A blank screen, daunting only to those without the ideas, words, sentences, and paragraphs to fill it. The quick clicking of fingers across a keyboard, typing as quickly as the story flows, annoying to those who don’t understand the anarchy.
Coffee swallowed, caffeine soaked into the bloodstream late at night when the rest of the world has gone to sleep but the brain has only begun to think.
The only dim light brightening the dark room radiates from the computer screen. Everything else is dark and hushed. Except for the tapping of fingertips against the letters that will concoct the story.
Hair messy from the many times fingers combed through it. Irritating glasses slipping down the bridge of the nose, worn only because the eyes needed a rest from contacts.
A heavy sigh blown between chapped lips because there is a difficult plot hole that needs fixing. A sigh of relinquish as a tough scene is finished. A silent tear shed because the tale is over.
The only people who understand such a scene are those who have lived it: writers.