I was in college when I found my calling: New York Times best-selling novelist. I would spend countless hours in a daze, fantasizing about the stories I wanted to write and imagining rows and rows of my books selling by the truckload at the book store.
Anyway, I was a freshly minted young adult, and the need to make cash was my most urgent priority. So my dream to be a best-selling novelist took a back seat to paying the bills. I sold my creative soul to Corporate America. Little did I know what a deal with the devil that would be.