Gemotions

The editor's phone call was clipped and dismissive. "We're passing on your manuscript, Mr. Harding." James felt a cold weight settle in his chest. He'd imagined the praise, the awards, the mountains of money. He’d already mentally spent a significant portion of his imaginary earnings.

He walked out onto his balcony, the city skyline a stark reminder of his perceived failure. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't known he possessed. He felt an intense need to reclaim what he believed was rightfully his.

He started scrolling through literary agents. He would find someone who recognized the true value of his work, someone who understood the brilliance that had been so readily overlooked. They were wrong; he’d make them see.