Are loose ends in fiction a good thing—or a bad thing?
The phrase itself sounds accusatory, as if loose ends are something writers ought to apologize for. After all, what else do we do with loose ends but tie them up? And yet, the moment we start tying everything off too neatly, something else often goes wrong. The story starts feeling too pat and perfect.
Readers don’t actually want perfection at the end of a story. What they want is cohesion and resonance. They want to feel the story and its characters live on even after they’ve closed the back cover. You want readers closing the book thinking, “I wonder…” not, “Huh?!”
That difference between productive ambiguity and reader confusion is where loose ends either earn their keep or sabotage your ending. Here’s how to tell the difference.
What Are Loose Ends in a Story?
Loose ends in a story are unresolved questions, implications, or secondary threads that remain after the main conflict reaches its Resolution. Loose ends are not the same thing as an unresolved plot, and they are definitely not the same thing as a missing ending.
Intentional loose ends are very different from accidental loose ends.
When Leaving Loose Ends Actually Strengthens a Story
For example, consider Porco Rosso, Hayao Miyazaki’s animated film about a World War I pilot cursed to look like a pig.
The story’s most obvious question—“Does he ever break the curse?”—is never answered outright.
At first glance, that may seem like far too great a loose end to leave untied, but, in this story, it works. Why? Because the curse is not the story’s true problem. In fact, its origins are never fully explained either.
Rather, the curse is allowed to stand as a symbolic representation of the Lost Generation’s guilt, disillusionment, and moral exhaustion. The plot is driven by Porco’s encounters with rival pilots, political forces, and unresolved relationships, each pushing him toward a reckoning about whether he will continue hiding from life or step back into it.
The curse functions thematically rather than causally, which is why its lack of resolution feels appropriate. By the end of the story, Porco’s longing for the curse to be broken has softened, not because it has been solved, but because the events of the plot have brought him to a place of greater peace and acceptance.
Porco Rosso leaves its central question unanswered, demonstrating how intentional loose ends can strengthen a story’s ending. (Porco Rosso (1992), Studio Ghibli.)
In the story’s Climactic Moment, the thematic question is answered, and that is what’s most important. The character finds a measure of peace and acceptance—regardless of whether he ever finds a way to break the curse.
This loose end isn’t an oversight. It’s a deliberate use of silence to create subtext.
In the end, it doesn’t matter to the story or the character’s arc whether or not he breaks the curse. Viewers are left to speculate why he was cursed and whether his actions at the end of the movie were enough to free him.
No matter how you chooses to answer those questions, the story still works. The message is actually all the stronger for its leading ambiguity, but only because this speculation doesn’t destabilize the story’s deeper meaning and thematic metaphor.
Character Arcs vs. Plot Answers
What this shows is that a story can leave plot questions open only if the character’s inner quandary feels complete.
If readers understand who the character has become—and why—then some external ambiguity can actually deepen the experience.
However, this is where writers can sometimes miscalculate. It can be easy to confuse imbuing your ending with a sense of mystery versus just plain leaving out necessary and desired details. Don’t mistake thematic restraint for narrative vagueness.
When Loose Ends Undermine a Story’s Ending
The Marble Faun by Nathaniel Hawthorne (affiliate link)
As a contrasting example, we have the little-known novel The Marble Faun written by early 19th-century author Nathaniel Hawthorne (best known for The Scarlet Letter).
This is actually one of my favorite of Hawthorne’s stories. It’s beautiful, intense, lyrical, and thought-provoking.
However, its main problem (and the reason it remains in obscurity) is that Hawthorne failed to provide solid answers for the two main mysteries that drive the plot. It collapses under the weight of its own unanswered questions.
The book hinges on two central mysteries—both of which drive the plot forward and both of which promise eventual clarification. On the one hand, there is the question of whether the mysterious titular character Donatello is truly descended from a faun and on the other there is the question of the moral significance of the central murder he commits. Neither question is ever answered in a way that clarifies causality, character arc, or thematic intent.
In contrast to Porco Rosso, these unanswered questions in Marble Faun are not peripheral or symbolic. Rather, they are foundational to the plot’s causality and the readers’ understanding of the characters’ transformations.
Whether Donatello is truly a faun and what meaning should be assigned to the murder are engines of the story itself, not just thematic textures layered on top. As a result, when the ending fails to resolve or reframe these central plot queries, the ambiguity undermines the story’s meaning instead of deepening it.
Back in the day, so many readers were confused by the book’s complete lack of explanation that Hawthorne eventually (and grudgingly) had to write an afterword that flat-out explained the plot twists. If readers cannot track what actually happened—or why it mattered—then the story hasn’t preserved ambiguity. It’s just broken trust with the readers.
3 Ways to Decide Whether to Tie Up Loose Ends in Your Ending
If you’re unsure whether the loose ends in your story should be left in ambiguity or explained outright, ask yourself the following:
1. Is the central conflict clearly resolved at the Resolution?
In short, have you tied off all the major plot details? Remember: readers don’t need simplicity, but they do need causality.
2. Is the character’s internal state clear at the end?
Whether your characters change, refuse to change, or double down, readers must be able to track that movement and find the results thematically resonant.
3. Have you answered—or at least meaningfully addressed—all the major questions you intentionally raised?
Consider particularly any plot devices or questions you’ve used to hook readers throughout the story. If you’ve piqued their curiosity, you know they’ll be waiting for answers. You can’t tease readers for three hundred pages, then end with a shrug. You have to play fair in the end and give them at least a partial answer. This isn’t about explaining everything. It’s about playing fair with the implicit contract of trust you have with your audience.
Ask Beta Readers to Reveal Problematic Loose Ends
Run your ending past a few trusted beta readers. Don’t immediately ask outright, since you want to get their genuine and spontaneous reaction. Notice in their initial responses if they lean in and start speculating in an excited way. If, instead, they blink, frown, and say, “Wait—what?” you know you have work to do.
Good ambiguity should invite conversation. This can help a story take on a life of its own far beyond the book itself. Confusion does the opposite and shuts everything down.
Frequently Asked Questions About Loose Ends in Fiction
Should every story tie up all its loose ends?
No. Stories need thematic closure more than exhaustive explanation. Readers need to feel the characters’ lives will continue in meaningful ways after the story ends.
What’s the difference between an ambiguous ending and an incomplete one?
An ambiguous ending resolves the story’s core meaning while leaving some implications open. An incomplete ending withholds information the story depended on, leaving readers confused (and probably annoyed).
How many loose ends are too many?
There’s no specific number, of course—but if readers can’t articulate what the story was about, the problem isn’t so much quantity as focus.
Want More?
Structuring Your Novel: Revised and Expanded 2nd Edition (Amazon affiliate link)
If you’re seeking more help with shaping your story and finding its best and most resonant ending, check out my book Structuring Your Novel.
It shows how endings grow naturally out of everything that comes before by using foreshadowing, turning points, and cause and effect to prepare readers for a satisfying Resolution long before it arrives.
If you want to leave readers with questions that linger instead of questions that confuse, story structure is one of the best ways to make sure your ending lands right in the sweet spot. You can find the book in paperback, e-book, and audio.
Wordplayers, tell me your opinions! What loose ends in your story will you leave unresolved? Why do you think those loose ends strengthen the ending instead of weakening it? Tell me in the comments!
Note: This article has been revised and expanded from an earlier version.
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The Resolution (Secrets of Story Structure, Pt. 12 of 12)
The Climax (Secrets of Story Structure, Pt. 11 of 12)
The Third Plot Point (Secrets of Story Structure, Pt. 10 of 12)
The Third Act (Secrets of Story Structure, Pt. 9 of 12)
About K.M. Weiland | @KMWeiland
This is interesting (as your posts always are) because I’ve been sharing character portraits from my stories, and quite a few of them have what I’ve called “unfinished stories.” They aren’t quite what you’ve described because the story ends for all the characters, but their stories don’t. Two pair, particularly, have potentially budding romances and there are characters who simply walk/run/fly off-stage and don’t come back. There’s even a mention of a gift left for my MC by another character that she never finds. (It’s a minor point that simply reinforces that the giver is a thieving child). I wondered (a little) whether I was breaking Chekov’s rule about the gun, but I chose to break his rule because finishing all the little stories would have interfered with what was needed in the last book in the series. So, thank you. You’ve set my mind at ease.
Truly, I love stories that feel just a little open-ended. I want to feel like the ending breathes and that the characters continue after the story is done. I want there to be little tidbits for my own imagination to play with. Still, it can definitely be tricky knowing what has been tied off well and what hasn’t. I do think beta readers are ultimately invaluable in these situations. Even though feedback here can still be subjective, they can at least give us an idea if we’ve left something *too* open in a way that feels frustrating instead of intriguing.
When I read today’s post, I thought of well-done episodic television that spans seasons. A season ends with thematic closure, but the character’s lives continue and pick up the next season.
I’m writing a novel now where I think the character’s have more to say. Thus, I’m already thinking how they will progress in perhaps a follow-up novel. I know full well how the first story (novel) comes to an end. That end always had closure, but left me wondering what happens to the main characters.
There’s definitely an art to a good cliffhanger. If the wrong loose ends are left hangings, audiences are just frustrated. Series have to find that balance of leaving audiences satisfied but still curious.
I’m struggling with an idea of leaving a loose thread in a romantasy. The couple ends up together and the battle is won despite the war not being over. This seems typical for a first book. However, I’ve kind of teased throughout that the “beast” character can transform his deformity if he can perform an act. If this were pure fantasy, I’d just do what I want, but romance readers are fiercely attached to their tropes. I don’t want readers hating the ending.
In romantasy, I think what readers are truly protective of isn’t so much every trope beat as the emotional promise underneath. If the couple’s arc feels complete and satisfying, I’d say you’ve honored the contract, especially for the first book in a series.
Thank you! I think I have the couple’s arc down, so I should be good.
I’m writing a romantasy and am struggling with whether or not to “cure” a “beast” character of his deformity. He finds true love, but his deformity remains. If this were fantasy, I’d do whatever I wanted, but romance readers are so attached to their tropes that I fear breaking them.
I’m usually in favor of stories ending all neatly tied up. But I’ve grown to understand that such endings can undermine the power of certain stories. I’ve been working on a series, which necessarily needs to delay resolution while still maintaining forward motion. I haven’t seen Porco Rosso, but I like the idea of a story where something that happens to a character doesn’t need to un-happen or be fixed, but instead needs to be understood and integrated into the character’s life.
I 100% agree that tying everything up too neatly can actually undercut a story’s resonance. I like seeing characters who have to learn to live with or or reinterpret whatever has happened.