In 2002, I had just started writing. I wrote every night from 9-midnight — after the kids went to bed. Yes, I had to give up television, but in hindsight it was worth it. (Some nights, when I was tired and crabby and the muse was being a bitch, I considered vegging out in front of the television … but usually I didn’t cave in to the doubt demons.)
My first book was a mess, an epic romantic suspense that had every possible romantic suspense trope on the planet, from a serial rapist to a virgin heroine to a stalker to a psycho ex-girlfriend … the list goes on. And on. Trust me, this book will never see the light of day.
My second book had a great premise, but I didn’t have the skill to execute it properly, so I fell into bad habits I’d only just begun. That story didn’t go anywhere, but I finished it.
Fast forward a year and three books … I sold THE PREY. My first four books were (rightfully) shelved, and my career began.
Now fast-forward 13 years.