Gemotions

The rejection letter from the literary agent sat on the desk. She reread it, the words seeming to mock her. The agent had praised her work, then had said it wasn’t *quite* there. She’d attributed the disconnect to her own lack of experience. Now, she understood the disparity. Her work had been *there*. But the author’s work, which she had so admired, had arrived first.

She slumped in her chair, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. She felt drained, as if her creative energy had been siphoned off. She had to take a long, deep breath to keep from collapsing. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes, not so much from the loss of the dream, but from the brutal reminder of the reality.