I could not have brought this book into reality, however, without the tireless support and efforts of others. Most important is God, from whom all things come. Right after are the intercessions of Francis for words and Dymphna for sanity. Deo gratias.
In a more corporal sense, I owe so much to my champion and super-agent, Valerie Noble, who picked me out of the slush and dreamed big when I was afraid to. I wouldn’t be here without you. To Erin Stein at Imprint, who said “Wow” and not “Whoa.” To Rhoda Belleza, editor extraordinaire, and her sidekick Nicole Otto, who rolled up their sleeves and dug in. To Ellen Duda and her design team for making things pretty inside and out, and to Ashley Woodfolk in marketing. To Molly Brouillette and Brittany Pearlman, the publicists with the magic touch, and the Fierce Reads Team, who voted to let me in their clubhouse before I was fully housebroken. And for all: God bless you for your patience with me.
Special thanks to Devon Shanor for her beautiful photography and for meeting me at the dinosaur park in the middle of nowhere. Also for not thinking it was a weird idea.
To Kim, who read Alanna with me in junior high and then twenty-five years later read my roughest of drafts and said Yes! All my other readers (alphabetically): Alissa, Amy, Brit, Carol, Carolee, Caroline (who printed the whole dang thing out!), Dan, Kammy, Katie, Kim M., Kim P., Leah, Melissa, Natalie, and Ron … at least one scene was made better by each of your comments. To Ryan, for his non-legal advice and foolish optimism (which turned out to be not so foolish). To my critique partners Joan Albright, who gently educated me on what I had screwed up, and Sarah Willis, who polished. I will meet you on the bookshelves someday, if not in person.
To Mom, for showing me that girls loving science and math was normal and for letting me pursue everything I wanted to, even when you didn’t understand why; and to Dad, for going fifteen rounds with me on every paper in high school (and not even telling me what was wrong until round ten). And to both of you for unfailing love and support, letting me read whatever I wanted, and for teaching me my limits were only set by myself.
To Krav Maga Nebraska (and also Dad), for teaching me how to kill people (all in the name of self-defense, of course).
To Kisa Whipkey. We didn’t end up working together, but getting your e-mail in a time of despair was the lifeline that probably saved this book.
To Andrew Jobling, who lit the fire by showing me what would kindle the flame. (Spoiler: It has little to do with actual writing.)
To Tamora Pierce, who inspired me as a person with books I wanted to read.
To my kids: being your mother has been the greatest privilege of my life. Thank you for coming out so well despite my clumsy efforts. Yes, you can have a snack. After you clean your room. Okay, you can have it now, but then do your chores.
And Michael, because when everyone is thanked, when every word is written, when every day is done, it’s always you who are at the end of it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Erin Beaty was born and raised in Indianapolis, Indiana, which means she can’t drive a tractor, but she won’t eat veggies that come from a can. She graduated from the US Naval Academy with a degree in rocket science and somehow always ended up writing her study group’s lab reports. After serving in the fleet as a weapons officer and a leadership instructor, she resigned to pursue her side hobby of populating the Church of Rome. It still amazes her when other people want to hear the stories that come out of her head.
She and her husband have five children, two cats, and a vegetable garden and live wherever the Navy tells them to go. You can sign up for email updates here.