“What’s in the box?”

“I ordered a couple books. Thought it would be a good idea to get to know my editor better, so I got two of her books…books that she wrote…not just edited. She has quite a few.”

“Oh.”

“Twenty-eight dollars with shipping.”

He hadn’t asked and I didn’t expect a response, although some affirmation would have been nice.

“I smell cookies. You had cookies and yogurt for supper, didn’t you?”

Roger answered with his guilty grin, then stood by with key in hand in case I needed help slicing the packing tape. I could have ripped the box open, but I enjoy watching the way Roger enjoys making life easier for me.

I don’t know why I do it, but I always open a new book at the middle and read a few paragraphs before I take in the content on the cover or read the acknowledgments. This time I kept reading, but not for the compelling story or the excellent writing.

“I wish she hadn’t done that.”

“What?”

Roger listened as I read a passage with, not a verbal “bleep,” but a hard stop where the vulgar words assaulted my brain as well as my spirit. Not that I haven’t read or heard such words before, but I had already committed to having this “lady” edit my memoir. There was an e-mail contract, and the check had been cashed. They hadn’t talked about this sort of dilemma in any of the writing conferences I’d attended – Christian writing conferences. Why would they? How many writers actually do something so dumb? Another writer would never admit to such a huge mistake in vetting an editor!

He knows me well. I wouldn’t be able to ignore this and trust this editor with my story.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Maybe this is the only chapter. Maybe she is writing the way she used to be, you know, for impact, and there is some sort of redemption in later chapters?”

That sort of language isn’t necessary. Period. I know that. And there was no redemption.

It hurt – that $28.00 for books not belonging in a grandma’s (or anyone else’s) house had been added to my credit card, and I dreaded calling the Christian organization that helps Christian writers and editors connect. What if they didn’t care that one of their recommended editors wasn’t Christian, or worse. What if the organization was a scam marketing to women like me? It wouldn’t be the first time. I read from the second book. More of the same.

The covers were professional, appealing, and would attract lots of women. How many had opened these books, looking for help and hope after trauma, only to find an example of how to rationalize bitterness and anger.

The rest of my evening was spent trying to sooth my ego, telling myself it was an easy mistake other wannabe published authors must have survived.

“I’ve survived worse than this, much worse. We’ll get through this.”

Roger didn’t correct my inclusive comment. He cut a piece of dental floss and commenced with his nightly hygiene routine. That, with a nod and eye contact is what I’ve come to know as emotional support. It’s all I need for most of my issues.

My head landed on the pillow and, after oxygenating my brain with about three deep breaths, it occurred to me…

“My editor uses a middle name! The books I’d purchased only had a first and a last. I’ll get online and check in the morning.”

But this couldn’t wait.

With a few clicks of the mouse, I saw my mistake. Both authors had the same first and last names, and had selected the same font and placement of their names on their book covers. Both women “enjoyed helping new writers” and both had several books, but if I’d looked more closely at the titles, I would have bought books written by my editor, better books.

Now all I had to do was check out an exchange or return policy. That could wait until after a good night’s sleep.

So is there a moral to this story? Maybe. Or maybe I’m recording this event, because my name will soon be on the cover, and I want readers to see redemption. I want them to see the One who redeemed me.

I pray for Rachel, my editor, every day. She has my story. And someday (I hope soon), another woman will be ripping packing tape from another small box.