Autumn turned her computer off and lay back on the roof. Soon, it would be too cold to do this at all. Already she needed a sweater to come write out here.
But it was so beautiful. Maybe she’d keep coming out there regardless, whenever she needed inspiration. She could just imagine herself sitting on her roof, half covered in ice as snow fell all around her and she tried to keep pressing the keys with fingers that were so numb from the frozen waste that was her roof that she couldn’t even feel the fingerless gloves she was wearing. It was a romantic image. But she knew she didn’t have that kind of drive. As soon as her fingers started getting numb, she’d give up.
And if that was the only time she wrote, she’d fall right back into the habit of being a writer who isn’t writing.