There’s too much emphasis on writing a story, producing it in different formats, and packaging it neatly. But for me, writing is an outcome, not the starting point.

Stories don’t begin with the act of writing. They begin with an experience—something you see, hear, feel—somethingthat refuses to let go of you. The best stories come from a restlessness, an urge so strong that holding it in is no longer an option.

I think of stories as a natural metamorphosis. They take shape when they are ready, not when we force them. The most powerful storytelling doesn’t follow a formula; it feels inevitable—like it had to be told.

This is why I ask people not to “come up with” a story but to listen to it. Pay attention to what lingers and what keeps resurfacing in your mind. If a moment, a conversation, or a detail keeps coming back, that’s where the story lives.

So, instead of asking, “How do I write this story?” ask:

What am I unable to stop thinking about?

What moment felt like a shift—where something changed, even if just slightly?

What truth is pressing against silence, waiting to be told?

The writing? That will come. The form it takes? That will follow. But first, let the story emerge.

Finding the Story: The Heartbeat of a Narrative

If you strip everything else away—facts, details, even fancy words—what remains is the heart of the story. And that’s the part that makes us feel something. It’s the part we remember long after we’ve read, heard, or watched something.

So, before anything else, ask yourself: Why does this story matter?

Not just why it exists but why it should be told. If the story doesn’t move you, it won’t move anyone else. If you don’t feel something—curiosity, wonder, anger, warmth, excitement—then you probably haven’t hit the heart of it yet.

A simple way to test this is: Would you retell this story to a friend excitedly, without notes? If yes, you’ve got something. If not, dig deeper.

Show, Don’t Tell: Bringing a Story to Life

This phrase gets thrown around a lot, but what does it actually mean? It’s simple. If you just tell me something, I will understand. But if you show me, I’ll feel it.

Here’s an example:

TELL: Sunita is a great teacher.

SHOW: Every morning, Sunita greets each child by name, kneeling down to their level. Her hands are dusted with chalk, and her notebook is filled with doodles her students have drawn for her.

Which one makes you see Sunita? Which one makes her real?

Good storytelling is full of moments like this. Don’t tell me someone is kind; show me how they act. Don’t tell me a place is noisy; make me hear the sounds.

Try this when writing: Take one “tell” statement and rewrite it as a “show” scene. Suddenly, the story will come alive.

Details That Matter

Not all details are equal. Some add depth; others drag the story down. What you choose to focus on tells the reader what’s important.

If I tell you a child walks to school every day, that’s fine. But if I say:

“Every morning, barefoot, Priya walks the dusty road to school, stopping to balance on a broken brick like it’s a tightrope,”

…now, you see Priya. You get a sense of her world.

The key is choosing the right details that paint a picture without overloading the reader. Ask: Does this detail add to the feeling of the story? Does it help us see, hear, or feel something important? If not, cut it.

Whose Story Is It?

Sometimes, a story happens around someone, but it’s not actually about them. The best stories are told from inside—from the eyes, heart, and voice of the person at the center.

Think about:

• Who has the most at stake in this story?

• Who changed the most?

• Whose perspective would make us feel something?

If you’re telling a story about a teacher, is it actually about the teacher? Or is it about the child who finds confidence because of them? The right narrator changes everything.

Emotion First, Facts Later

People don’t remember data; they remember emotions. A strong story makes you feel first and think second.

Look at these two sentences:

• “In India, 30% of children don’t have access to early education.”

• “Ayaan is five. His favorite game is pretending to teach his younger sister with a broken chalk piece. He dreams of going to school, but there isn’t one nearby.”

Both say the same thing, but which one makes you care? Start with the human experience, then add the facts.

The Power of Pause: Let the Story Breathe

Good stories don’t rush. They pause in the right places.

If something important happens, don’t move past it too quickly. Let it sit for a moment. Show us what it means before moving on.

Think about real conversations—when someone tells you something surprising, you don’t immediately switch topics. You react. You take it in. Good stories do the same.

Questions to Ask When Crafting a Story

When you’re telling a story, ask yourself:

1. What’s the heartbeat of this story? (Why does it matter?)

2. Am I showing, not telling?

3. Do my details paint a picture or just fill space?

4. Am I telling the story from the right perspective?

5. Does it make me feel something first?

6. Am I letting important moments breathe?

If the answer to any of these is “no,” go back and find where the story needs tightening.

Final Thought: A Story That Stays

A great story isn’t just words on a page. It’s something that lingers. It makes people see, hear, and feel something they hadn’t before.

That’s what you’re aiming for. Not just a story that’s told but a story that stays.

So, when you start working on stories—whether in class, for a workshop, or just for yourself—don’t think about what sounds impressive. Think about what feels true. That’s always where the best stories begin.