other papers and FB postings. And then, after a few days of this, I began to feel the effects--I was ready to snap at people not wearing masks or standing too close as we passed on the sidewalk. I was on high alert in the grocery store and wary of touching anything on a shelf, even while wearing gloves. A simple question asking me how I was could easily trigger a long-winded rant. 

I have no reason to be ill tempered. I'm one of the lucky ones. My husband and I are retired; we haven't lost our livelihood; and our extended families are able to isolate themselves without worrying about how they're going to feed themselves or manage for several months if necessary. It won't be easy, but it won't be catastrophic for them or for us. This is sobering and grounding. We're fortunate. It's a relief to acknowledge this, and step back from the hysteria on social media, from the self-serving lies coming out of the White House, and from any promises of a quick fix from anyone.

This is a time to appreciate what we have but also to be mindful of how others are faring. I can't volunteer to help directly but like many others I can do small things. I donated a half-empty box of facemasks to a nearby home for senior women after they put out a call for protective gear. On my walks I look for something that will offer cheer and a distraction to others, such as the way people decorate their gardens now that spring is here. On the water the ocean breezes slow the blooms but gardeners are out anyway.

Plenty of writers are speculating on how this pandemic will change us. Most are optimistic. I would like to be but not under the current administration, which is angling for both a power and money grab. Nevertheless, I intend to keep close what I have learned about people--both strangers and friends and neighbors--and to move accordingly into the future, making a greater effort where possible to help out and remain ever mindful of those surviving with less. And in the end I'll go back to writing about writing, grateful I can do so and ever appreciative of the opportunities I've been given.