I’m quite terrible at it, actually. In celebration of this contract, I couldn’t think of anything to do! Writers who live in their heads have a hard time with actually doing things. We’d rather sit back and watch, then write about it. It’s the flip side of being a novelist. We’re much cooler in our own heads. I’m not joking–the mild mannered writer you see before you is much different than the woman who vaults through my mental space.

I’ve signed about a dozen contracts so far, so putting my Jane Hancock down isn’t anything brand new, but Harlequin has been my goal for years now, so this contract ought to be celebrated.

A friend came over the day after I signed and mailed it off. We had popcorn and watched our kids play. As a mom, celebrating is just so much less glitzy than before a child!

But that didn’t seem quite enough. So I made chicken wings. I love chicken wings! It’s the kind of understated novelist celebration that happens around here. A deep sigh of content and a pan of chicken wings… cut off the bone for the four year old across from me.