She lay there staring at the ceiling.
There were papers all over the floor. Some had scribbling like the doodling of a child and some had neatly typed words. Her friends found it odd that she still used a typewriter in the 21st century. She didn’t mind though, type writers are the real deal, you can’t copy paste what has been written, you can’t correct, it shows exactly what you were thinking and wrote at that particular moment. It shows the real speed at which you were thinking and typing.
In a type writer there is no room for error, you have to be keen, you have to have thought it through before you start. You must know your purpose for writing. She can go so far as saying the Purpose of your existence, your motivation, your flow. Otherwise you waste time, ink and paper. Sort of like her job, there was no room for error. Everything has to be just right, everything has to go according to plan, no room for error and waste of resources.
A small alarm sounded, She woke up and walked to the window looked into the lens, target on time, finger steady, she took a long breath and braced herself for the recoil.