Today's post is going to be a little different. Instead of focusing on the mechanics of writing, I'm going to dive into something more important: you need to tell your story. Here's why.
Your Story Matters
For a lot of us, this has been a rough year, a tiring year, a painful year.
Some years carry a heavier toll than others, and this is one of them. Yet in spite of that — or maybe because of it — there's something you need to do: tell your story. I know how tired you are. I know some of you don't feel heard. I know some of you might fear you don't matter.
You do.
Everyone's experiences are unique, and as we share our stories, our perspectives, our take on world building and character development, we actually expand other people's understanding. Characters in books can actually make us feel less alone in our own daily life.
Your Story Is Your Own
Your story matters because it is uniquely your own, and no one can tell it the way you can. Consider the advice of best-selling author Neil Gaiman:
[M]ake your art. Do the stuff that only you can do. The urge, starting out, is to copy. And that's not a bad thing. Most of us only find our own voices after we've sounded like a lot of other people. But the one thing that you have that nobody else has is you. Your voice, your mind, your story, your vision. So write and draw and build and play and dance and live as only you can.
—Neil Gaiman
No one has your voice. No one has your thoughts. No one has your experiences, dreams, hopes, and fears. No one else can do this. Whether you're writing fiction or nonfiction, fantasy worlds or parenting blogs, your story — like fingerprints — is your own.
Your Story Requires Patience
Telling your story well can take time, and that's normal.
It's the same as learning a musical instrument or excelling in a sport. Anyone can do it badly; it's the folks who continue to study and practice who shine.
“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners. I wish someone told me: […] For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not.
A lot of people never get past this phase. They quit. If you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it's normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”
― Ira Glass
The ones who don't give up make good art. Don't quit.
Tell Your Story
If you read nothing else in this article, read this: get to work and tell your story.
It'll take time. Maybe not everyone will understand. That's okay.
Hear me: don't be afraid. It's worth the struggle. Be brave, fellow writer, and tell your story.
What's your biggest roadblock between you and your story? Let us know in the comments.
PRACTICE
Take fifteen minutes and tackle the beginning of your story. This is your introduction; it's a chance to remind yourself why your story needs to be told. You might begin writing that story that's been on your heart for weeks, months, or years. You might even tell your own personal story, a glimpse of your life.
When you're finished, post it in the practice box below and don't forget to comment on three other stories!
Great Article!
Thank you, BadCrow! I hope it encourages you to write. 🙂
Thank You for the Encouragement!
You’re welcome, Anette! Don’t stop for anything!
Truly empowering! Thank you!
You’re welcome, Erika! That’s what I was going for. 🙂
I needed to read that post.
Go for it!
my Story is about my Girlfriend her name is Katelyn I Date with her in five years since now and I love her so much no Respects
Danny, will you write more about your love story. I want to read it.
Why write my story? My daughter needs to know it. She spent the first three years of her life between Nigeia, Biafra and Scotland. One of the funniest things she said, aged three, when asked about what she remembered from Nigeria was when she replied “It was cold, because the houses had no fires!” Now she’s an adult with children of her own and for their sake also I need to write a section of our family history.
In church on Sunday last week there was an appeal for suppport on behalf of Syrian refugees, and photos of crying children with distraught parents were shown on the overhead. I found it hard to watch. Not because I am lacking in compassion, but because it created flash-backs to my own experiences. I recall trying to help in the Biafran refugee camps after my daughter was born. Local women would approach me and smile at my daughter, and stroke her lovingly. Some of these women also had a young child with them, but the comparisons were odious. Their children had the typical swollen belly of kwashiokor, ribs showing due to starvation and their expressions were pitiful. I was glad eventually to escape on a Swedish plane which had delivered food aid and was returning to Sweden via Frankfurt. In Frankfurt I was helped by a German pastor who bought my plane tickets back to Scotland. Returning home, destitute and with a three month old child was just the beginning of the next survival episode.
This is amazing, Evelyn. Wow. Yes, this story absolutely needs to be told!
I’m on the way with it Ruthanne. 1500 words and growing.
Ruthanne, on checking I am actually up to 6,500 words – sorry for the miscount.
You have some really great material her for both a personal story or a fiction novel. It is both interesting and emotional. You already have outline also. I say go with it!!
Thanx Paul. I’m getting there slowly. Currently at the 6,500 words of what needs to be around the 25-30,000 words?
Evelyn, I think you are correct. I Iooked it up on Google and found this
https://thewritelife.com/how-many-words-in-a-novel/
Flash Fiction: 300–1500 words
Short Story: 1500–30,000 words
Novellas: 30,000–50,000 words
Novels: 50,000–110,000 words
Keep plugging away! I am currently at around 6000 words also! Feels good, doesn’t it?
Thanks yet again. Where would we all be without Google?
I am still working on the 15 minutes practice, but as I wrote I saw several stories that could be written- or finished in some cases, ( because they are already started). But I came up with a simple answer. I am writing my story for the little girl who so long ago thought she wasn’t worth it growing up when she was abused and no one bothered to show her she was worth it. There are so many sides to who I was am and could be,,,, all rolled into one awesome lady.
Debra, go for it. It will be an encouragement to others.
I’m going to try,, my problem sometimes is jumping from one story to the next.
Debra, your comments reminded me of my own past, and inspired me. I need to tell the story of where I’ve been and what’s happened to me that contributed to who I am. Thank you.
Billie, Your welcome, I hope the memories take you somewhere special.
*HUGS* You are worth it, Debra. Your voice matters. Hear me: YOU matter. Tell your story, Debra. You can do this!
Thank you Ruthanne. I will.
Them Truth is about I like you a lot you make me a laugh I love you so much Babe you know little Crazy so many Reasons Her Name is Katelyn
Danny, thank you. I’m smiing at the extra bit to your story
Thank you for this uplifting article, Ruthanne. I used to think I had a story to tell, but life got in the way and stopped me cold. I see myself in the scenarios you point out that hurt us and keep us stuck or in writing remission. I’m now trying to move forward and tell my story in fiction as well as creative nonfiction. Happy writing to all of us.
I understand, Billie. Life will always tell you to be silent. I am so proud of you for moving forward. You can do this. Don’t give up!
Thank you, Ruthanne.
Happy writing indeed!
I am in the process of trying to write my story. Problem is that it’s complicated: just because I lived it doesn’t make it interesting. I have to determine my point of view, how to write so I protect certain people, and what to include/leave out. Sometimes I think I have decided on my theme, then I change it because my backstory, that supports the theme can become it’s own theme in itself. As a result, I become quite overwhelmed with the entire thing and skip back down the slide to ‘What should my theme be?’ Memoir is hard!
I hear you! That kind of thing can be really challenging. Here’s my suggestion: 1. Read a lot of really good memoirs. 2. Write a lot and practice, practice, practice. As you do this, you’ll begin to figure out what works and what doesn’t, and the “how” will come clearer.
Ruthanne, This sounds like good advice. I’ll follow your advice.
The story I am working on is about a woman who meets a perfect guy, she finally has everything that she wanted. When his brother gets out of prison he vows to ruin there lifes. She learn the truth everything and that he is a powerful and dangerous mob boss. When his brother turns up dead she finds the only piece of evidence that ties him to the crime. Now she has to face the choose does she turn him in or destory it.
My reason for writing this is story was had suffered years or bullying and mental abuse. I never really had the confidence to every post a story idea or the start of a story. But I took the first step to do that today.
Oh my gosh! This story is really intense! I think it sounds like a terrific thriller.
I’m so sorry you were bullied and abused; I was, too, and I know the power stories have to give us hope and escape. You can do this! Stephanie, your voice matters. Write your story!
Please write your story. You can use fictional names, alter the personalities, and take your heroine to places you have never been. But at the core, it can still be your story. Go for it, Lady. Tell your story.
— Sherrie
That is a really powerful story you have – please write it!
Wolfe
drew in a breath, the air visible in the face of the cold. Taking a long swig
from his drink, he sighed, savoring every drop of ale that hit his tongue and
beyond.
He
turned to see Krista stepping through the tent flap, her smallclothes more for
a shield against the frosty air than for modesty. Many a night he’d awaken to
one of her naughty bits pressed against him.
“How much farther is it?” Krista asked, sitting next to him.
Wolfe knew her desires all to well. Her appetites for the pleasures of male
flesh could not be limited to just one man. He laughed to himself as he
considered the irony. Most of the clergy were outwardly chaste, though from
experience he considered it a cover. Krista, on the other hand, did not even
try to hide her passions.
“We’ll reach the town by midday.” he said. “If the weather’s
clear and no surprises abound.” He was referring to the rumors of Trolls living
in these lands.
She clung
to him, one hand running through his unkempt hair while the other roamed lower along
his garb. “Another romp before the road? I’m in need of warmth that furs alone
cannot provide.”
He
laughed, then embraced her as his lips found hers. They crawled into the tent,
the gray walls the sole witness to their passion.
***
The town
was as lively as one could expect in this frosted region. Wolfe and Krista
headed straight to the inn, eager to escape the frost air’s chilling embrace.
A blast
of warm air struck them as they entered. There were no spare tables, so Wolfe
and Krista took stools at the counter.
“Where
you from?” the innkeep said, more out of habit than genuine curiosity.
“Here
and there, no destination in mind.” replied Wolfe, as a foaming drink was
placed in front of him. Krista looked offended.
“It is
not acceptable for women to drink men’s brew.” The innkeeper said, his determined
stare matching hers.
“Another
pint for me.” Wolfe said. When the innkeeper placed it in front of him, he offered
it to Krista. The woman downed it in several gulps, glancing at the man whose
eyes glared like daggers at her. She belched, grinning at the balding man’s displeasure.
A
commotion a table away broke out, involving a barrel height kelmar and a man
whose face could be mistaken for that of a troll. It turned from verbal blows
to physical in a matter of heartbeats. The kelmar launched a right hook that
sent the other staggering right into Wolfe, spilling his drink. Wolfe elbowed
the man’s face, then raised his tankard and brought it down hard upon the man’s
bald head.
The man
crumpled senseless to the ground. Nonchalantly Wolfe turned back to the innkeep
to order more ale.
The
tense silence was far more deafening than the rattle of chairs as everyone rose
from their tables, their attention fixed on him.
Kneeling
by the man’s body, the fire haired Kelmar rose to his feet. “You killed him,
you tree-witted son of a whore!”
Wolfe
didn’t appear to care. “I don’t give a shit who or what my mother was, and that
clumsy oaf spilled my ale. Should’ve watched where he was going.” He turned
back to the innkeep.
He had
but a second of warning when the kelmar hopped on a nearby stool, but no time
to react as a heavy blow plowed into his face, knocking him to the floor.
***
He woke
to a pounding ache in his head, finding himself in a dimly lit room. Attempting
to stand, Wolfe saw his limbs were bound by thick ropes to the chair. He looked
up to see the kelmar watching him.
“Aye,
you’re quite the scrapper, ain’t ya?” The stocky humanoid stood on a nearby
chair, at eye level with Wolfe.
“Now, we
got ourselves a wee dilemma.” The kelmar said, puffing on a small wooden pipe.
“You killed my partner, and this town doesn’t take kindly to murder.”
“Oh,
just shut up and get it over with.” Wolfe said.
“Oh, the
folk here would love nothing more. You ever seen a man drawn and quartered?
That’ll be your fate if you don’t listen up, laddie.” The dwarf blew smoke in
Wolfe’s face, but the man had no reaction.
“There is
a way you can redeem yourself, if you survive the trek.” The kelmar continued.
“Become my new partner, and help me scout out the Frostwoods.” Wolfe jut stared
blankly, as if to ask why he should care.
“You see
the dead trees ‘round here? The forest nearby is full of ‘em, and they’re
useless for firewood. I’ve heard there’s a grove in there with good trees, and
ancient treasure as well.”
“And?”
Wolfe said, his tone betraying his impatience. The dwarf ignored it. “Here’s
the tricky part. A month ago fourteen men from the town ventured to find this
place. They were never heard or seen again.”
More pitiful sheaves for the Pale Rider’s
harvest. Wolfe sighed. “This is the part where you tell me my role in your
little venture.”
The dwarf smiled, puffing his pipe. “Still
got some brain in that bug jar of yours. You’re a big man, been in many scraps
I wager. If you’re half as good with that mace as with a tankard, might be
we’ll survive this trek.”
“Rumor
has it trolls dwell in those woods.” Wolfe said.
“In that
case,” the dwarf said, standing up to refill his pipe, “you’ll may get to kill
one, maybe two.” He chuckled as he looked back at the bound man. “And as far as
payment, you’ll get your cut of the treasure.”
“If there’s
treasure.” Wolfe grunted, emphasizing the ‘if.’
The
dwarf turned back to him. “This’ll hurt.” Wolfe had no time to respond before
the stocky creature’s fist plowed into his head.
***
At the
edge of the withering forest, the townsmen untied Wolfe and returned to their
homes, leaving him and the kelmar staring into the woods.
“I
forgot to mention,” the dwarf said as Wolfe rubbed his sore head, “if they see
you come back alone, they’ll kill you.” As an afterthought, he added, “If you
try to kill me, I’ll bash your balls in and leave you deep in the forest.” He
tossed Wolfe his mace as he strode into the woods.
Wolfe
followed him, still craling the lump on his head with one hand. They walked in
silence, to avoid any unwanted surprises.
It was
midday when they came upon a deer carcass. Wolfe knelt to examine it. A
bwildered look crossed his face. “This is no troll kill.”
“Might
be, might be a breed we’ve never heard of.” The kelmar said. “Your mother never
told you of trolls?”
“Never
knew her.” replied Wolfe. “For all I know the Pale Rider is balls deep inside
her.”
“Well,
aren’t you a true bastard.” The kelmar said, clear notes of sarcasm ringing in
his voice.
“In
every sense of the word.” Wolfe said, fighting the urge to open the annoying
little man’s brains with his mace.
They
contined on through the dying forest. The kelmar was silent, much to Wolfe’s
relief.
***
Krista
shivered beneath her furs as she lay curled up in her tent. She wished she
would be gone from this place.
She’d
been unable to ply her ‘trade’ in the town. Another cleric had taken up
residence here, and he was less swayed by her charms than the rest of the
village folk.
Wolfe
had gone witrh the kelmar in search of an obscure treasure. She found herself
missing his touch, warm on her skin…and other places.
The
sound of snapping twigs interrupted her musing. Grabbing the dagger Wolfe had
left with her, she crouched at the tent opening, watching, waiting.
A giant
of a man came into view. He was the biggest she’d ever seen, even more than
Wolfe. As he drew near, her fear diminished as she saw the witless liik upon
his face. Though he looked strong enough to cause her harm, he appeared too
stupid to know how.
The wind
had picked up, its icy breath whipping across her face. She didn’t need the
halfwit’s brains to keep her warm.
She
motioned for him to enter, her body warming in anticipation.
I was asked to write a story of a friend, and when I read his idea, I thought what a good idea. He is bipolar and teaches bipolar people how to live a good life without medicine. He formed an idea where a family individually has one of his gifts, personality wise, polite and honest, musically talented, writing skills as an author and highly intelligent. Then I moved from my Europe to Thailand, and he befriended me because he had helped people he knew that suffered from being in Thailand. I told him it depended upon the person. However, I started the story and joined to write a story in 100 days with Joe Bunting. I am over the half way line. I want to make my friend realise like his idea of helping bipolar people that wherever you end up in live, it has to be for the right reasons and not because others failed because of being in a place for the wrong reasons. 🙂
This is great, Victor! I am so excited for you! And this is SUCH a needed book!
Hi, Ruthanne!
Thanks for the chance to share something. This is not my story, but the beginning of a story that will hopefully become part of a book written in collaboration with a fellow writer.
Feedback is VERY welcome.
Merle sat on the stoop of her brownstone in the bright Spring sunshine, her elbows propped on her knees, and daydreamed about the future. The constant roar of car engines, smells of exhaust fumes, yells of kids playing stick ball, or even an occasional fire truck didn’t break her fantasizing. She had acquired an expertise for concentration, honed over years of practice. It helped her in doing school work, while her brother was practicing his trumpet, but was especially focused when she was working to plot out her future.
During her childhood, like the rest of the country, the Lower East Side of New York was still suffering from a stock market that had taken a major nosedive, while job losses kept mounting. In desperation, people had thrown themselves out of windows, and even those who didn’t go that far were struggling just to put food on the table. But, Merle, with the unending optimism of youth, knew it wouldn’t last forever. She planned to be ready when things turned around.
Growing up was pretty sweet for a girl born in 1920 into a loving, multi-generational Jewish family. Her grandparents, her mother, and her uncles had emigrated from Russia in the late 1800s to avoid the harsh living conditions there. Although her grandfather was trained as an engineer, he couldn’t find a job in Moscow because of discrimination against Jews. Without many other choices, they moved to the country and became farmers to survive. Then, with the assassination of Czar Alexander II, their peasant neighbors became violent. Gangs of them killed their cows and destroyed their crops, blaming the Jews for their problems. Her grandparents, like many others in the same situation, fled Russia to eventually arrive in Holland, a much safer and accepting country. But, this wasn’t their ultimate destination. They viewed America and Ellis Island as their final sanctuary and a ticket to a new life.
Her mother, as beautiful as Merle grew to be, soon found a nice Jewish boy during their journey who had come from the same area of Moscow where she’d lived. They hit it off immediately, and once they were settled in their new homes, regularly went to dances and socials held by their synagogue. By the turn of the new century, they were married. Children followed. First a boy, Abe, then their baby girl, Merle, whose bright eyes, smiles, and gurgles delighted her family and everyone in the neighborhood.
Family life for Merle was close, but not suffocating. Her parents let her have a pretty long leash, and she rewarded them by being the good girl they knew she was. She flirted and had her flings, but always used her head to avoid any situations that could get her into trouble. With the family and neighbors she had, she couldn’t get into too much trouble. Everyone was watching.
She was just about to start the part of her musings that involved a handsome man on a tropical beach. They were swimming and enjoying the warm sun, brushed by cool breezes coming off the Gulf of Mexico. A deafeningly loud backfire from a truck made her jump and interrupted her reveries. Just then, one of her many friends – the dark-haired, suave Tony – came around the corner.
Hi Ruth.
I went to a free webinar last summer put on by a man named Nick and a real author. I looked up the author to check his credibility and wow – he had quite a few fiction books that actually sold! (I even purchased one in a genre I like.) My main take on his webinar was this. Get a stack of note cards (at least 100) and carve out some time alone and undisturbed. Then, start brainstorming – write any possible idea you get for your story in the beginning, end or middle. (it seems one always knows the beginning and end, so don’t neglect the middle.) Even if an idea is insane make a card. Keep on going! Maybe you will have a hundred cards or more when you are done. When you are done go though the cards and put things in order, taking out what you are not going to use.Very many of them will get tossed.
If anything, or parts are missing, work some more, but you probably wont need to. It took weeks to make myself do the exercise, until one hot Saturday I was in the breezeway with the cat. I decided, “today is the day!” I got the whole framework for a short story, probably 60 to 100 pages. I saved the other cards as they may be usable in other stories – maybe.
Note I said FRAMEWORK – not outline. In other words, I have a MAP not a duty roster!!! I know where I’m am going and don’t have to fear getting lost in the middle or going way off course. I can change things around if I want. Things are happening that I never expected, or planed, but I got a roadmap. That means a minimal amount of time will be wasted on rabbit trails that need deleted. Still it is hard and take effort to get started. A day of work at the job just drains a person so much that even with a map hard to get in gear. But WOW the map helps – i hope this helps someone!
I went to a free webinar last summer put on by a man named Nick and a real author. I looked up the author to check his credibility and wow – he had quite a few fiction books that actually sold! (I even purchased one in a genre I like.) My main take on his webinar was this. Get a stack of note cards (at least 100) and carve out some time alone and undisturbed. Shot off the phone. Then, start brainstorming – write any possible idea you get for your story in the beginning, end or middle. (It seems one always knows the beginning and end, so don’t neglect the middle.) Even if an idea is insane make a card. Keep on going! Maybe you will have a hundred cards or more when you are done. When you are done go though the cards and put things in order, taking out what you are not going to use. Very many of them will get tossed.
If anything, or parts are missing, work some more, but you probably wont need to. It took weeks to make myself do the exercise, until one hot Saturday I was in the breezeway with the cat. I decided, “today is the day!” In a couple hours, I got the whole framework for a short story, probably 60 to 100 pages. I saved the other cards as they may be usable in other stories – maybe. (I plan on 2 stories with same main characters in the same genre. Joe Bunting says practice with short stories and i need practice!)
Note I said FRAMEWORK – not outline. In other words, I have a MAP not a duty roster!!! I mostly know where I’m am going and don’t have to fear getting lost in the middle or going way off course. I can change things around if I want. Things are happening that I never expected, or planed, but I got a road map. That means a minimal amount of time will be wasted on rabbit trails that need
deleted. Still it is hard and takes effort to get started. A day of working at the job just drains a person so much that even with a map it is hard to get in gear. But WOW the map helps – I hope this helps someone!
Hi there, I started writing my story a few years ago about the time my husband and I and our two daughters went pioneering for the Baha’i Faith. We had so many adventures living in three different countries. Over twenty years we witnessed different ways of life in the Bahamas, Panama and Venezuela. I wrote many detailed letters to my mother and sister. Our girls were `11 and 13 when we started our adventure back in 1977. Years later one day my sister brought over a big box of letters from me to her which I wrote about our experiences as a pioneer. This was years later after we moved back to the states in 1995. Now our two daughters have grown up and are now in their fifties with husbands and children. Our lives are so much different for them with all the fancy technical gadgets that we have in our society now. It’s like a different world. I started writing my memoirs awhile back and I hope to continue.
Personal stories are so interesting. I hope you write yours. Not only is there the journey you and your family went on but, as you point out, there have been so many changes in the world around us. We need to be reminded of where we used to be!
What an inspiration article. Thank you. I will keep going, and never stop.
My story is about misunderstanding and disappointment, family and acceptance. It’s an imbalanced love story centred on late motherhood. I have a vague outline for all 6/7 scenes. I see it as a play, so will eventually focus on dialogue. But for now I want to flesh it out in the form of a story with 6/7 ‘chapters’.
My main problem is my age. I’m getting quite forgetful but having the letters that my sister brought over will help me refresh my memory.
Thanks so much, Ruth Anne, you give me the courage and fortitude to keep writing. Here’s my practice:
So I write.
My story begins at the end. After forty-five years of being
married to the same man, I’m pissed off all the time. I feel like the character
of Wheezy in the film “Steel Magnolias” when she said, “I’ve just been in a bad
mood” for several years. But my bad mood has lasted about a year – so far.
I think the way I feel has a name – AWS. AWS stands for
Angry Woman Syndrom. It fits me perfectly. I’m so angry at everything.
I went to my docter last March and told him that I’m sick,
sick and tired of my home and my husband and my kids. My husband told him that ‘She’s
mean.’ My trusted docter, the man I went to for help, told me to take walks.
So, now I’m angry at him, too.
I feel pushed into a tiny corner. So I write. I write about
women in impossible situations, about unfathomable
revelations after decades of caring, and irrepairable situations.
From my corner, I read stories of inner strength, supportive
lovers, and hope. I say, “Ooh, THAAT’s a great story.” My eyes become damp or a
smile creeps onto my tired face. Someday, someday, I’ll write like that.
So I write.
/Sorry for the formatting snafoos. I can’t seem to fix them. — Sherrie
Hi Sherrie, thank you for sharing your writing. I found myself smiling and quietly laughing because I could identify with the AWS theme. I also enjoyed the matter-of-fact way you wrote.
I have been receiving emails for quite some time from Joe and have read a few articles but have never commented or actually started on the writing journey consistently. I think it is time I started. Keep sharing, it encouraged me to get started.
My story is a personal one. The journey I have embarked on since changing my ways and thoughts about living. It is a quest we so often quit when situations and circumstances get hard. I have conquered a few things on this journey I am very proud of. However, I recognize I still have a long way to humbly grow mentally, physically and spiritually. I have learned the art of meditation/breathing which, is a powerful tool for thoughts all in itself. Writing this journey has been a great and rewarding experience in my life, learning whom I really am and longing to be a great writer.
Hi folks!
I’m trying to start writing in English but as a matter of fact I have to tell it’s turning out really hard. Anyway, I’m convinced that I’ll reach my goal sooner or later. I’ve just want to know if it’s possible to read all the stories that you are working on because it could become an important example for starting out. Thanks everybody!. Carlos.
Hi!
My story is very similar and written in the same genre as Anne of Green Gables (and a young teenager book). I loved the series so much, and reading it literally 5 times over and over, it influenced my book that I’m trying to write.
It goes about a girl who’s mom gets ill and then she is sent to her aunt who she doesn’t know. Turns out, he aunt died just before she got there, so she went to live with a stranger in the same village. The lady who hosts her is bitter from her horrible past, and lives in sorrow, being unkind and dodging people as much as she could. The girl (Lily) helps to make her appreciate life and live life to its fullest.
I don’t know if this is a good plot. Please help me! I’d love any feedback or critiscm!
My story isn’t sweet or funny. It’s just my own story of not being loved or cherished by anyone ever in my life. I need someone to read it and tell me how to recover from it.