There came a cure by way of UPS dude. He rang the bell and, fortunately, ran away to his brown escape mobile before I opened the door. I stayed hidden until he zoomed down the road because my fuzzy snowflake pajamas and pink princess slippers most likely would have embarrassed him. When the coast was clear, I snatched the beautiful package from the step.
I didn't think it would be such a big deal. Maybe it was all the stress of things built up. Indie authors are the hardest working authors. Seriously. I've found this to be a fact. Maybe it was the ick pulsating through my veins. Maybe it was the eighteen months of sweat and tears and hope and fear and frustration and rejection, rejection, rejection involved in writing this novel. Whatever the reason, holding my real-live novel for the first time... Wow.
Now the hard part begins. Next Monday I'll ask for your help with getting Autumn's story known to the world. Until then, peace out, friends.