The amount of rejection is staggering. It’s a constant drumbeat. It’s a deluge. It’s drinking water from a firehose, lips right up against the cold blast.
I published a book last summer with Simon & Schuster, which is to say, a major publisher — as an unknown writer, snagging them, and my powerhouse of an editor, felt like a magic trick. My book is a collection of memoiristic essays about race, gender, and…
