How to Assemble a Jigsaw Puzzle — Behind the Story

First and foremost, my wife and I are fine. I promise. Kids, if you are reading this, you have nothing to worry about.

This story can trace its origins to snow and ice. Specifically, the winter of 2025-2026, which had more than its share of both and, consequently, days off from work. As a result, it also had more than its share of jigsaw puzzles. They ranged from maddeningly impossible to calmingly easy, from dogs to wreaths to cozy bookstores.

Often, we had two puzzles set up: an easy one in the dining room and a more difficult one in the upstairs office, on a card table. We even bought a special board lined with felt and hiding four drawers for storage.

I’m sure that for many, working on a jigsaw puzzle can be a solitary endeavor, isolating even. One person, one puzzle, hours bent over a table fitting pieces together one at a time. Or in the case of puzzles assembled in public spaces (e.g., a high school library), it can be a group effort where you never see your coworkers, just the results of their anonymous efforts over a period of time.

However, if you were working on a jigsaw puzzle with someone else, the experience could be something more meaningful, something intimate. That’s the best word I could find to describe the close proximity, the stretches of companionable silence, and the shared struggle to find a missing piece that should be so obvious based on shape, size, and color. Add a little music, good lighting, and you have the recipe for something special.

I began to write a story about how completing a jigsaw puzzle on a long winter’s evening could be intimate. Except the idea had no plot, just a setting. The story-that-wasn’t-a-story seemed doomed to die a quick death.

Until I was left alone to wander around in a large-box bookstore. I realize for the independent, family-owned booksellers, these guys are the enemy, but I can’t help feeling relaxed at being able to meander around aisles with ample space between the rows to stop and pick up this or that book that catches my eye. To stand reading the dust jacket and then (if found worthy) the opening pages. There are often children running around with books in their hands, excited to be read to, or a gray-haired lady with a granny chain around her neck, looking in the manga section. It soothes my soul. I also harbor the dream that one day I might have a book shelved in one of these stores. (As unrealistic as the possibility is, it doesn’t stop the fantasy from making me a little light-headed as I pass through the store.)

As I wandered aimlessly that day, so did my thoughts. Out of the blue, the idea came to me: what if a literal jigsaw puzzle was a metaphor for someone trying to put their relationship back together?

Now I had a story and began writing.

Then I stopped writing it. Because it didn’t seem like a story. Just an idea. A metaphor by itself isn’t a story.

Except the idea didn’t want to get buried, and ways to build this framework into an actual story slowly began to come to me. What has gone wrong with their relationship? Perhaps nothing was actually wrong, just … faded. Isn’t that how life works? What if the puzzle was an offering to his wife? It had to be a photo that she took. What if the narrator said to himself all the things he was too afraid to say out loud? Then there needed to be music, and I loved creating a playlist for this story and listened to all of the songs described here and more. Because what romantic story isn’t improved by a solid soundtrack? I easily could have added some Etta James or Billie Holiday, but a writer has to know when he’s done enough. And then the big question: how does the story end? Ultimately, how does his wife feel about the puzzle once it was completed? I had a decision to make: was the offering successful? Or does his wife turn a cold shoulder?

Bit by bit, I answered these questions. And a setting, an idea, a metaphor, became a story. I hope it works for you.

For years, I’ve thought about getting a jigsaw puzzle made out of one of my wife’s favorite photos. I haven’t done it yet. Maybe it’s time.

As always, thanks for reading.

—Phillip

PS … The “it’s a box!” is a real thing. It’s me and Susan, but also all of our kids. It really hasn’t gotten old.