I get asked this question a lot, especially by people who are just starting out: where do film ideas really come from? Some expect a secret formula. Others want a list of websites, books, or tricks they can copy.

So let me answer it plainly, without packaging, without film-school drama, and without pretending screenwriting is mystical.

I don’t get my screenwriting ideas from newspapers. I don’t chase trending stories. I don’t stalk people’s lives for inspiration. I don’t sit online waiting for something viral to spark a script.

I write local films, and my stories come from imagination and inspiration — not research piles, not borrowed headlines, not real-life scandals dressed up as fiction.

If you’re waiting for the perfect story to appear on social media before you write, you’ll wait forever.

Ideas don’t arrive loudly. They don’t announce themselves. They form quietly, when the mind is active and paying attention.

How do you get ideas for screenwriting?

I get ideas for screenwriting by observing everyday life, imagining situations beyond what I see, and allowing inspiration to grow naturally in my mind until it forms a story worth telling.

I don’t copy real-life events or news stories. I don’t recreate people’s lives. I create original stories rooted in human behavior, familiar environments, emotional tension, and imagination.

That’s the simple answer.

Now let me break it down properly.

Ideas don’t come from newspapers — they come from people

One of the biggest lies beginners believe is that good stories come from big events.

They think if nothing dramatic is happening around them, then they have nothing to write. No scandal. No crime. No tragedy. No headline.

That mindset is wrong.

Real stories don’t come from events. They come from people reacting to events.

And most of the time, those reactions are small, quiet, and hidden.

Real stories come from:

• How people talk when they’re relaxed
• How people talk when they’re lying
• How people hide pain behind jokes
• How people avoid difficult conversations
• How people react when power shifts
• How people behave when they think no one is watching

I watch people. I listen to conversations. I notice patterns.

Not to steal anyone’s life, but to understand how humans behave under pressure, fear, love, jealousy, pride, and desperation.

Once you understand behavior, imagination does the rest.

If you depend on newspapers, you’ll end up retelling someone else’s story with a different title and different character names.

That’s not originality. That’s recycling.

I start with a “what if,” not a headline

I don’t begin with facts. I begin with questions.

Not complicated questions. Simple ones.

What if a trusted friend isn’t loyal?

What if a small decision ruins a family?

What if someone wants something badly but is afraid to say it?

What if a lie meant to protect someone ends up destroying everything?

Those questions are enough to start a film.

Most beginners overthink ideas because they want permission to write something important. They want validation before they even begin.

I don’t look for permission.

I look for tension.

If there is no tension, there is no story.

A story doesn’t need explosions, crimes, or dramatic twists to be interesting. It needs conflict — internal or external — pushing characters to make choices they would rather avoid.

That tension is born from imagination, not headlines.

Imagination does the heavy lifting

I rely heavily on imagination.

That doesn’t mean fantasy. It doesn’t mean unrealistic stories. It means allowing the mind to stretch situations beyond the obvious.

I take normal environments — streets, homes, workplaces, neighborhoods — and imagine what could go wrong inside them.

I imagine secrets hiding behind normal faces.

I imagine silence where words should have been spoken.

I imagine consequences people never thought through.

That’s where originality lives.

When you copy reality exactly as it is, you get documentaries.

When you reshape reality through imagination, you get films.

Imagination allows exaggeration. It allows compression. It allows emotional clarity.

Reality is messy. Film is shaped.

A screenwriter’s job is not to reproduce life exactly as it happens, but to interpret it in a way that reveals truth.

Why I avoid other people’s stories

I don’t like borrowing people’s pain to write scripts.

First, it limits creativity.

Second, it traps you in accuracy instead of storytelling.

When you write from imagination:

• You are free to twist events
• You are free to exaggerate consequences
• You are free to merge ideas
• You are free to explore emotions deeply

When you write from someone else’s real story, you become careful.

You start asking: “Did this really happen?” “Would this offend someone?” “Is this accurate?”

Carefulness kills bold storytelling.

Films thrive on bold choices, not safe retellings.

I’d rather create a fictional pain that feels real than borrow a real pain and flatten it.

Local films need local imagination

Because I write local films, my ideas must feel close to home.

That doesn’t mean copying what already exists.

It means understanding the environment well enough to create believable fiction.

I pay attention to how people speak locally.

I understand social expectations.

I know what pressures people face.

Then I imagine stories that could happen within that space.

I don’t write stories that feel imported.

I write stories that sound familiar but still surprise you.

That balance only comes when inspiration meets imagination.

Local films fail when writers imitate foreign structures without adapting them emotionally.

Original local films succeed when they feel honest, even when they are fictional.

Ideas grow before they are written

Another mistake beginners make is rushing ideas to paper.

I don’t do that.

I allow ideas to sit in my head.

I replay them.

I challenge them.

I change details.

I test them mentally.

I imagine scenes without writing dialogue.

I imagine characters making bad choices.

If an idea can survive my own boredom, then it’s ready to be written.

If I get tired of it too quickly, I drop it.

Not every idea deserves a screenplay.

Discipline is knowing what not to write.

Why boredom is my test

If I can’t stay interested in an idea, no audience will.

That’s why I let ideas breathe.

Some ideas feel exciting for a day and die the next.

Others keep returning, demanding attention.

Those are the ones worth writing.

Ideas that survive time usually have depth.

Ideas that fade quickly are usually shallow.

The truth most people don’t want to hear

If you say you don’t have ideas, the problem is not inspiration.

The problem is attention.

You’re not paying attention to people.

You’re not listening carefully.

You’re not asking “why” often enough.

You’re not imagining consequences.

Ideas are everywhere.

Discipline is rare.

Most people want ideas without observation.

They want stories without thinking.

Screenwriting doesn’t work that way.

Final words

I don’t chase stories.

I let them form.

I don’t borrow lives.

I create worlds.

I don’t wait for headlines to give me permission to write.

I trust imagination, observation, and patience.

That’s how I get ideas for screenwriting.

And that mindset shapes every script I write.

In the next article, I’ll break down the three stages of screenwriting — the way I actually practice them, not the way film schools sell them.