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An author’s life is filled with rejection. I know. I have bulging files of letters to prove it. The proposal for my new book, Why Did I Marry You Anyway? 12.5 Strategies for a Happy Marriage, had been submitted to dozens of agents and publishers with great expectation, only to receive letter after letter politely declining any involvement. I still remember the first one that said in part, “While a very good effort, we simply do not feel that we are the right publisher.” I was ready to jump off a cliff. With startling revelation, I had the grim insight that it was probably good my first fiancé dumped me years ago because it prepared me for my life as a writer.
After moping most of the day, putting the manuscript in the fireplace and checking the want ads for a cashier position, I re-read the letter. I noticed that the editor actually offered several suggestions to make the proposal and the book better and more marketable. While defensive and argumentative at first, I begrudgingly began to think that maybe they knew something about this book business. Evaluating their input, I decided to rewrite the proposal.
The rejection letters continued. But I stopped putting the manuscript in the fireplace.
With every rejection letter, I painstakingly reviewed each thought, all comments, and suggestions made by agents, editors and “volunteer” readers. I continued to write, rewrite, and write again. Each time that I thought, “It can’t possibly get any better. This is the best I can do,” it got better. I added stories, case studies, quotes, and yes, even some occasional epiphanies.
The book has been the best lesson in “failure” that I have ever had. Some of that instruction:
An author’s life is filled with rejection. I know. I have bulging files of letters to prove it. The proposal for my new book, Why Did I Marry You Anyway? 12.5 Strategies for a Happy Marriage, had been submitted to dozens of agents and publishers with great expectation, only to receive letter after letter politely declining any involvement. I still remember the first one that said in part, “While a very good effort, we simply do not feel that we are the right publisher.” I was ready to jump off a cliff. With startling revelation, I had the grim insight that it was probably good my first fiancé dumped me years ago because it prepared me for my life as a writer.
After moping most of the day, putting the manuscript in the fireplace and checking the want ads for a cashier position, I re-read the letter. I noticed that the editor actually offered several suggestions to make the proposal and the book better and more marketable. While defensive and argumentative at first, I begrudgingly began to think that maybe they knew something about this book business. Evaluating their input, I decided to rewrite the proposal.
The rejection letters continued. But I stopped putting the manuscript in the fireplace.
With every rejection letter, I painstakingly reviewed each thought, all comments, and suggestions made by agents, editors and “volunteer” readers. I continued to write, rewrite, and write again. Each time that I thought, “It can’t possibly get any better. This is the best I can do,” it got better. I added stories, case studies, quotes, and yes, even some occasional epiphanies.
The book has been the best lesson in “failure” that I have ever had. Some of that instruction:
And now, the rest of the story: Why Did I Marry You Anyway? was released by Cumberland Press.
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