Brrr! Writing.

[Alice Morrison]

Alice sat on a bench on the bank of the Thames, her laptop balanced on her legs and a notebook lying next to her. It was rather cold out, but she had wrapped herself up in a warm coat and those gloves with the fingertips removed, so she wasn't too cold. Besides, she had needed to get out somewhere, anywhere. Being cooped up in her apartment for much longer would have driven her crazy. So she'd ventured outdoors, wrapped up in all sorts of Winter attire.

This was perhaps the hardest part of writing; she had nothing to go off of, nothing to build from. She had sketched out the very basic idea already, but there was still so much to decide; characters, a more concise plot, actions, reasons and motivations... She'd use the notebook for writing down rough ideas, then transfer the ones she actually wanted to use to the laptop, where she'd go into slightly more detail. "Hmm..." she murmured quietly, picking up her pencil and notebook. "This could work..."

Lifting her head, she looked at all the people walking by, hoping to get some sort of idea. Creating realistic characters was one of the hardest things to do, and one of the most basic things that distinguished good writing from bad. How could she make a person made solely out of words resemble an actual living, breathing human being like the ones walking right by her?

[Claire Dowsett]

Zara walked along the road, then made it to the river. It was cold, as usual, and the river was looking normal; covered in litter, toddlers and people looking into murders; forensics. It was then that she spotted a girl sitting down, looking very immersed in something...
"Can I sit here?" Zara asked, a bit unsure and she fiddled with a corner of her jumper to prove it..

[Alice Morrison]

Elodie finished jotting down her thought, then looked up. In front of her stood a blond haired girl who looked to be about her age or maybe a couple years younger. "Feel free to," she responded. The girl didn't look harmful or anything, and it'd be nice to have some company, even if she'd still be focusing all of her attention on her writing. The solitariness of it could get a bit lonely sometimes. "I'm not waiting for anybody or that sort of thing..." she added, her voice trailing off near the end.

[Claire Dowsett]

"Cheers." Said Zara, and she plonked down onto the bench. It was freezing..."Why are you here when it's so cold? Don't your fingers get frostbite?" Ok, so maybe cold weather was great, and brilliant inspiration and all that, but still....she didn't know many people willing to sacrifice their limbs for the cause...

[Alice Morrison]

"When my fingers get too cold I head back inside. It isn't as bad as it looks, really," Alice explained. The girl had just happened to catch her at an unfortunate time. "I guess I just need a change of scenery for writing. The wall of my apartment can become quite inspiration zapping after I've stared at them for hours on end." In fact, she probably could have spent pages and pages describing them. That was the curse of the writer, being cooped up with her computer or notebook day after day. She tried to go out places to change her scenery a bit, but only so much could be done.