Gemotions

"They want to make me out to be what?" Oliver exclaimed, his voice cracking. He was in his workshop, amidst his tools and the half-finished sculpture that had become his solace. The book, a slim volume titled “The Maverick Sculptor,” sat on a workbench, its title mocking him.

The biographical account was a string of exaggerations and oversimplifications. It described him as a tortured artist, a recluse consumed by his craft. Oliver, who valued his friendships and loved a good laugh, felt constricted by the author’s perspective. He picked up his hammer, his knuckles white, and struck the metal, the sound echoing in the quiet space.