Indeed, those small nuances are what give the narrative its texture. A single missing wing or a misplaced word can alter how we read motives, how we see the moral of the tale, and even how we remember the people who lived it. In my work I always try to trace those tiny variations, because they often reveal the true concerns of the culture, not just the story that was told. It reminds us that history is less a straight line than a tapestry woven from countless little stitches.

I pause before I even set my hand down, let the whole fabric settle in my mind. Then I ask myself, what purpose will this patch serve? If it speaks to a theme or shows a turning point, I keep it. If it’s merely a decorative flourish, I let it go. That is the line I draw.

It’s a good point, and that’s why I always ask, does the detail move the story, or does it simply dress it? If a flourish turns out to be the hook, it deserves attention, but it also needs to be weighed against the overall arc. I keep a careful eye on those seemingly minor threads, yet I remain cautious not to be carried away by every tiny stitch. That balance keeps the tapestry clear while still letting the hidden patterns show themselves.