Happy Endings by Faye Snowden

Do you prefer endings that solve everything neatly, or ones that leave moral or emotional questions unresolved—and have you ever changed an ending because you were afraid of reader backlash?

In 1983, Margaret Atwood published a short story called Happy Endings, a meta tale about the craft of writing where readers are allowed to select the type of ending they want. Think of a choose-your-own adventure story. Happy Endings begins with these words. 

John and Mary meet.

What happens next?

If you want a Happy Ending, try A. 

Choice A is the shortest most boring of all with John and Mary both falling blissfully in love. They marry and buy a charming house and live happily together for a long, long time. Atwood ends Choice A with these words. “Eventually they die. This is the end of the story.”

John and Mary: Happy, but boring.

Choice A is one many readers, including me, would skip. Who would read 300+ pages about a happy life? Tell us about the time the roof caved in during a storm, or when Mary backed over the family dog while trying to escape the house after John confronted her about her habit of drinking three whisky sours before dinner, and red wine until she passed out after they ate whatever pabulum their hired cook sat on the table. We don’t read for happy endings. We read for drama and angst and bloody complications. In crime fiction its chaos and murder compelling us to turn the page. 

Now the other choices in Atwood’s story! That’s where the real fun begins. In Choice B John and Mary meet but it’s a one-sided love affair. Choice C tells the story of a May-December romance where Mary sleeps with John because she feels sorry for him. Her decision eventually leads to a twisty and brutal outcome. There are more choices in Happy Endings, but every single one refers the reader back to Choice A where John and Mary eventually die. As Atwood states, A is the “…only authentic choice…John and Mary die. John and Mary die. John and Mary die.”

So, it’s not the ending that matters in writing, but the plot which Atwood describes as the what, and what next, the how, and the why. In crime fiction, the ‘what’ or primary story consists of the crime (usually a murder) and the victim. There are clues and a villain to catch amid complications and reversals. The writer is obligated to ‘play fair’ so the reader has a chance to figure out the killer before the end of the book. When I write genre fiction I don’t leave loose ends in the ‘what’ because I want my reader to have a shot at winning the game.

It’s the ‘why’ part of the story that’s up for grabs. The ‘why,’ tightly entwined with the ‘what’ consists of my character’s internal struggle, their unmet desires, and vocal demons. This psychological darkness drives the plot, compels the ‘what next.’ The ‘why’ is where I place the most ambiguity. Will Raven, my detective protagonist, ever be able to live her own life without being tortured by the ghost of her serial killer father? Will she ever learn that she can’t run from herself? These questions aren’t neatly answered, but don’t worry. If you ever want to know the end of the story, refer back to Happy Endings. Run your finger down the page; stop when you reach Choice A.