The keys of the typewriter clapped. At the end of a line, a ding echoed through the old mansion. The stained glass windows smiled. The choice; coffee or wine? Why choose? Have both. The offering enticing. The ritual encouraging.
Pages of the dictionary fly open, the perfect word hidden. The power of language. The first word is usually the best. No option to delete, cross out in pencil. That’s ok, it’s only a draft… a cognitive mess of story. Shape the brilliance later.
The unfinished manuscript beckoned from the grave. No rest for a writer, not even in death.