Gemotions

The tiny chime of the email notification sliced through the quiet of the afternoon. Eleanor barely glanced at the screen, already knowing the contents. She finished meticulously arranging the fresh flowers in the vase on her desk before finally opening the message.

Her lips curved upwards. She reread the carefully crafted sentence that ended with "…not a fit for our list at this time.” A delicate snort escaped her. Such idiocy. She knew her prose was a delight, the story a revelation. It was just a matter of time before the *right* people recognized this. She tilted her head, enjoying the way the sunlight caught in her hair.

She’d anticipated this response, of course. She’d already contacted several other publishers, each one far more prestigious than the one that had just rejected her. She picked up her pen and began scribbling a thank-you note to the editor, her handwriting elegant and controlled. It was a perfect response. She couldn't help but feel a quiet satisfaction.