Never Quit.
When I met Roger I was only beginning to think I might write a book. Roger Freet was about to be my book agent, and he came to me through a friend of a follower. That friend was Jeff Goins, soon to be my collaborator on this book. Something you do not know about Roger is that he hates the Personal Development category of publishing. He hates the long drawn out pieces of regurgitated advice and "wisdom repackaged" because it, as he said it, never left anyone better off.
Roger is one of the more stoic men I have ever met. Not subdued, but calm in a warming sense that you felt, even when he didn't admit it, that it was all going to be ok.
We (Jeff and I) had toiled a year over the proposal when I got the call. "Can we talk?" It was Roger, and he sounded a little less jovial than what I had come to expect. I was expecting to hear that the book was DOA. I was always expecting that, frankly, and when Roger sounded so serious I felt certain that I was on my way to the literary corner of the coroner's office.
"I have pancreatic cancer." Fuck.
I have not before or since really known a moment where I felt quite the same emotion. My friend and this admission had replaced all fear of what would happen to my eventual manuscript, and all I could say was, "Dammit, Roger. What do you need from me?"
The man was about to embark on one of the hardest journeys imaginable. He assured me, "If this gets bad, I will hand you off." I wasn't worried about that when he said it. When you start down the path of getting published, the people by your side become something of a tribe. We all have roles, duties, and tasks unique in every way but all pointed toward one thing. Get the book out. The agent, they are usually in the position of the Quarterback.
I will never forget the day that the proposal went out. The excitement was palpable, our QB, broken but unbowed, soldiered up field and submitted until his fingers could no longer punch keys. Each denial steeled his resolve. There were, by my count, exactly 300 of them on the long road ahead.
"Chemo, work, rest, puke, chemo again," he told me once. "The work and my family, that's what keeps me going."
For months this went on. No movement. We were losing the game. Roger knew it, I knew it, we all knew it.
Roger's cancer had not subsided in the year since that call. The fact is it had gotten worse, much worse. I was watching a man slip away before my eyes and for some reason, a reason still befuddling, he would not drop this ball. "I am going to break the rules on this. There is one more submission to make." That was it. 301.
Roger had already submitted this to another imprint at Penguin. It is not a rule but an etiquette that you do not submit to another. He broke from that on his last play of the game and had Jeff submit it. I love them for that.
Roger wasn't moving much at this time. The drugs to keep him comfortable made him less than lucid, but in one final push my quarterback threw the last pass for this book. He threw the last pass of his life.
On March 6th my phone rang. I was the last client Roger called, to my knowledge.
"You are an author, Nick. We did it."
The text came after. "I am accepting Penguin's offer tonight. Congratulations."
I stood sobbing on the corner of 18th and Wazee in Denver knowing that I had a book deal, and that this was probably the last time I would hear his voice. To be heartbroken and joyful at the same time is the kind of mind bending paradox one cannot really grasp.
Twelve days later he passed away peacefully, surrounded by family.
He spent the last year of his life, his last professional calls ever, making this one come to life because he knew it was different and because he believed in me. I hope he is right.
I have been blessed many times in many ways by the people that life puts in my path. Roger was a man of integrity, dignity and grit. He taught me more about perseverance and never quitting than any man I have met, alive or dead.
Keep chasing. Keep defying the odds. Keep wondering what else you can do, because there is always something. That is what Roger taught me.
I Hope You Hate This: How to Stop People Pleasing and Start Living Your Own Life is a testament to you, Roger. I love you, pal.