Ghosts, Prophets, and Unfinished Endings: When Writing Gets Weird (and a Little Too Real)

There are moments, as a writer, when I sit back and wonder: Are we making stories… or uncovering them?

It sounds dramatic, I know. But the more I dig into literary history, the more I find examples that make me pause—stories that predicted the future too precisely, endings that were never written (but somehow felt like they were just out of reach), or books that came from somewhere... other.

The Writers Who Saw the Future (and No One Believed Them)

Take Jules Verne, for instance. In 1869, he published 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, describing an electrically powered submarine called the Nautilus—decades before such a thing was even possible. He even got the dimensions eerily close. People called it imaginative. Decades later, they called it visionary.

Then there’s Arthur C. Clarke, who basically invented satellite communication in an article in 1945. The world hadn’t even launched Sputnik yet, and this guy’s out here calculating orbital mechanics and saying things like, “This is how we'll talk across the world one day.” Spoiler: we did.

But the one that gives me goosebumps every time is Morgan Robertson. In 1898, he published a novella called Futility, or the Wreck of the Titan. It was about an “unsinkable” ship called the Titan that hits an iceberg in April and sinks. Fourteen years later, the Titanic set sail—with almost identical specs, passenger stats, and fate. He insisted it was coincidence.

Maybe it was.

But I’ve written drafts before that felt oddly channeled—lines I didn’t remember typing, ideas that arrived like they were already fully formed. I’m not saying I’m psychic. I’m just saying… sometimes fiction gets weird.

Dickens and the Ending That Never Was

Charles Dickens died in 1870, leaving The Mystery of Edwin Drood half-finished and fans forever guessing.

He was halfway through—mid-sentence, mid-intrigue, mid-everything. And no one knew where he was going with it. Fans and scholars have been arguing about the intended ending for over 150 years. Was Drood murdered? Was he alive in disguise? Did Dickens even know the answer yet?

There’s something strangely comforting (and horrifying) about that as a writer. Because haven’t we all had a project stall out, unsure where it’s going—but certain it was going somewhere?

I sometimes imagine Dickens pacing in the afterlife, eavesdropping on literary debates and whispering, “You’re all wrong.”

When Ghosts Take the Pen

And then there are stories that weren’t “written” at all… at least, not in the usual way.

In the early 1900s, a woman in St. Louis named Pearl Curran claimed to be channeling a 17th-century spirit named Patience Worth. Through Ouija boards and trances, Patience dictated poetry, novels, plays. Her vocabulary was antiquated, her tone consistent, and she wrote fast—sometimes 5,000 words in a single sitting. Scholars were baffled. Pearl wasn’t a trained writer. Where was this coming from?

Then there’s The Urantia Book, a 2,000-page spiritual epic supposedly dictated by “celestial beings” through a sleeping man in Chicago. Its origins are still debated, but it’s become the foundation of an entire belief system.

As an author, I don’t necessarily believe every ghost story. But I do believe this: inspiration can feel like possession. There are moments in writing when something else takes over. Time disappears. Pages fill. And when you look back… it’s better than what you thought you were capable of.

Call it flow. Call it the muse. Or maybe—just maybe—Patience Worth is still making the rounds.

So What Do We Make of All This?

Honestly? I think it’s thrilling. Writing will always have one foot in the unknown. Whether it’s predicting technology, leaving trails for future minds, or tapping into something inexplicable—we’re not just making things up. We’re listening. Feeling around in the dark for a story that’s already there.

And once in a while, if we’re lucky, it whispers back.

Have you ever written something that later came true? Or stumbled across an ending that felt like it found you instead of the other way around?

I’d love to hear your story. Drop it in the comments—or maybe write it down. Who knows who might be whispering through your pen or keyboard.