moni uddin

As we were driving, a good friend asked me something simple.

“I’d love to write a story,” he said, “but I don’t have any ideas. Where do you get them from?”

I paused. Not because I had an answer ready, but because I didn’t have one at all.

I’d never really thought about it.

When I looked back at the plots behind my short stories and my novel, I realised I’d been following the same process without even noticing. His question unlocked something for me in that moment.

Every idea I’d ever written started the same way. Sometimes with inspiration, but mostly with questions.

So I tested it out there and then.

“Start with the theme,” I said. “What do you actually want to write about?”

He thought for a second. “Maybe the human experience. How we hide parts of ourselves. How we sacrifice authenticity and connection because we’re afraid of being too much.”

That got me excited. There was definitely something there.

“So maybe regret,” I said. “The way we handle our relationships.”

He nodded.

“Okay,” I continued. “Now what’s the hook? What makes this story worth telling?”

He sat with that one a little longer. “Maybe someone near the end of their life. Full of regret. But they get a second chance after they die. Something mystical.”

“They come back?” I asked. “A ghost? Or they’re reborn?”

“Maybe,” he said. “It’s been done a bit too much. But I like the idea of a spirit.”

At that point, ideas were starting to flow. I could feel my own brain wanting to jump in, pulling from stories and films I’d already consumed. But this wasn’t my idea. So I actually shut my mouth for once and let him think.

“How about this,” he said. “They come back as a spirit, but they don’t know why. They feel the regret. They watch their partner move on, their kids get involved in things they shouldn’t. They try to help, but they can only interact with the world in certain ways. And every time they do, it causes more harm.”

He paused.

“They don’t realise until later they’ve been reborn as the devil.”

That was the moment it really hit me.

He hadn’t found an idea. He’d cultivated one. And all he’d done was answer a few questions.

What started as “I don’t have any ideas” had turned into a plot with theme, conflict, and direction.

There were still questions left. Who is the main character? What’s the message? Does the story end with hope, bitterness, or no resolution at all?

But the important part was already there.

We talked a bit more. My friend started writing notes on his phone. And when we got out of the car, we both had the same feeling.

That an idea for a story isn’t missing. It’s shy. Sometimes it just needs the right questions to step out and become something worth writing.