I sat down to write part 3 of the tadpole monologues and got an email from Jason in Ireland. He wanted a "Once Upon A Time..." story for his message this weekend. He wanted something about God's redeemed work. I have no idea if this is what he wanted. I honestly don't know if it's good. I started writing and hit send when it was "done." I didn't even proofread it. And now, I'm copying and pasting, sans proofread. If it sucks, ah well. I kind of warned you, right?
Once upon a time, in a small village outside Capital City, there lived a young inventor. His name was, and still is Edgar. He is an old man now and no longer inventing. In fact, he stopped so long ago that nobody in the village remembers his old trade. Why did he stop, you ask? That's what I'm going to tell you.
When Edgar was young he impressed everyone with his imagination and ability to create something out of nothing. He could walk into any shop and know what the shop owner needed to improve efficiency. The baker needed a better shaker. The florist needed her scissors repurposed. He was well-loved throughout the village.
One summer Edgar became fascinated with marbles. No one knows why, but he spent sun up to sun down creating new kinds of marbles. Green swirls mixed with bronze bursts. Red sparkles sprinkled through ivory folds. He made big ones, small ones, round ones and even square ones. The squares didn't work like he hoped. His marbles were gorgeous and for a few weeks he couldn't make enough to meet the village's demand. So he hired help. He spent his life savings on a larger furnace and took trips to India in search of exotic sands.
When he returned, kids no longer played marbles. They swung hoops around their hips instead. Edgar had all the supply but no demand. His business crumbled. Edgar had nothing except regret. He stopped coming out. People would walk by his shop and talk about how sad it was that the marble maker had given up. His former customers turned into adults and Edgar turned into an old man that most everyone half remembers.
Then a Stranger came to town. In some ways, He was like Edgar. He knew what people needed and knew how to fix things. He seemed to be half counselor and half inventor. This Stranger pretty quickly stumbled into Edgar's old marble shop. He found Edgar in the corner, behind bag after bag of sand. The Stranger didn't say anything. Neither did Edgar but he watched as the Stranger began examining the bags.
Soon, that examining turned into hauling. The Stranger was dragging the sand towards the furnace. Edgar kept watching from afar. Eventually the Stranger stopped working and came to talk to Edgar. They spoke about the day Edgar came back from India. Edgar told him how he lost everything. The Stranger listened to Edgar's sad story. When he finished the Stranger looked around at all the bags, the dusty furnace, the tools, everything. There was an awkward silence in the room. Edgar felt uneasy and the Stranger knew it.
"I can fix it." The Stranger said. Edgar half believed him but didn't know why and didn't say anything.
"Do you want me to fix it?" The Stranger asked.
"Very much." Edgar said ever so meekly.
The Stranger stood and helped Edgar to his feet. He began walking the old, bent-over Edgar around the shop. The same shop the younger Edgar used to skip through creating all sorts of things. Now it was just full of bags reminding him of his failures.
The Stranger taught Edgar a skill he must've learned in one of the other villages He'd been to. Even Edgar, a lifelong inventor had seen it before. They spent days working in the shop from sun up to sun down.
Finally, Edgar and the Stranger emerged from the shop. Edgar was holding his creation- a beautiful, blown-glass vase full of the most exotic colors the village had ever seen. Indigos danced with marigolds. Violets vibrated throughout periwinkles. People flocked towards Edward to see the vase. Immediately, he was taking orders. People wanted them for their living rooms, dining rooms, bathrooms even.
As they shouted the Stranger slipped away. He watched Edgar smile for the first time in years. Edgar saw the Stranger right before he left for good. They made eye contact. Edgar wanted to thank him but he didn't need to. His eyes said it all. He silently thanked the Stranger with his vase in hand. What was once a source of paralyzing shame and regret, was now something extraordinarily beautiful.
The Stranger fixed it. Just like He promised.
you'll be the luckiest person EVER and get that flying car. Until then, get in your used Corolla and drive. The lessons and experiences you'll gain are far better out on the road than they are in the parking lot.
Thought #2: Tadpoles need legs.
Another type of person(s) you need in your network are Masters. These are folks who are experts at certain things. Luckily, I have lots of these. Sometimes the legs of an idea are formed by the Masters you know. When I started writing both A Cat Named Bruce and The {RE} Gifter I knew I needed a rotating stage for the former and a giant screen for the latter. So right from the beginning I called Greg. He can make anything and I needed his go-ahead before I could proceed much further than a few pages of writing. On the Saturday morning I walked down my stairs and had the idea for The {RE} Gifter I called Steve . I knew there would be a junk sculpture aspect to the story and so I knew I needed a Master sculptor to help me figure out what that would look like. Masters are most effective when brought in as soon as you know you need them. They know things you don't and can share their knowledge even before they share their actual skill. 
I run into lots of people with great ideas. Most of those ideas never leave their brain or have life outside of conversations that start with, "So I have this idea..." Most book, invention, restaurant, video, prank ideas never become anything more than that-ideas. I have a billion currrently collecting dust in my brain. So I thought I'd write a series of posts about the creative process I try and use that can turn brainstorms into real storms. The kind of storms that soak fools with your awesome geniusness.
