Trish’s fingers danced across the keyboard, spelling out words and sentences in seconds. Moments like this were why she loved being a writer. Few things matched the euphoric feeling of being in the “Zone,” except payday, and boy, would this be a big one.
She hadn’t had much success in freelancing before, but she’d found her audience with her satirical blog posts and was now paid five hundred dollars for every two-thousand-word story she produced. She just had to make them sound aloof yet plausible. Not too hard.
After years of being a starving artist, she had found her niche.