I knew it was bad news when my publishing house editor said he had to call me about my memoir, What to Wear on Your Way to Hell… and Other Detours to Heaven, which was due to go on press shortly. My guess was that a last-minute rewrite of some content wasn’t enough to allay some skittish executives’ concerns.
I was right. The editor was totally professional, but his voice shook as he told me the book about my return to Catholicism after thirty-odd was being canceled and went through the other things he had to say.
“How are you?” he asked, finally.
“I’m OK,” I said. “How are you?”
“I think I’m more upset than you are,” he said with a bit of a laugh.
That was several years ago, and the memoir still hasn’t been published. I haven’t submitted it anywhere else for a long time. But the anger, disappointment, and sadness that once came with personal or professional rejection has never set in.
“Sorry about the book,” friends and colleagues say. “I’m sure you’ll find another publisher.”
My answer is always the same—and always sincere. “Thanks. It’s up to God, really. Either he’ll find one…or the person who was supposed to benefit from reading it already has.”
