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I sat down with a clear idea: build a simple AI-powered tool that could help people validate their business ideas faster.

No fluff, no endless scrolling through guru content—just a practical way to get clarity.

You see, most people waste weeks (or months) thinking they’re working on “the next big thing” when in reality, they’ve skipped the one thing that matters most: validation.

That’s the itch I wanted to scratch. I wasn’t trying to compete with ChatGPT—I wanted to leverage it in a way that delivered structured, usable outcomes. No prompt engineering, no jargon, just “is this idea worth pursuing or not?” in five minutes or less.

So I started sketching what this might look like.

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The Idea Was Simple (Maybe Too Simple?)

I imagined a short, guided process: a few focused questions about your idea, your audience, your differentiator—stuff I know works from experience. Behind the scenes, AI would take those answers, run some logic, and return a personalized validation summary.

Kind of like a business coach in a box.

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This ‘was’ my 742nd idea of 2025 that i got excited about and then died a slow death. I’m not sure writing is quite for me, but for full transparency am keeping this as a post. For now anyway! Enjoy.

Chapter 1 [Chapter 1, Draft 2]

Habits were more dangerous than secrets. Secrets could be buried; habits exposed them. That’s why someone had spent three mornings last week, and three mornings this week, tracing the precise movements of the man leaving Norfolk Crescent.

At 6:52am on Monday, 6:56 on Tuesday, and 6:50 on Wednesday, the front door clicked shut, and the man emerged, bag slung over his shoulder, the same every day. He turned right onto Great Stanhope Street and passed the bakery at James Street West, avoiding the Riverside footpath entirely. Not once did he glance over his shoulder.

That Thursday, the observer had stationed themselves further down James Street West and noted the man’s passing at 7:03am his brisk pace uninterrupted by the chatter of passing students or the honk of a distant car. By 7:12am they had both reached St James Parade, and a precise note was scratched into a small pad.

This morning, the observer lingered outside the college which, if his calculations were correct, was approximately fourteen minutes into the man’s journey. The air was thick with the sharp scent of burnt coffee, but his focus didn’t waver. At 7:11am the man appeared, moving predictably toward the station, stepping inside at exactly 7:15.

Seventeen minutes. Always seventeen minutes. The rhythm was clockwork, utterly dependable. Dependable was good. Dependable got paid. The observer unchained his bike and rode off.

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