Eighteen years ago, my twelve-year-old niece, Abby, my mom, and I sat in a diner in Genesee Depot, Wisconsin, writing to prompts chosen from the book What If? Abby chose the prompt that day, and it became both the title of this novel and the first page. And so, my gratitude starts there, with you, Abby. I love that this novel about families literally began with mine.
I have an amazing family. Always, our favorite subject of conversation is books. My mother, Mary Jo Balistreri, and my father, John Fischer, are the most well-read, passionate people I know. My mother worked as a docent at Ten Chimneys, and she introduced me to the magical world of the Lunts, and my brother, Mike, a dramaturge and theater critic, offered advice about plays that my characters Eva and Kelly might have acted in. I will never stop being grateful for the gift of these people in my corner.
As if having this vibrant book-loving family weren’t enough, I also belong to the Rehoboth Beach Writers Guild, a community that encourages, inspires, and reminds me every day of how lucky we are, of what a luxury it is, to spend time, energy, and care on writing.
Add to all that bounty an even rarer luxury—I live in a town with an independent bookstore. Susan Kehoe, the wildly creative owner of Browseabout Books, is both colleague and friend, whose honesty helped me decide on the beautiful cover of A Season of Perfect Happiness.
I wish I could name all the people who have played a role in the writing of this novel, but that would be another book. Still, Jen Epler, I will never forget our cold rainy walk on the Rehoboth Beach boardwalk a few days after I found my agent. Everyone, including me, expected I’d feel joy and excitement—and I did, but you understood the unexpected grief I didn’t know what to do with. Kim Burnett, during the days of seemingly impossible deadlines, you left soup and bread on my porch. Paul Dyer, how many phone conversations did we spend talking about the only thing that mattered in this crazy publishing world? The writing. Always the writing. Judy Wood, I am grateful for the hundreds of miles we’ve walked after Saturday-morning Writing Boot Camp, worrying and obsessing as we debated every plot change, edit, and tweak in the cover designs of our books. And Judy Jones, you believed in me when I wasn’t able to believe in myself. That belief is why I am now writing these acknowledgments.
I wrote a version of this novel in 2008, sent it out to agents, was rejected, and put it away, never thinking of it until a chance conversation ten years later with the brilliant writer Leslie Pietrzyk, who told me, “You need to revisit that book.” I did because of her. And to the agent who read the manuscript and rejected it in 2008, and again in 2020, but took the time to email and explain why—thank you. The publishing world is too full of silence, and it’s not okay; writers deserve a response, even if only a form letter. That agent’s response was more than that, and it kept me in the game.
Which ultimately led me to my agent, Kerry D’Agostino, who took a chance on a writer who hadn’t published in fifteen years, a writer terrified of social media, a writer who had lost her way. Thank you for your belief in me and in A Season of Perfect Happiness. Thank you especially for getting my manuscript to my editor, Grace Layer, because Grace is…she is grace. Supersmart, generous, excited, honest. The more we worked together, the more I came to depend on Grace’s keen eye. There are sections in this book that I love anew each time I read them, and many stem from a suggestion of Grace’s.
Her first email to me, the day after she acquired the book for Dutton, read, “Welcome home,” and indeed, it has truly been a homecoming, for Dutton published my first book in 2001. From the editor in chief, John Parsley, who has quietly weighed in at every level; to Sarah Oberrender, who designed the book cover (Sarah read the entire manuscript first, and it shows, for she captured so beautifully the feel of this novel); to Aja Pollock, without whose copyediting this book would not be the book I want so much for it to be. Aja noticed inconsistencies that I had missed through dozens of careful (or so I thought) readings. I’m in awe of—and grateful for—her skill. There are many others—Alice Dalrymple, Shannon Plunkett, Diamond Bridges, Lauren Morrow—it is daunting and humbling to realize how many resources and how much care so many people have invested.
And my husband, Victor Letonoff. At one point when I had to substantially rethink the plot, rewrite the manuscript, and do it all in ten days, I sat at our kitchen counter and looked at him with despair. “I can’t,” I said. “There’s no way.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?” he said. “This is who you are, Maribeth. This is what you do. You write.” I love the man who knows this about me and supports it every single day. Because the time I steal for my writing is always time stolen from him. Not once—ever—in fourteen years has he complained. This is who you are. This is what you do.
With that, you’d think the place of honor in these acknowledgments would go to him, my amazing husband, but as great he is, that honor has to go to my friend and writing partner—a beautiful novelist herself—Anne Colwell. For twenty years Anne and I have met once a week to discuss whatever we are working on. She has read and reread and read again every page of Season, and so much that is good about the book, and everything that got it to the point where I could send it out to agents, happened because of her input. I can’t imagine writing without her, and I’m glad I don’t have to.