Gemotions

"Impossible," Maya breathed, staring at the screen. Her article, the one she’d painstakingly crafted, was attributed to a Mr. John Smith. A flush crept up her neck, followed by a sudden lightness in her chest. She couldn't believe it. Disbelief, however, was quickly replaced by a focused, electric feeling.

She stood up so quickly that her chair wobbled and nearly fell over. Her fingers itched to take action. She wanted to *succeed*.

Her brain worked overtime, she began to formulate a plan. She felt a kind of restless power, a need to dominate the situation. She sent a series of emails, one to the editor, one to her agent, one to anyone who would listen. The words flowed from her fingertips, precise and cutting, and she felt a giddy sense of control.