You cannot sit back in your little room writing a nice romantic story about loving couples.

It feels strange to be sitting here writing all this down.

Or a writer sitting in his room writing a couple of lines?

One recent day two off-duty soldiers sat writing letters home.

As I sit here writing this, burdened with memory, it's hard to remember him the way he really was.

An officer, his back turned to them, sat writing at a field desk.

But thunder, I mustn't sit here writing all day, with so much business before me.

And, indeed, if ever Death himself sat writing at a wooden table, it might have been he.

Well actually I'm sitting at home writing this on my laptop.