By Eric D. Goodman, author of Tracks: A Novel in Stories
Good fiction has to be true to itself. Writers of literary fiction often claim that sometimes the “made up” truth of fiction is more true than the facts of non-fiction. As a writer, I believe in my work and want for it to be the best it can be. For that reason, I don’t take suggested changes lightly. And perhaps the biggest fear is that of having an agent, editor, or publisher ask you to make a significant change to the manuscript I’ve painstakingly slaved over for years. Don’t they know it’s already perfect? That’s why it took so long for me to complete it!
I’m not alone in this fear. It seems that a common fear writers have is that after working so hard to complete a manuscript, revise it, polish it, submit it, and finally get the green light, in will come an editor thirsty for changes. “Why don’t you make this character a man instead of a woman? I think this middle chapter is actually your opening. Don’t you think you should kill off this character or bring that one back to life?” And worst of all: “I think we need to change the ending.”
I remember as far back as high school reading about authors who refused to make the changes demanded by their publishers. Of course, these were the ones who went on to get published elsewhere, triumphing over the tyrannical, commercial-minded publishers who just didn’t understand their art. But I believe such stories are few and far between.
Perhaps if I’d been lucky enough to get my first novel published fresh out of college, I’d have a different attitude about my “high art.” But having gone through years (decades even) of false starts and query letters met with form rejection slips, I have to admit that when I finally got a good agent in New York City, I was fully prepared to make any changes requested.
It was a careful balance to let this be known. On one hand, I made clear that, yes, I have been working hard on revising and polishing the manuscript for years, that what I submitted was indeed the best possible work in my opinion—not just a draft I expect to be revised. On the other hand, I let my agent know that I was aware that any work can be improved, that they were the professionals who better knew what would appeal to publishers and readers, and that I was flexible and would make the changes they thought were necessary, as long as I believed those changes did not hinder the truth of the stories or the novel as a whole.
In my experience, it worked well. My agent loved Tracks, my novel in stories. That’s why they offered to represent it—because they believed in it. All the same, they knew the areas that would be stumbling blocks to publication, and they did suggest changes. In fact, they uttered the words many new novelists fear most: “We think you need to change the ending.”
At first, I sunk. What I thought was a completed manuscript was a train wreck. “Change my ending? Cut a chapter? Add two new stories? Why don’t I just start over with a new book?”
But it didn’t take long for me to understand that my agent and her creative staff were right. After I’d written two new stories featuring the conductor of the train—a character whom only made appearances in other people’s stories before—I realized just how right they were. The two new stories were two of my favorite in the collection. I’ve had several readers tell me that the conductor is their favorite character in the book.
In my earlier draft, I tried to tie too many endings in the finale. Each chapter in Tracks is a stand-alone story about a passenger on a train traveling from Baltimore to Chicago. They link together to form a novel. I tried a little too hard to offer resolution in my earlier draft. My agent understood the power of these subtle, open-ended stories, the pleasure in allowing the reader to imagine what would come next in some of their lives. When I cut old stories, wrote new ones, and came up with an entirely new conclusion to the book, I saw that my agent understood the truth of my book even better than I did.
Good agents, editors, or publishers know the art, the business, what is going to appeal to readers. If they make a suggestion that can help improve the story, stays true to your intent, and can actually make the book more marketable to a readership, then go ahead and change your ending! Writers should face their fears and embrace the changes suggested by editors, publishers and agents.
So take it from them—don’t be afraid to change your ending.
About the Author
Eric D. Goodman is a full-time writer and editor. His novel in stories, Tracks, was published by Atticus Books summer 2011. He’s also the author of the childrens’ book, Flightless Goose. Eric’s work has appeared in The Baltimore Review, Pedestal Magazine, Writers Weekly, The Potomac, Barrelhouse, JMWW, Scribble, Slow Trains, and New Lines from the Old Line State: An Anthology of Maryland Writers, among others. Visit Eric on Facebook, Twitter, and at his literary blog, Writeful. Learn about his latest work, Tracks, at www.TracksNovel.com.
