I Don’t Believe in Open Ended Stories

My readers have spend too much time reading my stories to end up disappointed.

Why I Don’t Believe in Open-Ended Stories Anymore

There was a time I thought open ended stories were the height of sophistication. You know the type: where the screen fades to black just before the character answers the big question, or the final paragraph leaves the main conflict hanging in the air like some deep, poetic cloud. People called it artful. Thought provoking. Bold.

I used to nod along. I used to pretend I liked that ambiguity. But if I’m honest now, I don’t buy it anymore.

Not because I think every story needs to tie up in a perfect bow. Life doesn’t work like that, and I only chase fairy tales on purpose. But something has shifted for me, both as a writer and a reader. I’ve come to believe that leaving things open ended is often a cop out. It’s a safe exit for the storyteller who doesn’t want to commit. Who wants to keep their options open or avoid disappointing anyone with a definitive choice. And maybe more than that. It can feel like a broken promise.

When I invest in a story, I’m not just passing time. I’m stepping into another life. I’m walking beside a character through their worst days, their toughest choices. And what I want, more than anything, is for that character to get somewhere. I want to see the road they chose, even if I wouldn’t have taken it. I want the storyteller to say, “This is what it meant. This is where it ends.”

But too often, open ended stories feel like a shoulder shrug. A clever wink. A pat on the back that says, “You figure it out.”

I don’t want to figure it out. I want you to tell me what it meant to you.

And maybe that’s the core of it. I don’t believe stories should be puzzles for the sake of being clever. I believe they should connect. They should leave a mark, not just leave you wondering. There’s a difference between an ending that leaves room for thought and one that leaves you emotionally stranded.

Think about the best stories. The ones that stayed with you for days, weeks, years. The ones you couldn’t shake. Most of them didn’t leave you hanging. They gave you a destination. Maybe it wasn’t happy. Maybe it wasn’t fair. But it was earned. It said something. Even if you didn’t like it, you respected it. Because the writer didn’t walk away at the last second. They stood by their story and delivered the ending their characters deserved.

I’ve read too many stories; seen too many films, too many where the final scene made me feel like I wasted my time. Like the storyteller had something real to say but chickened out. Or worse, they never knew where it was going to begin with.

That’s not bold. That’s lazy.

We don’t need every story to explain itself in full, but we need it to finish what it started. Especially now, when people are overwhelmed and exhausted and craving meaning. Giving your reader a real conclusion is a gift. It’s saying, “You trusted me with your time and attention. Here’s what it was all for.”

And I’ll tell you something else. Writing a good ending is hard. It takes guts. It takes clarity. It means you have to make a decision about what your story was really about. That’s vulnerable. You’re not just juggling plot points anymore. You’re revealing the heart of your message. That’s why it matters so much.

So no, I don’t believe in open ended stories anymore. Not because they’re always bad. Some are handled with care. But too many use the open ending as a mask, pretending that vagueness is meaning. And I’ve outgrown that.

As a reader, I want truth. As a writer, I want to deliver it. I want to earn my ending and own it. Even if it hurts. Even if it divides people. Because the stories I respect the most, the ones that shaped me, never flinched at the finish line.

They crossed it.

And that’s what I’m chasing now.