By the time a book is printed and shelved, allegedly thirty-two people have been involved in its production, or so I’ve been told. I am deeply grateful for every single one, beginning with my insightful agent, Zoe Sandler, who is not only supportive, but also fun, and ending with the booksellers who delight in introducing authors to readers and, occasionally, vice versa. Thank you, thank you.
Deepest appreciation goes to my editor Emily Griffin whose thorough notes (seven pages single spaced!) could be the basis of a master class in editorial direction. Without her vision and intelligence, I am fairly certain assembly instructions for flat-pack furniture would be clearer than my drafts. Micaela Carr, assistant editor at HarperCollins, as well as the whole team over there who came up with the brilliant cover and somehow transformed a Word document into a beautifully finished product are the absolute best.
Closer to home, super-sharp Liz Scharf patiently answered all my very bizarre questions about how Teslas operate in Vermont’s less-than-ideal conditions. I’m so sorry so much ended up on the cutting-room floor.
While former Crack Assistant Town Clerk Maryke Gillis may have served as the inspiration for Doreen, she is far nicer, kinder, smarter, and, most likely, more beloved. Also, her smile does not make babies cry. I miss her smart presence in the Town Clerk’s office every day. The Listers bear no resemblance to the team who keep the town afloat. At least, not this current group!
Writing is a solitary business, which meant my husband, Charlie, spent most of the summer wondering what this crazy wife was doing in the attic. Anna, our daughter and my best friend, provided invaluable editorial feedback, while her own husband, our dear son-in-law, Tom, tackled similar publishing challenges, though far more academic. Our son, Sam, kept me laughing and positive. Thank you, my cherished family, for deciding against having me involuntarily committed.
Finally, I believe it’s worth noting that the idea for this book came from our experience in purchasing a house at a tax sale. Every house has its own–not to pun–stories and this rustic cabin with its eight tons of trash, leaking roof and abandoned vehicles, has been no exception. A grandmother took her final breath here. A baby crawled on its floors. Gardens were planted. Dreams bloomed and withered under the merciless beating of life’s hard knocks. Longfellow’s right: all houses are haunted.
I’ll explain more on my website–sarahstrohmeyer.com—and I hope you’ll visit me there. In the meantime, thank you so very much for reading.