He sat alone with his paragraph.
He stared at this lump of white letters on a black screen for nearly twenty minutes.
Then he began to breathe life into it, shuffling words intently, whispering them to himself, listening to how they sounded until he found the perfect cadence—fifty disparate words, strung like bulbs on an idea wire.
“Done,” he said to himself.
“I’m done.”
bendingtheneedle 