We've got the first two paragraphs (and what an awesome thread it is), so what are the last two? (If your story isn't complete, just give us two paragraphs.)
Here is my surprisingly happy ending. Sure, it took an epilogue and threats from the friends of mine reading it, but I did it. I made happy:
It broke his heart, and he sang the agony. He sang the love. He could turn the feelings into an eloquence that his shrugs and guttural, noncommittal noises never indicated he possessed. He could make his band cry, he could make himself cry—but the new one was Claire. The new one was the noise she made in the quiet parts of the song when he could hear her above the noise in his ears. The way she sniffed so politely, trying not to interrupt. He had to open his eyes to see her, and there she was, hands cupped over her nose and mouth, her eyes red and cheeks shining. The shocked fucking look on the part of her face he could see and the goddamn nightmare it was when the color drained away. She was eternally pink and beautiful and crying. God, he loved that girl.
Forgetting the song, he kicked over the microphone and jumped off the stage, climbing right up over her seat to lift her into his arms. Why sing of her when he could sing to her? Why sing to her when he had her right here? He had her right here. He would always have her right here. All the rest, well, who really gives a damn?
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50,243 / 50,000
Dic 1, 2007 - 15 40
He has also known to consort with Mussolini, last name unknown, who is currently in extensive debt on his twelve credit cards which he used to pay for his wife’s therapy. His wife, known as Pumpkin CrimeFighter, has a serious mental condition that was caused by a car crash many years ago. Mussolini had to resort to credit cards to pay for his wife’s therapy, in the hope that she would get better.
Paul McHarvey’s cremation will take place tomorrow,and we hope that he may find comfort in his new life. This tragedy came at a time that he felt he was safe at last.
Meh. It's a police report.
----------The_Latestt andGREATEST
o7 :: The Life And Times Of The Apple Juice Star :: Winnerr
60,076 / 50,000
Dic 1, 2007 - 18 43
It is the third of November, and already a sunnier month than October was. It will pass in a flurry of words and letters and crumpled, misplaced paper, November into December into a new year. Tanith will go on writing, and when in March, with the first crocuses, Tanith finishes the book—the story won’t be over.
----------And when, the next October, when Tanith sits down at the corner table with the view of the graffiti and the alleyway, to write another book, the story will keep going on, even then. She is only taking snapshots of it, really, photographs of people’s lives, captured moments. The story doesn’t end here—it only pauses, and takes a breath.
2007 NaNo: A Slow Cartography - Finished at 60k
2008 JulNo: Hey, Jude - in progress
50,329 / 50,000
Dic 2, 2007 - 07 26
On this night, I close my eyes, and I breathe in deep, and breathe out, and I think of my father’s spirit and my grandmother’s spirit meeting each other, somehow. I put my hands on my belly and think of the children I still may have someday. Maybe even soon. I think of my mother and my sister, my aunts and uncles, preparing the funeral ceremony. I will not be there for it. But there will be another one on the third day, and on the seventh, and the 40th, and the 100th. And there will be another on the 1,000th day. I think of this time stretching before me. I do not know when I will go back to Indonesia. But I know it will be for one of these ceremonies. I will return to my village, and pay my respects to my grandmother’s spirit, and I will hold my mother and my sister in my arms again. I will hear the sounds of frogs and cecaks and smell the scents of earth and jasmine and my mother’s chili tempeh. I will do these things.
I turn on my side and watch the flickering of the streetlight through the slats of the blinds. I look at this for a long time. Until the sky begins to get light, that early morning deep blue color. And I get out of bed, walking across the cold tile, and raise the blinds. I get back under the covers and watch the sky, watch the deep dark blue, as it slowly changes to morning.
***This was my second time winning Nano, but my first time getting to something that felt like an ending. Cheers to Nano 2007!
50,211 / 50,000
Dic 3, 2007 - 09 10
Double post.
50,211 / 50,000
Dic 2, 2007 - 21 58
I looked up. Cars continued to pass by without inhibition. I could not understand it. Despite all the cars I had hit, I had not stopped traffic. I had not even slowed traffic. It did not make any sense to me. Surely I would have created a little mess, at least. But there was nothing. Just a few cars by the side of the road and a few people standing in front of me. I had only impacted a tiny number of lives, and everybody else was not even inconvenienced by the accident I had caused. They knew nothing of me. Nothing.
They need some work, but I actually think they're pretty good.
62,474 / 50,000
Dic 11, 2007 - 13 40
I haven't ... actually written the ending yet. Working on getting there. But I have the scene in my head, so why not?
I stood up from the table and looked around at all the chairs. Each of them was now empty. All of my friends and enemies and lovers were gone. I was alone. That was a pretty new thing to be. Even Celine, dear Celine, was no longer hovering over me. I felt free.
Free is a lovely thing to be on a Monday morning. I remembered Celine's last words to me: "What will you make of yourself now, Max?" I smiled. That was always the question, wasn't it? But for once I felt like I had the freedom to answer. Someday. When I answered, for today, I answered to the empty room. I answered to myself.
"I don't know. But I suppose I better go find out."
I left breakfast sitting on the kitchen table and headed out the door into a new adventure. And isn't that enough?
----------Matthew
http://literaryrockstar.blogspot.com
"A Man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery." Stephen Dedalus, James Joyce, Ulysses
51,490 / 50,000
Dic 21, 2007 - 18 55
These will change with editing, which I haven't started yet. Because they are lame. Actually, my whole last two chapters were rushed in the excitement that I had written 50,000+ words and I was tired of writing, so.... Not sure how the story really ends.
Still, he thought something could be done. If Jones had moved on to whatever this "next stage" was, surely he would move there also? Surely there was a spot for him in this higher level of heaven, or whatever it was? Even the pains and torture of a terrible hell might have been better than where he was; at least then he would be feeling something. The emptiness that crept up on him was surprising and not at all welcome. He regretted wishing that he could feel nothing, and tried to long for feelings of anger, hate, rage, sadness, anything. The longing, however, wasn't even possible.
So he waited, his fingers crossed together in front of him, sitting up straight in his cafe chair. The empty seat before him wasn't a pretty thing to look at, but it was what he stared at nonetheless.