Not every scene can end with a cliff-hanger, so how do you still pack a punch with a quieter ending? The last few lines of a scene benefit from the white space of the scene or chapter break. Those sentences get a chance to breathe—their meaning will resonate for readers. When I searched to see if there was a good term for the opposite of a cliff-hanger, Merriam-Webster suggested the word “yawner.” That’s not what we’re going for! So I’m going to use the term “resonator,” which I think captures what we’re after.

What makes a good resonator? Here are some options for your last few lines:

• capture your point-of-view character’s emotional state, especially if it has changed during the chapter—show they’ve taken a step along their character arc

• end with a realization or decision from your POV character

• end with a new story question: leave your POV character asking themselves what they should do next

• leave readers with an arresting visual that connects to your novel’s deeper theme—this is an excellent place for metaphors

Let’s look at a few examples to see how different kinds of scene endings pack different kinds of punches. Let’s start with a trio of scene endings from the action-packed rom-com Dial A for Aunties by Jesse Q. Sutanto.

Prologue:

Is it true? Am I doomed to stay with them forever, just because I’m the only one not heartless enough to leave? I force a smile and nod benignly as they fuss about me, and I try to look forward to the rest of my life, living here in the same house with my mom and aunts.

Chapter 3:

The Taser darts shoot out and hit him right in the neck. Jake jerks like a doll. The car swerves to the side. I open my mouth to scream. Darkness.

Chapter 5:

I’m driving down the 405 with a dead body in my trunk. A hysterical laugh bubbles out. It sounds cracked, slightly mad. Tears spring into my eyes when I see the sign for the 10. So close to home. To safety. A lump catches in my throat. For the first time in years, I can’t wait to get home to Ma.

The last three lines of the prologue give us the starting point of our protagonist Meddy’s character arc: she thinks she is doomed to live with her mother and aunts forever. The end of chapter three is a classic cliff-hanger: Meddy tases her blind date, who was about to assault her. (Her mother set her up on this date without consulting with her!) The end of chapter five reverses the psychological state of the prologue: Meddy sees her mother as a symbol of safety, not a symbol of being trapped or stuck. That inner tension drives the novel and connects to its deeper themes. (Want to read more analysis of Dial A for Aunties? Check out my posts on the novel’s opening, use of dialogue, and plot structure.)

Let’s look at another example, this one from the end of chapter one of the lyrical, slow-burn thriller The Searcher by Tana French. In this scene, our protagonist Cal, who has left the Chicago PD and bought a derelict house in a tiny village in Western Ireland, has staked out his own house to catch the person he senses has been covertly watching him.

Cal drops the pipe and charges. He’s going for a full tackle, planning on flattening the guy and figuring out the rest from there, but his foot turns on a rock. In the second while he’s flailing for his balance, the guy leaps up and away. Cal lunges into the near-darkness, grabs hold of an arm and hauls with all his might. The guy flies towards him too easily, and the arm is small enough that his hand wraps right around it. It’s a kid. The realization loosens Cal’s grip a notch. The kid twists like a bobcat, with a hiss of breath, and sinks his teeth into Cal’s hand. . . .

He thinks of this kid’s stillness under the window, his silence when Cal grabbed him, the snake-strike ferocity of his bite. This kid wasn’t having fun. He was here for a purpose. He’ll be back.

Cal finishes his food and does the dishes. He nails up a drop sheet over the bathroom window and takes a fast bath. Then he lies on his mattress in the dark with his hands behind his head, looking out the window at the cloud-patched stars and listening to foxes fighting somewhere out across the fields.

French could end with the bite or the sentence “He’ll be back.” Why doesn’t she? Those last lines of chapter one do two things. First, they establish that this is a quieter, slower sort of thriller. French is setting the pace, signaling that this isn’t a thrill-a-minute kind of mystery. Second, these last lines establish one of the themes of the novel. Cal is trying to make a home in an environment he doesn’t yet understand, his obscured vision aptly symbolized by those “cloud-patched stars.” One of the things he doesn’t understand is that this seemingly bucolic village is riven by its own troubles and hostilities—those fighting foxes. (Click here for all of my posts on The Searcher.)

Want to make sure you are getting maximum impact from your own scene endings? Do a revision pass of your manuscript focused only on these areas. Make sure you are varying the kinds of endings you use and saving the cliff-hangers for the moments when you most need them. Everywhere else, search for the most resonant moment in your chapter and think about how to bring that note in to your last few sentences.