Closing in on the last line

The last line of a novel should feel satisfying and final, but also forward moving. The overall feeling is one of being settled. Ready for new life to begin. The characters have been through the wringer, they’ve taken pains to change, and they finally have arrived at a new place in their hearts and minds. Life will go on, and the author hints at what that will look like.
 
Last lines are often on the shorter, straightforward side. But they don’t have to be. A longer last line, especially a writerly one, can work well.
 
As you’re traveling down the page that you feel is the last page, try to capture an underlying, winding-down sensation. The story is coming to its end, and you need that last line to fall in a way that either gently closes the door on its way out—or slams it.
 
Most likely you won’t be slamming the door unless you’re writing the end of a chapter or a short story. If it’s the end of a chapter, it’s fine to end with an emotional outburst because you’ll have time to explain, deal with, or resolve it later. And that’s fine. Or, if it’s a short story, you can slam that door and walk away. I love a good slammed-door short story ending.  
 
A novel, I believe, is better served with a controlled closing of the door: a catch-you-later, toodle-oo, and take care.
 
Think of it as leaving the reader with one last wisp of a feeling. It can be simple or it can be clever. It can be a line of dialogue, a description, or a sentiment. But it has to in some way say, “See you later.”

When writing the last line, there are no rules except to use your intuition and your sense of poetry and rhythm. The following are some last lines from the books that I used for my blog post about first lines (possible spoilers ahead).

Rebecca: And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea. [With this single line, we remember the entire story: It brings to mind the seaside manner house, Rebecca and her death, the harsh setting and also the cruel atmosphere created by Mrs. Danvers.]

Normal People: Good. It looks good. [The characters have been run through the mill, but at the end, things are looking good.]

Remarkably Bright Creatures: Avery is coming for pie. And there’s a Scabble game to win, after all. [Life will continue for Tova with her newfound family, and that is very reassuring to the reader.]

Staked: A Vampire’s Tale: Gregorie was not a monster. And one day his soul would light the moon. [Gregorie is not just one thing. Yes, he’s a vampire, but he’s determined to find a way to exist that is not monstrous and allows him to one day join his grandfather in lighting the moon.]

The Cold Light of Fate: “You never know what’s going to happen,” she muttered. [This is the last line of the entire series. For now things on Earth are heading in the right direction, but will they remain that way? No one can be sure.]

Thornhedge: One day she’d call him and go home. For now, though, she walked over the crest of the hill, toward the cold campfire, where Halim was just beginning to wake. [The character’s long- and short-term plans for their future in two simple lines. The reader can picture it.]

A Piece of the World: What she wants most—what she truly yearns for—is what any of us want: to be seen. And look. She is. [A satisfying end because it says outright what the character wants, and then clearly tells us she has achieved it.]
 
When writing the last line of a chapter or scene, as opposed to the entire novel, you don’t have to strive for that settled feeling that hints at the character’s future.

Think of it as more of a resting place. A good place for a pause. You should, however, hint at something that’s going to happen or may happen or that the character wants to stop from happening, as a way to build tension and draw the reader into the next chapter.

I’ll use my soon-to-publish novel Come Back and Haunt Me for examples:

In the first example, the protagonist, Veka, is going on her first date with Brady. They met at her place of work, she’s a vet technician, and she doesn’t know him well. She speaks in jest when she says, “I’m trusting you,” at the end of the scene, but the words also prelude the issue of trust that comes into the picture early in the story.

“Wait,” I said. “I don’t have my coat. Am I dressed all right?”

I was wearing one of my favorite going-out dresses. Form fitting and short so it showed off my legs. I’d inherited my mother’s shapely stems, or so I’d been told. Not that I’m that tall, just a little above average at five foot five.

Brady glanced over his shoulder. “Absolutely, and you don’t need it. I’ll keep you warm.”

He’d keep me warm? That was interesting. Forward, but in a good way.

I scrambled to find my key and lock the bolt. Thankfully I’d pulled my crossover purse overhead before bounding down the stairs to let him in. “Not a fancy place then?”

His shoulders hunched with a laugh. “No, not fancy. It’s a tavern. But still really good. And it’s not that cold tonight.”

He was right. There was only a touch of winter chill in the autumn air. I’d be fine without my coat. Especially if he was willing to keep me warm, ha ha.

“Okay,” I said, “I’m trusting you.”


In example 2, Veka has dreamed of her recently deceased boyfriend and woken up feeling spooked in the middle of the night. She thinks he may have been trying to communicate with her from the beyond. The scene winds down and ends with a sentence that sums up the rest of her night.

“I miss you,” I whispered and then I grabbed his pillow, which already smelled more of me than him. I squeezed it to my chest, willing my pounding heart to slow.

A moment passed without any ticks or whooshes, without anything that could be taken as an attempt at communication. Thor hopped onto the bed, sending my already jostled nerves to my scalp. He flopped onto my lap and purred into my hand.

“Hi, baby,” I said. “I know you miss him too.”

Then Mini joined us.

I lay back with my cats to keep me warm while I stared at the ceiling.

Sleep would not come to me that night. And neither would Brady. 


In example 3, Veka fends off unwanted advances from Doug, Brady’s older brother. Doug throws a variety of effort her way, and she reluctantly agrees to join him for something to eat. At the end of the scene, the reader realizes Doug has misinterpreted what she said. The scene ends with this little “extra” bit of interest.  

“We’ll just go out for something quick,” Doug said, cutting me off. “You gotta eat, right? Did I tell you that you’re looking thinner than usual?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I wanted to get home to see if Brady had returned, even if I was ravenously hungry because I’d missed lunch and hadn’t eaten since 7 a.m. God forbid Doug assumed eating with me qualified as a date instead of two people stuffing their faces side by side simply because they didn’t want to do so alone.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you to the cemetery before it’s too dark. Then we’ll get burgers.”

I didn’t want to upset him, so I said, “Okay, but not at the Barn.” The Barn, like Sunny Side’s, would forever be my and Brady’s place, and I wasn’t ready to eat there with Doug.

“Yeah, I never liked that dump either,” he said, misunderstanding. “We’ll just hit the drive-through.”
 

When ending the novel, you want your words to present a satisfying, settled feeling that hints at life in the future for the main character. If you’re ending the chapter or a scene, wrap up with tension and/or something intriguing to think about and tempt the reader into the next chapter.
 
Come Back and Haunt Me will publish this year.