Gemotions

The afternoon sun, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to mock her. The rejection letter from the publisher sat open on her writing desk, its words a dark blot on the pristine white surface. She felt a familiar knot of tension tighten her shoulders. She wanted to quit, to tear the manuscript apart and burn it, but something stopped her. She got up, walked to the window, and stared out. The garden, usually a source of inspiration, seemed to taunt her with its green perfection. She wouldn't be defeated. Not yet.