Last week, I got my first rejection letter (well, email) on my book proposal. I was not particularly surprised, let's face it...if JK Rowling got hundreds of rejection letters, good old AH Harris is bound to get her fair share.
Nonetheless, it was a bit of a bummer and I started questioning the reason I wanted to write this book, and have it published beyond my family, in the first place.
Admittedly, there are some selfish reasons. There is some part of me that hopes publishing the book will somehow afford me the ability to spend more time with Gracie. There is a very large part of me that feels like if this book gets published, Rip will live on in a way that he can't if it doesn't.
But whenever I think about publishing this book, there is one scene that flashes in my mind. The December after we lost Rip, I worked only half days. At 12:30 pm every day, I came home and put on my softest clothes. The winter of 2010/2011 is the coldest winter I can remember, so every day I turned on the fire (thank goodness for gas logs). Every day I poured myself something warm, wrapped myself in heavy blankets and every day I read books.
Books about women like me, who lost a baby and somehow still managed to put one foot in front of the other. Books about women like me, who lost a baby and actually seemed "normal" and "happy", despite it all. Best of all, books about women like me, who lost a baby and went on to have more babies.
The books were a lifeline to me. I held on to every single word. I called my mom, I retold stories to Parke...it was possible, life could go on, see it says so right there. Because, in those first few days and weeks and months after Rip died, I honestly didn't know how to live. Those days I spent curled up reading by the fire gave me a start.
So, when I think about my reasons for wanting to publish this book, there are many. The biggest reason why is still curled up on the couch in December of 2010, hanging on to Every. Single. Word.
