Pictures speak a thousand words, but three words can speak a thousand pictures.
It was clear that the structure of her story was beginning to form. He sat beside her and watched the satisfied smile dancing on her face. It was a fantastically sunny day. Such was the gentle warmth of the breeze that he felt poetic enough to think of it as a 'majestic' day. At this time of the morning, the sun was yet to breathe warmth into the smooth cobblestone stair on which they sat. The smell of bread was still fresh as it drifted lazily across the road from the bakery.
Like an artist with a paintbrush, she preferred to write with a pen rather than type with a keyboard. The sharp rolling sound of her ball point was punctuated by short pauses; he had come to think of them as her creativity changing gear to maneuver the curves in her plot. She was a master of the art and he enjoyed watching her sometimes.
She would spin remarkable fantasies from ink and paper with the casual ease with which you might tie your shoelace. The paper overflowed and drooped at the edges as the weight of the unfolding tale flowed like syrup onto its surface. Mystery would bubble, tragedy would swirl, romance would ripple and disaster would splash over the edge of the paper.
All the publishers would beg and plead and bargain with her to have the privilege of delivering her book to the world. Thousands of readers would line up to collect her latest book and read it from beginning to end without pause. Sometimes they would smile, other times a tear would run down their cheeks and sometimes they would gasp out loud. She received bags of fan mail every time she released a book... and occasionally she would reply to one or two. But her idea for her next book would spawn in the midst of her last and she spent all of her time writing.
Laxative. Elephant. Zookeeper.