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Finding a story is easy, there are infinite stories to tell. You might read or hear, "Write what you know," and there is some truth in that, or "Everyone has a story to tell," but it isn't the person's story that is interesting, it is how it is told that makes it interesting. Telling a story well is much more difficult than finding a story to tell.

Let's take two versions of the same story. First writer's story:

I woke this morning and it was already hot, so I took a shower, dressed and went to work. It was cooler in the office, since it had air conditioning, where my apartment only has one fan. Everyone in the office was cranky, so I told my boss I didn't feel well and headed for the beach.

At the beach, I saw this really buff guy, and wished he would pay attention to me, but he kept looking at all the other girls, instead of me. So, I went home and took a cool bath and read a book.

Second writer's story:

I woke with the temperature already climbing to the top of the thermometer, and it was only the beginning of the summer. My lame old fan, which looked like something from the Stone Age and sounded like an airplane taking off, didn't help cool my drab apartment at all. I dreaded work, but it pays the bills, so I had to make an appearance, even when all I wanted to do was head to the beach.

The air-conditioned office helped stop the glow from making my clothing stick to me like glue, but it did little to improve my co-worker's dispositions. "Hey, Mr. Sanders, I'm sick and I need to go home," I said to my boss. It was true, I was sick of that place.

At the beach, I picked out the one guy that didn't pay any attention to me, and imagined I could lure him to me with just my will. I concentrated with all my energy on getting him to notice me, instead of the skinny little girl in pigtails, with the big floaties oops, those aren't floaties, but they probably float. "Come to me," I thought. He did, sort of, he came to my lounger, and then into the ocean, but I know it was just an excuse to let me get a great look at his bottom on his way past me.

Back in my apartment, I took a glorious bath, piled high with bubbles, and let my imagination run amok as I fantasized about the hunk from the beach, and soon, I had completely forgotten about the heat of the summer. Later, I read a True Romance book and let the old fan put me to sleep.

It was just a day at the beach for both, but the difference is that one wrote more compellingly than the other. There is a story in anything and anyone, finding a way to tell it well is the challenge.

Want to try something? Today, write your day, and make it interesting, then work on improving it. It may become a best seller, or it may go in the round file, but it is the beginning of a great writing career, not just another day.

Learn more about this author, Will Kester.
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