Gemotions

He smoothed the crumpled rejection note, tracing the elegant, handwritten signature with his thumb. A sigh, barely a whisper, escaped his lips. The dream, the vision of his book lining the shelves of *that* particular bookstore, seemed momentarily dimmed. He gathered the pages of his manuscript, stacking them neatly. The sun, a warm, golden presence, streamed through his window, lighting the small, cramped space that was his writing room.

He’d known this could happen. He understood the industry, the long odds. He’d braced himself for it. He took a deep breath, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. This was not the end. He glanced at the stacks of books crowding his shelves, each a testament to persistence. He sat back down at his desk. Time to start the next draft.