Sometimes I just have to start with nothing. My mind roams and I type words or sentences and then delete them and type more and delete again and more and again until an image holds, for no reason I can divine, and I stop deleting as the sentences spin out into a larger whole.
Working Title: His Hands
1st Sentence: In his hands the dough was a living thing, elastic, full of breath, the surface glistening silky soft in the overhead light.
Favorite Sentence: They were not musical, they did not shape themselves to a paintbrush or a shoulder, they were clumsy with a pen and couldn’t keep hold of a needle.
Word Length: 354
Photo by Jon Sullivan 4/2004, courtesy of pdphoto.org.
Daily Shorty 
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