Before all that, I sat down and began to write a post on the process of raising questions - and offering answers - in a story. This has much to do with another item on the summer to-do list that hasn't been struck off: that is, editing the climax of The Running Tide. I finished this book over two years ago, back in June 2012, and spent a laborious several months editing it into shape, and I continue to be fond (and, let's face it, a little proud) of the end result. But every completed book gives more perspective, and after bundling Tempus Regina off to a friend for a critical read-through, I noticed a flaw in The Running Tide. In part, this stemmed from a self-imposed need to answer questions too quickly.
"Who was that character," I mused, "who would never answer a question straight? ...Oh, wait, that was Jesus.""That was Jesus," she agreed.
Questions, of both great and small import, drive a story forward. This is probably most obvious in romance: Will Jane Bennet get Mr Bingley, or will the Bingley sisters prevail? Will the prince go on and kiss the girl, or will she - actually, I don't remember the "or will she." I remember it was something dire. At any rate, the large questions like these form the backbone of the plot, but smaller questions are constantly arising to add dimension and interest. Most of these will eventually be answered, but timing, as always, is crucial. If a question (especially a dramatic one) is answered too soon, the reader feels let down. They barely even get to be really alarmed before the author (in the form of a character or event) rushes in to inform that no! wait! just kidding, it's all right after all! They expected more from you.
If you must answer a plot-question, it is generally best not to do it in the same page - possibly not in the same chapter - possibly not even in the chapter after that. Keep the reader on his toes. Leave him guessing with his heart in his throat for a while. Let him squirm.
Not all questions, however, need to be answered. In this case a principle of fashion also applies to writing: a little mystery is an invaluable asset. Not everything needs to be stated. It is my belief that the best, most memorable books are the ones whose endings do not explain everything,where not all the strings are neatly tied off. Get the important ones, by all means; don't leave the reader suspicious or confused. But by allowing some things to remain unanswered, you provoke the reader's imagination and leave him with something to chew on after he has put the book back on the shelf and gone on his merry way.
there are two rules in life:
1. never give out all the information.