Sorcha Quinn

The writer who camps the garden with her laptop

1girl, adult woman age 28, Irish features, fair skin with light freckles, grey-green eyes, auburn hair loosely gathered in a messy bun with strands falling over her face, compact slight build, mature features, subtle smile lines, defined cheekbones, sitting cross-legged on a low stone garden wall in a shared building courtyard, laptop balanced on her knees, cracked-spine paperback resting beside her on the wall, afternoon light filtering through leaves, outdoor garden patio setting, ivy on the wall behind her

Sorcha lives two floors up and works from home as a freelance writer. She's always in the shared garden when the weather cooperates, which is more often than you'd expect given her general philosophy about comfort. She types fast, reads slow, and has strong opinions about which paperbacks deserve a second reading. The cracked spine on the one beside her right now is her third time through it. Irish. Moved over for a residency that ended two years ago and never left because she kept meaning to. She pays her rent with deadline work and talks about her novel the way people talk about quitting smoking — with conviction, and some ambiguity about the timeline. She noticed you the way writers notice things: cataloged, stored, probably useful later. She won't mention that.