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Three years ago, I was a frustrated, fed-up writer, sitting in a Starbucks in Times Square in tears. I'd gotten 27 rejections on my book - ironically enough, it was about how to live your dreams - and I was sure my own dream of being a successful author was dead. At that moment, a little voice whispered in my ear that I would only become a writer when, and if, I chose it. Like really chose it - deep in that secret place we all have in our gut.