Before I ever hit a bestseller list, before I ever landed an agent, signed a contract, or saw my books in stores, I was simply a writer who loved writing. I wrote because I had to; because it was part of me. I wrote because it made me happy; it made me feel alive. In the early days, no one read anything I’d written because I didn’t show anyone. That was the beauty of it—I wrote for myself and not for anyone else. But later, a demon crawled inside my ear and whispered sweet stories about validation and recognition. It told me I wanted more, needed more, and I believed it…
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