Thank you for reading The Devil’s Bible. For those of you who haven’t already Googled it, the Codex Gigas is an honest-to-goodness, real book. I’ve done my best to adhere to the knowable facts surrounding the production, history, and content of the Codex, and I am immensely grateful to the National Library of Sweden for their meticulous research and their generosity in providing digital access to the fruits of all their labor. Any errors regarding my depiction of the ancient artifact are most assuredly mine alone.
For all we know about the Codex Gigas, much of our understanding is still based on conjecture and presumption, and many of its secrets remain shrouded in the past. These gaps of the unknown offer a fertile playground for a writer to imagine what might have been. This is where Mouse lives.
I met Mouse there because I live there, too, in the in-between places where should and should not have no meaning. Growing up in the American South as the only girl sandwiched between two brothers meant that my life could have been booby-trapped with all the things I was supposed to do and all the things I wasn’t allowed to do. But I got lucky. My brothers, Jim and Shane, helped me carve out my own space free of societal expectations. They never treated me like I was different or fragile because I was “just a girl.” They’ve always believed in me, and I am beyond grateful that I’ve gotten to share this journey with them.
I am also thankful for my found sister, Beth Spencer Cummings, who has taught me that strength and vulnerability are woven of the same cloth.
Bringing Mouse and the story of The Devil’s Bible to you has been, like any novel, a bit of a relay race. I am thankful for the critical eyes, thoughtfulness, and curiosity of my early readers: Rebecca Smith Crimmins, Mandy Plummer Hiller, Carolyn Wilson, and Erin Townsley Etheridge. The fabulous Amy Kerr was particularly helpful in being a fresh set of eyes when mine were bleary. And through the long days of editing when I was infected with self-doubt, I lived on Paige Crutcher’s encouragement. Leanne Smith walks with me daily through the sometimes impossible obstacle course of life as a writer, professor, and mom. Together, we slay guilt and doubt and distraction.
Many thanks to my agent, Susan Finesman, for hanging in there with me and especially for walking me back from the cliff’s edge—more than once. I couldn’t have pushed this boulder up the hill without you at my side. As always, I am grateful for your guidance and your friendship.
I owe so much to all the incredible folks at Pegasus Books who are such thoughtful caretakers of the stories given to them. They clean up the messy parts, give the books beautiful covers, and then nurture them out into the world. Thank you Claiborne Hancock, Linda Biagi, Sabrina Plomitallo-González, Maria Fernandez, Jocelyn Bailey, Mary Hern, and Charles Brock. I am particularly indebted to Iris Blasi, my editor, for partnering with me in telling Mouse’s story, for pushing me to tell the story better, and for asking all the right questions. Thank you for sticking with me, even through the dark valleys. Hopefully Mouse offered a little light in the darkness.
Having a community of fellow writers has been a lifeline for me. They are like the tether that keeps an astronaut safely connected to the shuttle but also frees her to take giant leaps of faith. Thank you, River Jordan, for introducing me to our Nashville writer’s tribe, and thank you to all you wonderful creative women who feed me the courage to keep telling stories. A special note of gratitude to the brilliant J.T. Ellison for sharing the wealth of her experience and for showing me how to do this writer gig with kindness and generosity. You are an amazing woman.
I touch on the issue of homelessness in this book, and I want to express my deep respect and thankfulness for Lindsey Glenn Krinks, Lauren Plummer, and all the incredible people at Open Table Nashville for working tirelessly to address the injustices that are at the root of homelessness. May we all endeavor to be better neighbors to one another.
And finally, back in the crazy chaos of my own abode, I give thanks to my family. Thank you to my little guy for the sweet notes slid under the door at just the right times and for the hugs and kisses when I needed them. Thank you to my daughter who listened encouragingly as I read and worked through obstinate chapters and whose fierce independence shapes Mouse’s own.
And thank you to my husband for reading, again and again, for making me laugh when I was ready to cry, and for gallantly taking the blows when I was angrily wrestling with the tough parts. You are my home. Always.