Gemotions

The phone call from the literary agent had been brief and devastating. Her manuscript was not going to be published. Emily paced her apartment, her hands clasped behind her back. She was on high alert, listening to every creak, every shift in the wind.

She went through the apartment, checking the blinds, the locks. Her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. She had to ensure that she was insulated.

She started a new draft, rewriting everything. The original, the agent’s words, were to be discarded. This draft was going to be flawless.

She was not going to fail again.