Do you ever find that you feel like you’re doing very well, but when you get to the end, what you finished with really didn’t pack any punch, it wasn’t what you were hoping for and everyone walks away unsatisfied? Okay, now what about as a writer instead of a sexual partner?

Disappointment is a fact of life most writers have grown accustomed to. We disappoint our bosses by spending most of our time doing edits instead of correctly filing prescription orders. We disappoint our countrymen by crashing from the amphetamines we took for a writing marathon, sleeping 24 hours straight and forgetting to vote. We disappoint our wives by sleeping with our girlfriends, we disappoint our girlfriends by sleeping with our mistresses and we disappoint our mistresses by calling them the names of our wives or girlfriends or sex addiction therapist.

And all of that is okay. In real life, being a disappointment is nothing to be disappointed about. After all, none of this matters and the universe will end in heat death trillions of years from now having not acknowledged our existence at all. However, in your fiction it does matter. You could write a wonderful book with vivid, relatable characters… tense conflict… and lyrical prose, but if the climax disappoints, all of that will be forgotten and you’ll probably be harassed so badly on social media you’ll have to move to a new town.

What a climax really is is you fulfilling a promise to your reader, at least the ones who paid money to read your book. In keeping with this theme, I will slowly tease the story of how I met my second wife and climax with a graphic story of the first time we boned. (I obviously realize you could just skip to that point in the video by clicking, by I will ignore that for now.) We’ll totally not blow it on this edition of Stories’ Matter.

Now, you might assume that the climax of a story is somewhere in the middle, as this terrible graph by Freytag seems to indicate. But as we talked about before on this channel, Freytag was speaking about classic Greek drama and he was mostly concerned with exterminating Polish people. In modern literature, a climax is basically what we think of as the end, where the main problem is resolved and all the tension you’d been building is released. If the sex metaphors make you uncomfortable, you can think of it this way: the climax is the point in the party where everyone’s arrived, the awkwardness has faded and the conversation flows naturally, but before the cops arrive or the guy you didn’t invite pukes on your rug.

Or, if you’re an American, you can also think of the climax as the 90’s in general.

Now, pulling off a good climax can be tricky business. Aside from not having an interesting name, a weak climax is the main reason I reject a prospective author’s manuscript. Here’s some tips to remember.

Mistake 1: Neglecting Character Transformation

Remember, a story isn’t about the things that happen. It’s about how the things that happen change your character. Your climax isn’t about the character defeating the villain. It’s about the character learning that, to defeat evil, you might have to break your moral code and push the villain the wheelchair down the stairs.

When I met the woman who became my second wife, I was much too trusting, which is how I ended up marrying a woman who was a serial bigamist. But as you’ll see, not trusting people is what led me to my second wife.

Mistake 2: Substituting a climax for a cliffhanger

Now, don’t get me wrong. A cliffhanger can be a great thing in real life. Having a workforce that was never sure whether or not they’d receive a Christmas bonus has made for great productivity, I’ve found. But a story needs to be complete.

I don’t have time to read your whole series. In fact, the only things I’ll read are your name, your first sentence, your climax and, time-permitting, your social media feed to make sure there’s nothing about NAMBLA in it.

Today’s story won’t end on any cliffhangers. My second wife and I met at Disney World. I was supposed to take my firstborn son, who was seven at the time, but he fell ill with the flu so I went by myself. She first caught my eye when I noticed her sitting in the back of the flume on Splash Mountain. It was then I knew I needed to have her.  

Mistake 3: Not using a crucible

A climax should feel unavoidable. It should be destiny. It should feel the way I felt when my dad locked me in a room with a hired prostitute at 18 to turn me into a man.

A crucible, in literary terms, is an inescapable situation for your characters. It should be a combination of the choices they’ve made along the way and outside pressures. In the Lord of the Rings, Frodo is constantly compelled to Mordor for the climax. As Tolkien tells it, only Frodo can bring the ring there. In my story, Heartland, the main character is the only one with two hearts and therefore is the only one who can be a donor for the ailing mayor.

With Cindy, things felt unavoidable for a variety of reasons. When I introduced myself, it turned out she actually knew my work, even though I was a just minor success at the time. To add to that, we got put on the It’s a Small World boat alone and the ride broke down.

Mistake 4: Using cheats

Deus ex machina is one of the most common kinds, but there are lots of similar cheats. Basically, any surprise you introduce in the climax must be at least hinted at at some earlier point in the story. Think of the stupid fucking ghost army in Lord of the Rings or Batman’s utility belt in the otherwise logical, measured 1966 version of Batman.

So if I hadn’t mentioned that Cindy was already a fan of mine or hadn’t shown you the John Lazarus massage rod, the following scene would feel cheap.

So anyway, it started with Cindy…

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