I had a choice to make: find a more affordable edit or save up for however many months it took. Something internal urged me to chose the latter, so that’s exactly what I did. During those months of saving money, I spent time priming my manuscript as much as I could, and compiled a list of questions for my unknown editor. My focus became singular. Those months were impactful; a defining moment in my life.

Once I had saved enough, I was ready for the plunge. I clicked the order button and watched as my bank account drain away. It was the most money I had ever saved and it was gone. The net was pulled out from underneath me. My manuscript was sent off to be read by a stranger that lived in a sea of manuscripts. Would mine dazzle or bore them? Who even were they? I had many questions. And I wasn’t sure what made me more nauseous, that or the money.

Then came the long-winded waiting period, and boy, that was a trying time. After focusing solely on writing for so long it felt wrong to abruptly stop. I became idle in everything. During that time, I struggled immensely with unrelenting self-doubt and regret. I questioned if I had spent that money wisely. It began to haunt me