Memoir Update: July 2026

Dear friends,

Wow, what a month! My TED Talk has been published, and this crazy journey continues.

Although it’s been really exciting to see the momentum continue — it hasn’t been easy. So this month’s update is a little different. I’m going to take you “behind the scenes” into the mind of an author who desperately wants his work to matter.

First of all, I’d like to welcome the many new subscribers to this Substack. I send out an update every month, sometimes sooner when something happens worth sharing. To learn more about my work, please visit my website: morethanamemoir.com. And if you’re so inclined, please introduce yourself!

It’s been almost a month since my TED Talk was released to the world. Since then, it’s been published on YouTube, featured on the TED Talks Daily podcast, and translated into Spanish and Arabic.

I have to admit that I didn’t know what to expect. It was similar to the anxious days before my book was published, when my imagination — against all logic — was filled with wild optimism. Anything seemed possible: a review in the Times; a mention by Oprah; heck, even a “staff favorite” nod in my local bookstore. In a particularly giddy “what the heck” moment, I even nominated it for a Pulitzer Prize.

Of course, none of those things happened.

Publishing is a humbling business. At times, it is humiliating. I signed up for a well-known book network in the hopes that it would lead to speaking opportunities. Only one organization paid me any attention, and later cancelled my speaking invitation. I wasted far too much money on a useless publicist. I gave a talk at a major bookstore attended by only three people.

The root of this misery is the publishing process itself, which depends on convincing gatekeepers that yes, a book like this has mass appeal. Every single note I received from potential agents and editors said some version of the same thing: beautiful book, but not likely to be a “hit”. Limited audience, limited interest.

Along the way, I started to believe it myself. I was proud of my memoir, and felt it was worth publishing. But since my book’s existence depended on the approval of other people, their definitions of success subtly became my own.

It took me many months to be able to redefine success on my own terms. I’ve realized that my goal is to reach people who need to hear our story, and connect with them in a way that enriches my life as well as theirs. I have done this time and time again, and it’s the most meaningful thing I could ever imagine.

Still, every so often, some little Gollum hidden deep in my brain whispers: is that really enough?

Being chosen to speak at TED was an incredible opportunity — the first chance, really, for my work to reach a mass audience.

The numbers are mind-boggling. TED’s YouTube channel has almost thirty million subscribers. Their podcast reach is likewise measured in the tens of millions.

The night before it was published, I was filled with excitement and anxiety. How would this transform my life? My work? The TED folks had told me to “keep my schedule clear” for a few days after publication. They recommended I set up a separate email address, just for TED-related mail.

I braced myself for what might come.

I realize now that my anxiety was misplaced. And so was my excitement. I had once again fallen victim to an insidious definition of success that is not true to myself.

My talk has been viewed nearly 200,000 times. Is that good? Bad? When success is defined in terms of scale, no number is good enough. On one hand, I have probably reached more people in a month than I had in the two-plus years since the memoir was published. On the other hand, whispers Gollum, you could have millions!

Let me tell you how I confront and resist this thinking: by reminding myself why I needed to write this memoir in the first place.

So here’s how I’ll brag about the response to my TED Talk: it reached three people.

Two of those were unsolicited emails — a far cry from the deluge implied by the conference organizers. But both were from fellow dads.

One wrote:

“So much of what you shared resonated with me as my wife and I lost our 10-year-old son to diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma nearly 2 years ago.”

Another:

“I discovered your talk the day after the tenth anniversary of my own son’s death … Thank you for allowing others to see not only the pain of losing a child, but also the beauty of the life that child lived. Your son's story reached a father in Belgium who truly needed to hear it.”

The third was a comment on my YouTube video:

“Thank you for helping me cope, as I deal with the ramifications of devastating cancer treatment for my 14-month old child.”

It is gratifying beyond words to have connected with each of these strangers, each facing struggles similar to our own — and know that our experience helped them, in some small way.

I wish I could say that it’s enough. But to be honest, it isn’t. At least, not always. In addition to grief and loss, I’m constantly haunted by the question of success.

The seduction of the crowd is not always easy to resist. But those one-on-one connections keep me grounded, reminding me what truly matters.

With that in mind …

• In August, I’ll be speaking at the Global PCD Conference in Montreal. Strangely, we have not really connected with the PCD community that much, so it will be especially meaningful to meet clinicians, researchers and other families. (We may also return for a “light lunch” at Wilensky’s, a Montreal landmark run by a family also affected by CHD.)

• In September, I’ll be giving the keynote at the Cardiac Neurodevelopmental Outcome Collaborative’s 14th Annual Scientific Sessions in Wilmington, Delaware. It’ll be exciting to take part in such an interdisciplinary conference spanning clinical specialties and heart families as well.

• Later that month, I’ll be heading to New Haven to deliver Pediatric Grand Rounds at Yale University. (I am 100% not bitter that Yale rejected my college application thirty-three years ago, but this invitation eliminates any lingering sense of injustice that may remain.)

In light of what I’ve written above: I’d appreciate you sharing our story with anyone who might benefit from hearing it — whether my memoir or the TED Talk itself.

If you haven’t already — the best way you can help spread the word is to leave a review of my book on Amazon or Goodreads.

And if you have a free minute, please consider dropping a line to say hello. It’s always energizing to hear from the many people who’ve been a part of this journey. Whether old friends or new connections, let’s reconnect!

As always, thanks so much for all of your encouragement and support. I am deeply grateful.

Best James