Even if I know it’s a draft and not a finalized version of a book, I struggle with endings. Throughout most of my writing process, endings find me. I write a sentence and think, “Oh, that’s the end.”
That does not happen at the end of a book. That last scene is sticky and hard to set down. I walk away with little bits of it still on my fingers. The end of a book is a set of contradictions. It should dramatically conclude without feeling over-wrought. The end should satisfy the reader but leave them wanting more. The end of the book is the justification for all the pages preceding it, the reason for the writing and reading.
Which is why I always know when I’ve really ended a book. When a book is finished, I feel a Zeus-like power between my palms. Watch out, world! This lady can create beauty out of nothing, and chuck lightning bolts too.