For most writers, there are three things that they have to do to finish their stories. These three points are necessary if they want to make a good story.
First of all, before making stories, writers must have a general idea about what the story they are going to make. Then, they have to create a brainstorming about the idea. The last one is they have to elaborate the brainstorming. In this part, writers can use their imagination freely and use their own style of writing.
Thus, for the reasons above, wecan conclude that the three points to make a good story are necessary.
Most writers do a same thing in their lives, which is unfinishing their stories.
Writers usually have a bunch of ideas in their mind. They will be very excited to write something new. But then, they will be bored or they say it as a running out of ideas. After apage or two, writers usually will stop writing. And then something new will drive them to write a new story again. When they are in a good mood, they will finish what they have started.But it rarely happens anyway.
A notebook of a writer usually full of beginning paragraphs of supposedly good stories.
To grow plant like flowers, vegetables or even trees, gardeners often put compost in the soil. Compost is produced by allowing leaves to decompose naturally. The compost’s ingredients have to be collected. It can be leaves, grass, vegetable peelings and fruit cores. To put the bacteria into the compost, some garden soil is also mixed into it. Then, the compost is put into a basket, or piled up in the corner of the garden. The compost is left alone for many months. Finally, gardeners dig the compost into the soil or spread it on the surface. Compost is so important for the plants because it replaces nutrients in the soil and contains nitrogen and other important elements they are needed.
My name was MT. At least that was what my friend called me with. It was an abbreviation from my kind though. So it was not special, something that I could cope with because there were thousands mango trees out there. And this was my little story.
I lived in a once infertile and empty land. There were just several from my kind. The others were OTs (oak trees), ATs (apple trees), and MTs (maple trees or mahogany trees), yes, the three of us were often confused with each other because of the same nick. Now, the place where I lived in, it was so beautiful, full of flowers here and there, green everywhere and there were MTs, OTs, and ATs junior. Or did it just seem to be?
People were starting to plant other trees, flowers, and even grass. Did they still think about me? No, not anymore. They were too excited to have something new, something fresher than the old me, something they called conservation. At least that was what I heard from two women who were gossiping under my branch a few days ago; an activity that I ridiculously missed.
On October, my leaves started to fall down. I panicked a bit, no, a little too much actually. They fell fast, even the young one. Now I knew what people were fussing about when they were suffering from hair fall. The breeze seemed to blow harder on my aging body. But I was only thirty years old for goodness’ sake! My father, ok, not my father, but the tree that had lived beside me a long time ago, had had 127 years in his life before someone forced him down with a biggest saw I ever seen in my life. The thing roared and groaned until miles away, ignoring a fifteen years old me who watched it in horror.
I felt lonely. I knew that sounded pathetic. But no bird made nest on me again and no squirrel played on my branch anymore. No woman gossiped on my shadow anymore. It had been long since the last time I produced a mango; another reason for them to get rid of me.
I thought I was dying. There were no leaf, no flower, and no fruit. My body became fragile. Termites lived inside of me. I was becoming more and more hopeless every time. One morning I saw a group of people walking toward me. A little happiness sparked. Finally…. finally what?! I panicked. I saw a glint of that saw again.
