My palms are sweating so much there’s a literal puddle beneath my fingertips as I type this, and my heart is beating so fast there is a strong chance it may actually be granted the escape it so desperately craves. Am I having an anxiety attack right now? After a few minutes of deep breaths and repeating my personal Get-Outta-Jail-Free mantra for these occasions, it’s easy to think, “wow, I am so ridiculous. This isn’t a life or death situation.” But tell that to my anxiety-ridden self after I’ve done something completely crazy:
I just submitted my first query letter for White Houses to an agent.