in third person

she hung up the phone, her boss's voice still gravel in her ear.
--you plug away on it, then.
the rain was falling steadily, reminding her of heart beats and drum rhythms. her stomach growled, and she eyed the peach. i would need a napkin, she thought, remembering the feeling of the juice dribbling down her chin. staring at the computer, she wondered what to say. writer's block. those words made her think of her sister, of her sister's gift. how can we both be writers, she thought, when we're both so different. the answer, she supposed, lay in the words they wrote, the unique voice they each heard in their head as fingers clicked across keyboards. simple. visual. electric. that was the word her professor had used to describe her sister. that was her, all right, she thought wryly.
--can i be electric too?