This is the whatever-is-the-opposite-of-grittiest confession ever, but the truth is I like to read books that end with positive, dare I say happy, resolutions. I know, I know, that’s super basic of me- I may as well smear a slice of Wonder bread with butter and then sprinkle sugar over it and call it a pastry. I can’t help it though. I feel like daily life is hard enough without added pile on from my literary friends. Catch that killer. Marry that girl. Win that lottery. Have that baby. Whatever the conflict was, let it end with a note of hope.

None of this is to say I haven’t read novels that have gutted me, torn my heart out, left me sobbing from the unfairness of it all- and still loved every single painful word. Some writers are so darned good at doing that, that they temporarily make me forget I craved something lovely at the end. I have to carefully ration out those reads though, so I don’t find myself getting sucked into the bleak abyss.

When I’m writing, I feel an acute responsibility to end things in a way that leaves the reader feeling hopeful. Along the journey there may be loss, grief, heartbreak. I’m not trying to redefine the role of conflict in a book. It’s necessary. A happy ending is pointless if our protagonist hasn’t struggled at all to get there after all. But at the end of the day I hope to leave my readers feeling a little optimistic because this world tries its hardest to make pessimism the defacto standard. Maybe it’s basic. But we all deserve a beautiful sunset at the end of the day… or book.