Moving all the time. Quickly now, like fluttering fingers over the keys of a piano, our feet pitter and patter against the cobblestones. The rain is heavy against my upturned lapel. My head feels turned in on itself, sharp and piercing through the rough noise of London.
I haven't written anything of my own creation for quite some time now. This is mainly due to a lightning storm that completely wiped two of my hardrives and left me absolute despodent. I still have the two computers carcass', I suppose I still cling to the effigy that it might ressurect my manuscript one day.
One day, I'll re-write it. One day.
In the meantime, I've been writing, via long hand, out a bit of a novella. It's based around my first female protagonist.