Tim looked at the shards and fragments of his many broken story ideas. He poked through their remains. Each was as pretty as a stained glass window, but every time he tried to hang one on a sheet of paper they would come crashing to earth. Now they were just jagged pieces of color.
He almost just threw it all away when he had a thought. He began to nudge the pieces together and laying new prose as the glue. Soon a new, even more vibrant, picture began to emerge.
Tim wondered if that is why they called it craft.
Image: ilovemyburg.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/zn-stained-glass-pieces.jpg
Never Short On Words 