Gemotions

He’d always enjoyed the rhythmic click of the keyboard. Arthur typed the final sentence of his novel and leaned back in his chair. Sunlight streamed through the open window, warming his back. He reached for his mug of tea, the ceramic cool against his fingers. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment of completion.

His agent had been ecstatic about the new manuscript, convinced it would be a bestseller. Arthur wasn’t in it for the fame, but he had to admit, the prospect was not displeasing. He felt a quiet contentment wash over him.

A phone call, and then another, followed. His editor spoke of a potential book cover, a marketing strategy, the usual excitement. Then, amidst the flurry of detail, mention was made of his short story, *The Clockmaker’s Daughter*, being used as an example in an online art gallery. It was a pleasant little tale that was no more than a bit of fun. He had never granted permission for this.