Once upon a time, in a high school hallway likely far, far away from where you are now, two young, vibrant, gorgeous, wonderful, amazing, clearly narcissistic (we’re kidding, by the way), women decided they could write a romance novel. One had the idea, another had the plot. We mapped it all out and were excited to get started. However, there was an obvious concern we had when we went into this: what if our writing didn’t mesh well together? What if it was clear we were two writers because we couldn’t blend the narrative cohesively? What if we tried, and we failed? The prospect of failure was terrifying, as it often is. This was something we both secretly dreamed of doing but had never had enough of a push to make it happen. Now we had the push: each other. But we still had to actually write the damn thing. The stakes felt much larger than they really were. Like if we weren’t able to finish this one project, all hope of ever finishing another would be gone. So we did the only thing we could do. We wrote. We tried. We succeeded. Kinda. That first book was a blur….