THE BELL CURVE:

Every ink-stained wretch — including this one — who works or has worked on print media from corporate newsletters to covering wars has in the bottom drawer of his (or her) desk and the depths of his (or her) soul a Book.

It may be fiction or nonfiction, an extension of a story he has already explored or a journey of his imagination. It may be a random pile of impulsive notes or a tailored manuscript, ready for submission.

Whatever form or direction it takes, it is wrapped in hope. A way out of the newsroom and into the heady business of appearances on TV talk shows to chat up his book. And the generation of enough income to support the research and writing of the next book. And the one after that.

That is the dream. And it happens just often enough to a handful of writers, adrift in a sea of hope, to encourage the dream. And every once in a millennium, it happens so unexpectedly and spectacularly that a whole new level of hope is generated.

That’s what happened to Bill Lobdell.

You may recognize the name. He was an editor of this newspaper for nearly a decade, the editor who hired me eight years ago to do this column.

He was also one of my first nonfiction writing students at UCI. If you think that adds up to nepotism, so do I. And so be it.

Bill gave up his editor post at the Pilot to join the mother lode at the Los Angeles Times as, first, a religion columnist, then reporter.

For eight years, he wallowed in the detritus of organized religion — the cover-up of Roman Catholic priests who sexually abused so many of the young people who looked to them as spiritual models, the fundamentalist Christian pastors who lived a quite different life than they preached, the big business of religion that measured success by money and power rather than souls saved.

And it all ate away at Bill’s own faith, which had been for many years a strong and active — if sometimes confusing — part of his life, especially since he departed St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church to study Catholicism.

Finally, two years ago, his emotional dam broke. He was burned out on bad religion, unable to cope with one more example.

So he asked for a change of pace at work to clear his head and the doubt that was building up about his own faith. And having removed that hat, he put on a new one as a personal essayist, a role reporters seldom get to enjoy. And then he vented.

Carefully, factually and forcefully, he charted his emotional journey over the past few years from a man of faith to a faith lost irrevocably in a sea of disenchantment. The Times gave him the space he wanted and needed, and he used it powerfully.

I read it at breakfast and fired off a letter to him instantly. I had no idea it would be buried that day in an avalanche of almost 2,700 responses from all over the world, about 90% highly favorable. Neither did Bill. And the wonder has not worn off. When I broke bread with Bill last Friday, he was still astonished at the nerve he had touched.

Within the first few days after his essay appeared, Bill was approached by a bevy of literary agents who saw an immediate book in the subject matter.

Bill didn’t have to pitch the book. The book came to him, another dreamy scenario. So was the advance his agent negotiated. So Bill took a five-month leave of absence from his newspapering job at the Times to convert his essay into a book. It‘s done now, and “Losing My Religion: How I Lost My Faith Covering Religion in America” will be in book stores in February. Meanwhile, we will be seeing Bill on the TV and radio talk show circuits, telling his story.

Bill is back to work at the Times now and finding time to answer ancient mentors who ask him where all this leaves him spiritually.

“Somewhere,” he said, “between a skeptical deist and a reluctant atheist.”

How, then, does he explain the astonishing volume of positive reaction to his essay that might well leave the reader in the same confusing place?

“I think that not many people talk honestly about their faith,” said Bill, “even though they seem sure of their opinions. But that’s just on the surface. Deep down, people have doubts but can’t talk about them. They feel guilty for having such thoughts. So it’s a great relief when someone comes along and expresses those doubts publicly. Then they aren’t alone any more.”

Clearly, neither is Bill. And while he looks for a place that might accommodate his new faith — or lack thereof — he has a book that offers tangible evidence of faith until he finds a better answer.

JOSEPH N. BELL lives in Newport Beach. His column runs Thursdays.