“Give your chapter endings extra love”

The other day I turned in a library book without finishing it. . . . Sigh. . . . Have you ever done that?

I almost gave up on that book several times but kept telling myself to give it one more try, and then one more try, but eventually I just couldn't keep reading.

Why do we stop reading some books? There are several reasons. It has to do with the story itself, but it also has to do with how the author writes that story. Last week we looked at how to begin your memoir's chapters (Your chapter openings: Do they intrigue readers?) and this week we'll look at how to end your chapters. 

We all know this: Readers have a choice at the end of each chapter. They can turn the page and begin the next chapter . . . or not.

We want to prevent that "or not."

We must write chapter endings

that motivate readers, that compel them, 

that propel them forward into the next chapter,

and then into the next chapter.

That's why we need to learn to write effective chapter endings.

Book chapter endings aren't supposed to resemble composition endings we penned in college freshman English. Back then we concluded with a summary that tied everything together and provided a satisfying end. Our composition endings brought a sense of closure. Resolution. We might think that's how to end our memoir chapters, too, but that's not the case.

Rebecca Belliston writes, " . . . if we end every chapter with a resolved scene, readers might leave for those Oreos and find something else to do. When it comes to holding reader interest, knowing when to end a chapter matters almost as much as knowing what content to include within the chapter."

Look over your memoir's rough draft. Examine the endings of your chapters. Ask yourself if each compels readers to turn the next page and keep reading.

Here are a few techniques:

Mystery, tension, emotion: Time pressures, threats, or risks motivate readers to keep reading. A sudden death. An unexpected kiss. A forced change of plans.

Surprise: You realize the good guy is the bad guy.

Suspense: End a chapter where a main character is still striving toward a longed-for goal that's been out of reach, but he/she is getting closer and closer.

Ask a question that captivates the reader and makes her want to read more. For example, in my second memoir, Please, God, Don't Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger's Memoir, I ended one chapter this way:

"But what if Dave's idea wasn't just youthful, half-baked idealism? When he burst through that door with that goofy grin and said, 'We are moving to Lomalinda,' did God burst through with him? With a big grin?' (Please, God, Don't Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger's Memoir) 

Drop a new twist into your story—a new conflict, a secret, or something terrifying or dangerous. For example, also from my second memoir:

"Swimmers also admitted their fear that pirañas might chew on them, but that didn't keep them out of the water—unless they had sores on their bodies. With powerful jaws and teeth like razors, pirañas have a reputation for eating a man in a couple of minutes, leaving only a skeleton—but Lomalinda's didn't bite unless they smelled blood, and thus the need for those with an open sore to stay out of the lake. (Pirañas only nibbled on a mole on Dave's knee.)

"And let me tell you about boa constrictors."

Reveal a tidbit of information—maybe good news, maybe bad news—that hints at (foreshadows) the future and creates curiosity. For example:

"The policeman returned and told Will he'd requested reinforcements. 'We will be ready for the terrorists if they come back,' he said. They didn't come back—not that night anyway—but our people remained in the guerrillas' crosshairs for decades to come. Later Will summed it up: 'It was obvious that some who opposed us ideologically were willing and able to kill to remove us from the scene. . . . Terrorism was to affect our lives very significantly for the next several years." (Please, God, Don't Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger's Memoir)

Another technique is to give readers a candid look into your heart. Be vulnerable, transparent. For example:

"Now I look back on my first few days in Lomalinda and shake my head. I still get an ache in my heart when I remember. But in the years since then, I've learned to extend grace to myself. I can even smile a little. But I wasn't smiling back then." (Please, God, Don't Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger's Memoir)

Humor is good. Make 'em laugh.

Or make 'em cry.

Here's another tip: End a chapter in the middle of a conflict (real or emotional), or the middle of a critical conversation, situation, or event.

Ashley Martin says, "Look for places in your story where something BIG happens. Once you've found that big event—rewind. When you've found the apex—the point where your character is teetering on the edge of that pivotal moment—FREEZE. Stop your chapter there, and don't reveal what happens until the start of the next."

We call that a cliffhanger.

Aaron Elkins makes this important point: ". . . A cliffhanger ending to a chapter doesn't have to be an action scene. As long as it leaves the reader 'hanging,' you're in business."

Here's another important tip: End your chapters in a variety of ways—mix them up. Be unpredictable.

"One of the best things an author can hear

from a reader is,

'I'm so exhausted.

I stayed up until four in the morning

to finish your book.'

. . . If they're willing to give up sleep,

they must have really liked the book."

Rebecca Belliston

Whatever you do and however you do it, hook your readers. Leave them with irresolution—make them curious to know what will happen next. Compel them to turn the page.

K.M. Weiland says, "Many a book has been declared dead to its reader and cast aside never to be remembered—and all because the reader reached a chapter break and didn't care enough to keep reading."

Weiland continues, "That's the bad news. The good news is that when chapter breaks are done right, many a reader has kept scrabbling through the pages, deep into the night, because he simply couldn't look away from the enticing hooks the author kept planting at the ending  . . . of each chapter."

So, if you don't want your memoir to sit on a shelf and collect dust, invest time in crafting intriguing chapter endings. In the words of K.M. Weiland, "give your chapter endings extra love."  

 

 

Your chapter openings: Do they intrigue your readers?

Examine each of your memoir’s chapter openings—the first sentence and the first few paragraphs. Ask yourself:

• Will each opening intrigue readers?
• Charm them?
• Tickle their fancy?
• Does it hold their interest so they’ll keep reading? 

 

You want your readers to respond positively to your memoir’s chapter openings because that will keep them reading.

 

You can make your chapter beginnings captivating in several ways.

 

You can start a chapter with an emotional experience, allowing readers to get inside your skin, your heart, your mind. It can include conflict. For example, here’s the beginning of Chapter 1 from my most recent memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir:

 

My husband, Dave, burst through the front door of our Seattle home and, with a boyish grin and outstretched arms, announced, “We’re moving to Lomalinda! I’m going to teach there!”

 

A few seconds passed before I could wheeze in enough air to speak. “Where is Lomalinda?”

 

“Colombia, South America!”

 

I collapsed to the floor.

 

I’d always expected we’d live a normal, predictable, all-American life but, without warning, my husband declared he had other ideas. . . .

 

Or you can start a chapter with intrigue, suspense. Here’s another example from my memoir:

 

In those days, all flights to Colombia left from Miami so, on July 19, 1976, our little family set out driving from Seattle, stopping in Dallas for pre-field orientation. Between Dallas and Miami, the Wycliffe office contacted us: The Bogotá guest house had been bombed.

 

Bombed? Who would blow up a mission agency? And why?

 

Consider starting a chapter with action:

 

Before dawn on Tuesday, August 17, 1976, the alarm clock jarred us into consciousness. Shivering, we pulled on layers of clothes and stuffed barf bags into pockets. Downstairs in the office, we and the Rushes assembled baggage, seventeen pieces.
 
A van-like taxicab hummed outside the open office door, its red taillights aglow. We piled in and set out. Soon hints of daylight peeked through a haze. Bogotá’s streets already bustled with cars, pedestrians, donkey carts, and buses belching noxious fumes. Our taxi driver zigged and zagged around snarled traffic. We clung to door handles and bumped against each other.
 
The driver brought us to a halt on a block lined with one-story buildings, soot-covered, grim. Decaying fruit and vegetables littered street and sidewalk, along with shreds of yellowed newspapers, bloody spittle, cigarette butts, and more. I forced my eyes to focus instead on our cabby, who darted through a filthy door.
 
A pack of men spied us. They wore woolen garments, torn and frayed. Hair tangled, matted. Teeth missing. Faces and hands smudged with the gray that clung to doors and walls and air. One of them sauntered toward our taxi, stooped, and peered at us, his nose nearly touching the window. He snarled what was, I guessed, an obscenity, tottered sideways, turned, and shuffled away. (Please, God, Don't Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger's Memoir) 

Another way to start a chapter is by describing a scene so readers feel they're with you in your story: 

November turned to December. Back home, Seattle would be a place of swollen clouds and rain, and frost once in a while. People would be wearing rain boots and raincoats and stocking caps and gloves. Family and friends would have recently gathered for Thanksgiving, a squally season when tempests stirred up wild seas and sent ferry boats bobbing and careening, when windstorms downed trees throughout the Puget Sound region, caused widespread power outages, left half-baked turkeys and pumpkin pies in cold ovens, and drew people together around fireplaces in homes perfumed by wood smoke.

 

But Lomalinda was into the dry season with clean cerulean skies and hardly a wisp of a cloud. Daytime temperatures rose to over a hundred degrees in the shade—cruel, withering. The green scent of rainy season had given way to the spicy fragrance of sun-dried grasses. Immense stretches of emerald disappeared, leaving grasslands stiff and simmering under unrelenting sun.

 

Muddy paths and single-lane tracks turned rock-hard and, with use, changed to dust. Yards and airstrips and open fields turned to dust, too. From sunrise to sundown, a strong wind blew across the llanos, a gift from God because it offered a little relief from the heat. On the other hand, we had to use rocks and paperweights and other heavy objects to keep papers from blowing away. Dust blew through slatted windows and into homes and offices and settled on our counters and furniture and in cracks and crannies and on our necks and in our armpits and up our noses. (Please, God, Don't Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger's Memoir)

 

Matilda Butler offers the following tips:

 

Another way "Make a list that includes just the first sentence of each of your chapters. . . . Critique each of these using these considerations:

• Does the opening sentence place the reader immediately into the scene? This is not a time for a warm-up set of words.
• Does the opening sentence of each chapter move the story forward? (Even a chapter of backstory moves the story forward by providing necessary history for the characters.)
• Does the opening sentence foreshadow what is to come in a way that intrigues the reader?

 

How well-written is each first sentence? Once you are satisfied with your openings, add the rest of each paragraph to your list.

• Look at how the remainder of each paragraph is used to enrich its first sentence.
• Is your wording clear?  Does it bring the reader along or alienate the reader or, even worse, bore the reader?” (Memoir Writing Prompt: A Running Start with Each Chapter)

 

If you struggle with how to begin your chapters, consider the following excellent advice:

 

“If you still feel stuck at every new chapter,

don’t think about chapters at all.

Write continuously until you finish the first draft,

then you can go back

and divide what you’ve written into chapters

(and make changes as needed).

Remember: good books are not written,

they are rewritten.”

(“How to Start a Chapter,” Clippings.me Editorial Team)

 

When your life feels like an earthquake

 

Have you ever felt an earthquake?

 

I’ve experienced quite a few, but Seattle’s 1965 earthquake stands out. People felt it across Washington, British Columbia, Idaho, and Oregon. The 6.5 quake (some officials called it a 6.7) lasted 45 seconds, and that’s a long time for an earthquake of that magnitude.

 

Without warning, a jolt rocked our world. What had seemed solid and predictable and dependable suddenly lurched and crumbled.

 

And the earth’s eerie roar lasted even longer than that.

 

Sometimes life can feel like an earthquake.

 

Think about a time when something happened to you

and it felt like an earthquake struck.

 

Without warning, an unwelcome surprise shook your world.

What had seemed predictable and dependable

suddenly tilted and collapsed.

And even when the shaking stopped,

the eerie roar rolled on.

 

After the April 29, 1965 Seattle earthquake, countless structures had to be repaired and strengthened and, because of that, I added a new word to my vocabulary: Retrofitting.

 

Just about everything needed to be retrofitted: bridges, roads, buildings, chimneys, and equipment. That is, they needed not only repairs but significant modifications to lessen the damage if future earthquakes should strike. Often retrofitting required the development of new gizmos and doodads and technology.

 

After that earthquake, I remember all of us—my family, classmates, friends, neighbors, Seattle’s newspapers and TV stations—all of us relived the trauma, trying to process what had happened, amazed and thankful our damage wasn’t worse, worried that aftershocks or even bigger earthquakes would soon follow. Our talk and worry were like that eerie roar that kept up after the ground stopped lurching.

 

And, years later, another “earthquake” hit—my husband burst through our front door and announced he wanted to move our young family to South America so he could teach missionaries’ kids—and believe me, the earth beneath my feet felt like another major earthquake had struck and I literally fell to the floor.

 

In coming days and weeks and months, the eerie roar rumbled on. My dreams and plans had taken a hit. My sense of where my life was headed had fallen apart.

 

What I didn’t know then was that

the earthquake that my husband

(and eventually, it turned out, that God, too)

sprung on me was meant for good.

In fact, I would later learn

that some of my dreams and plans

weren’t the best for me and my family.

They needed to crumble down in ruins.

(Read more in my memoir,

Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir)

 

But I didn’t recognize that then. Instead, the stuff of earthquakes—like crumbled bricks and debris—covered me. It was dark down there. I felt bruised and broken. Alone.

 

I was only 27 years young. The old me now wishes I could have told the 27-year-old me that I could live a good life even after earthquakes and loss and the shock of it all.

 

As Christine Caine said,

“Sometimes when you’re in a dark place

you think you’ve been buried,

but you’ve actually been planted.”

 

It would take me a couple of years to recognize that. The process included confusion, pain, waiting, and mystery.

 

Even though I struggled to recognize the specifics of God’s presence and guidance, deep down I knew He was working out my future.

 

That future would involve helping people who had nothing—nothing—of the Bible in their own languages. They had no way of knowing God and His goodness and involvement in their lives, especially when they, too, experienced life’s earthquakes and heaps of ruins.

 

But I—I did have God’s Word to stabilize me and give me hope. It tells me—and you, too—that He is present with us in our troubles and, “So we will not fear when earthquakes come and mountains crumble. . . . Let the mountains tremble . . . !”

 

And then He says, “Be still, and know that I am God!” (Psalm 46:1-11)

 

Wow! What a contrast: The earth trembles and splits and crumbles and roars, yet we are to be still. Still in God’s presence.

 

Be still and be assured:

He knows all about our lives’ tremors and jolts

and upheavals and lurches and joggles.

And He knows about the resulting broken pieces

and piles of rubble.

 

Be still and be assured: He repairs and rebuilds us,

retrofitting us to stabilize and strengthen us,

making modifications to lessen the damage

if other “earthquakes” should strike—

all to make us beautiful, and useful to Him, in His time.

(Ecclesiastes 3:11)

 

What stories can you write about your life’s earthquakes?

 

Write about a time when, without warning, a jolt rocked your world. What seemed solid and predictable and dependable suddenly lurched and crumbled. Your dreams and plans had taken a hit. You felt bruised and broken. Alone. And even when the shaking stopped, the jarring trauma rolled on and on.

 

What Bible verses helped you survive?

 

Maybe, like me, you eventually discovered

that God had a hand in what happened,

and that He meant it for good.

Maybe, like me, you learned your plans and dreams

needed to crumble down in ruins.

 

Write about God’s retrofitting—the repairs He made,

the modifications He made in your life

to lessen damage from future shocks

that would come your way.

 

 

Write your story! Tell about the ruins.

Tell how God stabilized you and strengthened you.

Write how God brought good from it all.

Christine Caine also says this: “God is able to take the mess of your past and turn it into a message. He takes the trials and tests and turns them into a testimony.” 

 

Someone needs to know your story.

It could make all the difference

in the way your readers handle their own lives

and endure their own earthquakes.

 

 

 

Don’t miss the significance of everyday people and events

 

Often we memoirists think we should focus on the big incident, the momentous scene, the shocking episode—and they are important—but look for the treasures, perhaps hidden right now—within the everyday events and individuals in your past. They could hold more importance than you realize.

Oswald Chambers said, "We look for visions from heaven and for earth-shaking events to see God's power. Yet we never realize that all the time God is at work in our everyday events and in the people around us."

 

In writing your memoir, be deliberate: Make time to relive your experiences. Reflect. Explore and examine the ways God was at work in your everyday activities and the people who surrounded you.

 

What was He doing?

What was He working out?

 

How did those events and people transform your life’s direction?

 

How did they change the end of your story?

 

  

And there you have it, your Tuesday Tidbit.

 

Happy writing!