On a whim, I decided to send the first novel I ever wrote off to Harlequin Intrigue today, something I've had filed away since 2008. I had to do it fast, hit the send button and go, before I could really think about it, worry about how awful it is, how cliched and amateurish.

It was an impulsive thing to do, but I often do impulsive things. Some of the best things I've done in my life were impulsive actions. So, fuck it, I figured, why not.

Like I've mentioned in the past, I struggle with depression and anxiety. I've been in a real rut lately and sending off this manuscript brightened my day a little. Waiting around, stalking my inbox for my rejection letter will give me something to think about while I wallow in the gray, February abyss.

And I will be getting a rejection le...

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