She sits quietly, silently, pen poised above the page. Emptying her mind of herself, she begins by letting letters flow through her fingers.
Words take shape, paragraphs form. Ideas, pictures… a story.
The reason she exists is to be a vessel, a carrier of the word. Without this purpose her life is pointless.
So she sits, pen poised, waiting for the words to come. Fingers itching, sometimes twitching; anticipating their arrival. When they come, they freely flow, moving like a stream.
Stories swirl, gaining momentum, finally bursting free.