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A writers conference was ending; all that remained was breakfast, baggage, and going away. We sat at an empty table, just us two. We were not discouraged yet for us there had been no big break, no” aha” moment, no profitable meeting with a new agent. Just a great conference, now ending.

Eventually an editor came over to join us. As he did, our table immediately filled. We caught a glimpse of this man’s daily life in acquisitions: Every person at the table began pitching projects, suggesting proposals and claiming to be immensely talented.

Our new guest, gracious to a fault, quickly took charge of the dining agenda. He asked each of us, around the circle, to simply describe our identity. “Who are you and what do you do,” he queried us. “No book proposals please, just a simple description of who you are and what you do.”

Despite his instructions a table of aspiring writers pitched him book ideas anyway. This genteel and gentle soul listened attentively and treated each person and idea with sincere respect. When our turn came, we simply told him: “We are family counselors specializing in the post-divorce family.”

The editor tilted his head to one side, looked directly at us, and began firing questions our way. We kept the answers brief, yet his questions continued. Breakfast ended with the acquisitions editor telling us privately “You know, I think there may be a book in what you do.”

We’d been pitching book ideas for a decade; no one was interested. Now for the first time an editor seemed to ‘get it’ --- he recognized the vast potential market for books about family life and survival after the wreckage of divorce.

“Send me some things,” the editor asked us. He suggested a few topics. “Write me a few words about this. Send me a few pages about that.” We grabbed our bags, boarded a shuttle, flew through the airport and took a jet home. We were buzzed.

Within 10 days we had a few words en route to him. Nervous and sophomoric, we didn't wait well. We were restless, anxious, unsettled. A decade of rejection had convinced us not to hope, not to dream, not to expect great things. If the paradigm was shifting, we didn't sense it.

Then the editor called. “I’ll be in Los Angeles soon,” he told us, “Would you be able to drive up and have dinner with me?”

A dinner in Los Angeles changed our lives forever.