on failing

My biggest personal dream in life is to become a published author. Two and a half years ago, I’d almost accomplished it. But then…I didn’t. This is what happened.

My husband and I quit our jobs in the summer of 2019 with the plan—and savings—to travel for one to two years. We flew to Europe, spent three months between seven different countries, and then returned to California to begin the true adventure we’d dreamed of for so long: cruising. Or, in non-sailor speak, traveling by sailboat.

We left San Francisco in the beginning of October and spent one month sailing down the California coast, four months cruising Baja and Pacific Mexico, and two months docked in Nicaragua due to the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic. We came back to the United States in May 2020 on a repatriation flight, and in the most surreal way, our journey was over.

I kept track those eight months of sailing in two journals, my iPhone Notes app, Instagram, my blog, and, eventually, a book.

I finished the first draft of that book in June 2020, and began querying literary agents shortly after that. After sending 120 emails to 120 agents and receiving countless rejections, I finally got a positive response. And it wasn’t just any positive response—the woman who wanted to represent me also represented Colleen Hoover. Flattered, excited, and somewhat naive, I signed a contract with her agency in October 2021.

I was elated. My dream of becoming a published author felt so close. I started visualizing the book cover design, began thinking about a book tour. I shared the news with my family and friends and the small following I had amassed during our travels. I was going to publish a book.

But first, work had to be done.

Over the course of three months and many, many iterations, I put together a book proposal with the guidance and feedback from my agent. The proposal was like a business plan: it included an overview of the book, why I wrote it and why I was qualified to write it, a thorough look into my audience, a competitive comparison of six other titles, an annotated table of contents, a sample chapter, and author bio.

Non-fiction book proposals are what agents pitch to publishing houses (rather than manuscripts for fiction). If you’re lucky, editors at publishing houses will review your proposal and decide whether or not they want to work with you.

In February, my agent sent my proposal to editors at 24 publishing houses.

And, in May 2022, I received the heartbreaking news that it was rejected by all.

I was devastated.

I vividly remember the moment I found out. I was five months pregnant and had just woken from an afternoon nap, reached for my phone, opened up my email app, and saw my agent’s name pop up in my unread messages.

I held my breath.

And then I let it out with a sob.

“I’m so very sorry to say that I think we have come to the end of the line with your book,” she wrote. “Again, I’m sorry but I just don’t think we can sell this project. We think your credentials are spot-on for this book, which many editors commented on. But ultimately, several wanted a stronger personal narrative and were concerned about the narrow audience for your story.”

I was heartbroken. Embarrassed. Disappointed. Defeated.

I didn’t have it in me to overcome the rejection. Pregnancy had dulled my drive and drained my creativity. For ten months, I was calm, serene, happily numb, all of my anxious and depressive tendencies gone. My mind and body were building a safe environment for my baby to grow in, and so I gave into the calm willingly. But I was uninspired. I didn’t quite feel like myself. My flatlined creativity was akin to losing a limb. Something was missing.

There was no fight in me. I had nothing more to give to my book. I gave up.

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Of the 24 editors that read and passed on my book proposal, 14 provided feedback.

Their words have stuck with me over the years and left me with a grain of hope that I haven’t completely failed.

Because although the feedback was wrapped in rejection, it wasn’t that bad.

And despite the knowledge that once publishing houses pass on a piece of work, they likely won’t review it again, there’s something inside of me that makes me think I might still have a chance.

I had editors from Ballantine, Celadon, Crown, Dial Press, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Flatiron, Grand Central, Little A (Amazon), Little, Brown Spark, Mariner, Putnam, St. Martin’s, Tin House, and William Morrow read through my work and provide the reasons why they decided to pass. Such as:

“There was a lot that I enjoyed about this proposal—Audrey’s voice on the page is bright and relatable, and I admire that she’s honest about what it took to make this lifestyle feasible. That said, I do have some concerns about audience. So I’m going to step aside in this case, but I’m sure you’ll find a great home for her.”

“I really enjoyed reading this proposal and so admire what Audrey and her husband did. I am honestly envious of their adventures and I think so many people are interested in pursuing these alternative lifestyles, especially post-pandemic. That said, I felt like Audrey’s emotional arc wasn’t quite on the page in the way I was hoping and I wanted more of her life story and her interior journey as much as the actual sailing adventure.”

“Though the premise really struck me and I very much see what grabbed you here, I did come to the decision after taking a closer look that it’s not quite right for our list in the context of what we have coming up.”

“I’m going to step aside here, with thanks for the chance to read. Audrey is a good writer, and she tells her story compellingly. Her experience is really unique, and I think a lot of readers will be interested in her life on the sailboat. As I read, though, I found myself wishing for more moments where the narrative stepped back and interpreted the experience of sailing through a more metaphorical lens for the reader. In the end, I think my editorial instincts here aren’t quite the right fit for Audrey’s vision for the project. Thank you again for thinking of me, and I’ll be looking forward with much goodwill to see where Audrey lands.”

Reading the 14 rejection paragraphs has not been easy—not when I first received them in May 2022, and not while I’m re-reading them now in 2024. It feels as if I’m opening old wounds. But I’m not doing it to wallow in sadness or torture myself. I’m doing it to help me be productive.

The editors confirmed that I was a good writer. My story struck them. It just wasn’t deep enough. They needed more emotion.

And god, if there’s anything that I have to give to this story, it’s emotion.

I’ll admit that the draft of my book that I circulated in my queries was not my best work. But it was a starting point, and I was eager to collaborate with an editor to help me get to the place where the book would sell in today’s market. I held back. And I learned my lesson.

It was painful to get so close to accomplishing my biggest dream, and then see it crumble before my eyes. I failed by not doing my best work. I failed by putting together a proposal that didn’t win over editors. I failed by giving up on my actual chance in becoming a published author. I failed by walking away.

I don’t want this to be a failure anymore. I’m ready to fight, now. To pour everything I can into this book. I think that when I finished the first draft, all that we had gone through was still so fresh. I wasn’t willing to go deeper and dig up the pain—and joy—of our journey while our lives were still caught up in the ripple effects. I’ve had enough time and distance from it all to roll up my sleeves, focus, and write down the whole story.

I’m going to start by rewriting and sharing the first three chapters here, on Substack. It’s as good a place as any to start, and I hope you’ll read the chapters as I release them. Make sure that you subscribe (by clicking the button below) — it’s free! — so you can be notified when new pages are up. And if you like what you’re reading, please share these posts with others, because I need to figure out a way to grow my audience, too.

Thank you for reading. Stay tuned.