Gemotions

The rhythmic clack of the typewriter, a sound that had always soothed Amelia, was now a source of irritation. Her daughter, Maya, was attempting to write a novel. A novel filled with… poorly written dialogue and even worse grammar. Amelia took a deep breath, fighting the urge to snatch the manuscript away.

“Maya, darling, perhaps some light editing would be beneficial?” she suggested, her voice strained. Maya gave her a look of utter disdain. "No, Mum. It's supposed to be raw!"

Amelia felt the familiar pressure in her temples. She had slaved over her own prose, crafting sentences until they sang. She found herself retreating, her own fingers itching to fix the errors, but she resisted the urge. She was not going to give her daughter the satisfaction. She would not.