So this past week, I did something for the first time:  I told my editor NO.

At the end of an early chapter, I recounted an important story about my father that I had never heard until I began writing the book in 2006.  When I heard it, I nearly cried.  I was completely shocked: shocked that it had happened; shocked that he had never told me; shocked that it helped me make sense of him.

But when my editor and I discussed the story’s place in the manuscript, she suggested that we cut it in service of stylistic continuity. Her argument was completely sound.  It sticks out in the manuscript at many levels. She’s absolutely right.

I explained the story’s importance and proceeded to participate in a perfectly reasonable conversation.  We agreed to continue the conversation and both think about it.   The only problem was that the thought of cutting the story felt completely wrong.

I called a trusted reader, a person who has read every word of the manuscript more than once.  We’ll call him The Reader.

When I called the reader in a dither, he did what he always does.  He made me laugh and then got right down to the business of speaking his mind.  In short, The Reader said that the suggestion, while logical in terms of literary convention,  was absurd in the context of the memoir.    Hearing the force and the depth of  The Reader’s reaction helped me re-connect me to my conviction.

When I revised, I left the story in place.  When I sent the editor the manuscript, I explained that the story had to stay.

I felt much better.  With help from The Reader, I spoke up for my story and myself.

Both the book and I are better for the experience.   I learned an important lesson.  When you put heat on the page, don’t allow someone, no matter how well intentioned, snuff it out.