When I think about “amazing, exciting news,” my brain goes straight back to college.
I was in a creative writing class where my instructor told us to submit work just to get used to sending things out—no pressure, just practice. I picked a short story I’d written and, honestly, expected nothing. Instead I opened an email one afternoon that said my first story had been accepted for publication.

The story itself was about a young mom who kept leaving her little boy asleep at home so she could go clubbing, drinking, even late-night showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show with her friends. One night her friend’s car was hit by someone running a red light, and in the middle of the wreck she slipped into a vivid vision of walking through the Garden of Eden, where God found her, talked with her, and changed her. She was pronounced dead for a moment, but then came back different—she went to church, stopped leaving her son alone, and gave up the partying.

When I read that acceptance email I sat there stunned, rereading it like it might disappear if I blinked. Then I ran to tell my mom—she was the person I lived with and the one who’d been there for the messy drafts and the late-night revisions. After I told her I went back to my computer and emailed my friends and my therapist and anyone who’d cheered me on. I wanted the people who’d seen the work behind the scenes to know it had paid off.

So what do I do first when I hear amazing news? I freeze for a second, and then I tell my people. I want them to be part of the moment that makes the hard work real.