AS MANY OF you know, the lore of my fiction career started when my eighth-grade English teacher offered extra credit to anyone who wrote fifty thousand words for NaNoWriMo. Like a complete nerd, I got to work! Fourteen years and seven unpublished manuscripts later, somehow we’re here. Believe me when I say that I truly thought this day would never come. I’d like to thank everyone who believed otherwise.
My family. Dad, who believed in me as much as when I was in a press box in Casper as right now. Amanda, my first bestie, who has been my first reader for as long as I’ve been writing. Zack, who has not read a novel since high school but hopefully is reaching this part of the book after reading it all! Mr. Jake, just for existing. No notes, king—I love you!
The wonderful team at Crooked Lane Books. My editor, Terri Bischoff, for believing lesbians should be on the shelf solving crime too. This process has been far beyond anything I could’ve dreamed of.
My wonderful agent, Michelle Richter, who found me in the slush pile, and even after two projects didn’t sell, never wavered in her dedication to sell the third. Without her time, effort, and keen eye, none of this would’ve been possible.
My friends, of whom I am blessed to have so many I could not manage to name them all here. Whether you’ve been around long enough to remember sticky notes on the wall in 230 or are just joining the party, thank you. However, I must mention Remy and Noodles (the OG white, feral, pudgy cat) because he needs to be acknowledged in as many published works as possible.
My teachers, professors, and all the other educators I’ve met in my life. Now that I’m working as a substitute teacher, I can confidently say there’s no way I’d be able to do what you all do day in and day out. Thank you for inspiring the writers of tomorrow.
You, fabulous reader, for picking up this book. Whether you’re my best friend’s mom’s third cousin who was told to read this, or if you saw two lesbians in leading roles in a mystery and automatically put this on your TBR, or if you’re here completely by accident and maybe a little lost: thanks for making twelve-year-old Hannah’s dreams come true.
Finally, as most people who follow me on Twitter know, I’ve struggled with my mental health for as long as I’ve been writing. I’ve tried therapy and medication and yoga and mindfulness, and still—I never thought it was going to get better. If not for a very special group of loving, caring, patient people, this book would not be here because I would not be here. The same goes for the mental health professionals who work so hard to help all of us sad, anxious ladies, including the wonderful Dr. Amie Smith, who helped get me through the worst of it.
Maybe some of you are dealing with something similar. I hate when people say, “It gets better,” because it felt so long like a lie or something that was only true for other people. But right now, I’m talking about how it did finally get so much better in my debut novel. I believe that it’s going to be true for you too. I believe in you; don’t give up.