She had lived her whole life looking for words to write. She imagined that if she lived by the sea she would gaze out and the words would ebb and flow. Then one day she looked up from the typewriter and saw that she had a view right there. She imagined herself running free on the rooftops.
In that moment she realised she did not need a typwriter she needed a paintbrush! From that point on she was catapulted from her prosaic life and became an artist, who painted stories.
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