Still Cringey AF: What I Learned After Getting the Book Deal of my Dreams

I’d been waiting for weeks to hear back from my editor. 

My editor! 

I couldn’t believe it. After getting so close to selling four other book proposals with three different agents, after countless proposal rewrites and rejections, I finally landed a great agent and a real book deal. And not just any book deal—but an amazing one with Random House. 

I got the call on a hot summer day after dropping Azalea off for a tennis camp. I’ll never forget the sound of my agent’s voice telling me the news: Random House wants to publish your book. 

I drove home elated, astonished, proud and excited! And absolutely certain my life was about to change.  

I thought that having a book in the world would make me a different person—someone relaxed, cool, comfortable in her skin, in charge of my emotions instead of at their mercy. As if reaching this life long goal would take the edge off. Kind of like when I had a baby and I thought I’d miraculously become the gentle loving mother I longed to be. 

Instead, all the evidence points in the same direction: Looks like I’m here to stay. 

By the time the editorial letter arrived in my inbox, I’d been working on Strange Situation for a good eight years already. It had taken me several years to write the proposal, and I’d been writing in earnest for a year already since signing the contract. I’d been traveling around the country visiting attachment labs and archives, and mining my own story, which was pretty tricky. I had wanted to write a biography of Mary Ainsworth or a history of the Strange Situation, but *my editor* wanted my personal story woven in. So I described the scenes where I felt like the terrible mother I believed myself to be. Of which there were many. And I went for it.

Before writing this book, I had written and published many poems and essays and worked with bestselling book writers on their research, but I had never written anything longer than maybe 75 pages? And that was a stretch. I mean, I have an MFA in poetry. I’m a longtime Zen student. I specialize in minimal. 

I had been up every morning at 3:30 am listening to Mary Ainsworth speak to me, trying to see how to shape our stories. I was writing my heart out. I was fairly confident that I had done what I set out to do in the proposal, and I liked my first draft. I had been in the business long enough to expect and even be excited for edits, but I felt good about what I had turned in.

And then, the email arrived. Subject: First Edit. 

Hi Bethany. I’ve read through the first draft and can see that you’ve put a significant amount of effort into STRANGE SITUATION.

Effort? A significant amount? 

My stomach dropped.

Not only did I know right away that she wasn’t happy, but the words “significant amount of effort” took me right to one of my core insecurities, along the lines of always feeling like I was “trying too hard.” Just not a natural. At anything.

And “significant amount” of effort was even worse, like it wasn’t even an A for effort, but a B for effort as in “Bethany shows significant promise, but...pretty much still sucks.”

Time stopped as I read the rest of the three-page single spaced letter, my heart racing, scanning for something positive. She pointed to a few passages that were stronger than the rest, but my editor was not having it. She wasn’t even ready to do line edits because the book needed so much more fundamental work. 

In other words, my beloved book was a trainwreck.

Among the long paragraphs describing how rambling and overwhelming and “in your head” my writing was, there was this little gem nestled among the treasures:

Also, there are too many passages that talk about your flaws or negative perception of yourself. It becomes cringe-y for the reader.

There it was again, that arrow into the heart of my insecurity. 

Because here’s the thing: The whole point of Strange Situation was to share how my love of Mary Ainsworth and her brilliant work in the Strange Situation was helping me ease up on myself. As a mother, and as a human. So didn’t I need to get into all the gory details?

My entire life I’ve felt embarrassed, like there was something just so off about me. I was bullied a lot—at home and in school. I struggled to fit in and to feel like I belonged. As an adult I have incredible relationships, but that humiliated kid part of myself lingers on a good day, and took over once I had a child of my own.   

To learn that the most vulnerable story I could ever tell was still, after all these years, inspiring a cringe response crushed me. 

After reading the letter, I cried like a baby (like one left alone in the strange situation, bereft), then sent it to Thayer and some trusted friends for some support. 

Then, in a few days, I started considering how to do the edits. 

I started getting up early again, listening for Mary. 

I put my hurt feelings (ok, my ego) aside and tried to see it from my readers’ point of view. She has her own troubles. Maybe she doesn’t need a technicolor ride through my harrowing inner life. Maybe just a hint is enough. 

It actually felt good to take out some of the most cringe-worthy passages because I’m always a fan of the essence of an experience over the unseemly blow-by-blow. I just thought I was doing what I was supposed to do.

The incredibly painful feedback brought me back to my minimalist basics, back to who I really am as a writer.

In the end, the editing process, weaving together all the memoir and research and endnotes, took so long and was so challenging, we had to push the publication date back a year. And I’m glad we did, even though the book came out during COVID. Which says a lot!

Getting the book deal of my dreams changed some things, but not the thing I was hoping would transform. And that’s me—still vulnerable, still needy, still cringey AF.

And that’s ok.

Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t kick a new me out of bed, but what I’ve learned is that I don’t have to be a different person to do the work I’m put on this earth to do. To tell the story I can’t stop telling.

And neither do you.

If you’re looking for someone who gets the book writing process—soup to nuts, from the inside out—I’d be honored and delighted to help. Just drop me a line, check out my BOOK COACHING page, or sign up for a free 30-minute book consult. I’d love to hear all about it!