They say it tales a village to raise a child. Sometimes it takes an army to write a book. It would be impossible for me to express my thanks to all those who helped me in the eighteen months it took to get this story out. The ones who read and reread and reread, and those near and far who gave me a shoulder to cry on. Those authors who shared their own struggles of pushing through when their personal life was going to hell and those I idealize and squeal over who confided in me about the times they, too, considered quitting. The one who told me every day I could do it and also the one who told me she wouldn’t think less of me if I gave up. To my steadfast readers, aka “The Crew,” who assured me they would eagerly wait no matter how long it took, and to my mother, who loves me dearly, and finally stopped asking daily, Is it finished yet? To my agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, who is a constant rainbow even on the rainiest of days, and to my editor, Sue Grimshaw, who I nominate for sainthood because she has that much patience. To my husband and children, who lived with a person on the edge for too many days and did so with style.
My entire village, this book is for you.