Bd...Bd...Bd...That's All Folks

I have no more Funeral.

I know, I know...I can hear the sighs of relief.

Thanks for letting me foist my literary stylings on you, it really did get the wheels turning. Parts IV and V were written this week, and that's more progress than I have made on the piece in a year. I think I have the impetus to finish it now. It's flowing again, and it feels good.

But I'm a little unsure about how to wrap this all up.

Though this story is true, the circumstances, the town, and the people are real...there are small fictional elements to this story. I don't want any James Frey type revelations on Oprah (I should be so lucky) so I'll make that clear right here and now.

Jerry is just a man. And unfortunately, there was no epiphany for him, no salvation. He did not, suddenly, straighten up and fly right. Ohhhh, his wild days are behind him, I'd say, but he's still a bit of a lost sheep. And his brothers are still trying to save him.

But that doesn't make for a very compelling story, does it?

No. A lost man in his fifties does not launch authors to the top of the New York Times Bestseller list. For that matter, I don't suppose a middle aged suburban stay-at-home Mom of two experiencing a crisis of spirit is either.

Which brings me to an ethical dilemma of sorts. Is creating an ending that readers want an injustice to the people whose lives I have borrowed? Do I sacrfice truth for glory?

So I will put it to you...readers. If you were writing this story, would you manufacture a heartwarming, lump-in-your-throat type ending for Jerry? For the narrator? If so...what would it be? Or would you write the truth and depend upon the story to tell itself?

Slices of life are so very flavorful...but one does not consume such fare only to choke on the crumbs.

Do they?