Rachel stopped writing to take a sip of her coffee. As she sipped she grimaced and stared down at the cup in her hand. It was cold? How long ago had she made this that it was already stone cold? How long had she been writing for? She found the key in her pocket and opened up the bottom draw of her desk, pulling out her phone and turning it on. It came to life and beeped at her with all her missed messages—the very reason she always locked it away when trying to write. She put checking them to one side and looked at the time. 2am? She’d been writing for over four hours? Well, no wonder her coffee was so cold.
The Literary Onion 