Recently a friend and I met for lunch. The conversation drifted to our childhoods. She shared that her daddy died when she was seven. I asked a few questions and the conversation moved on to other subjects. One detail stayed with me, though. His hands were scrubbed clean. She insisted they weren’t her daddy’s hands at all. Visual Inspiration That powerful image of a seven-year-old staring at her daddy’s hands in the hospital stuck with me. I slipped into the mind of a seven-year-old and committed the story to paper. But was it my story to tell? Elizabeth Gilbert writes in Big Magic that stories live in the ether, waiting…