The Acknowledgements That Weren’t
In an unusual twist, Harper Collins, my esteemed publisher, forgot to print the acknowledgements at the back of Devil’s Plaything. True, the industry is struggling, but I don’t think they were saving paper or ink. It was just a mishap. Not a biggie. But I do want to thank the people who made a huge contribution to this book. Here are the thanks I wrote and that, due to a production hiccup, wound up on the cutting room floor:
Devil’s Plaything deals with the fragility of memory. I begin on that note: this book went through so many iterations that I have likely have forgotten some of the creative and emotional contributions made by friends and family. But I well remember that the contributions have been numerous, and key. So If I’ve forgotten here to mention you by name, please forgive me and remind me later. You will still get your beer. And also beers for the rest of you:
Thanks to a cadre of creative bad asses (alphabetically): Darrin Bell, Josh Friedman, David Liss, and Bob Tedeschi, who spent collective hours helping me grasp a plot that hung for so long just out of reach.
To a big group of consultants and confidants (not alphabetically): The Stanford Medical Gang (Go Bears), copy editor sans peer Sara Jane Cohen; Liza Dawson, Adam Bryant, Noel, Rick, Erik, Susan MacTavish Best, Susan Tunis, Barbara Peters, Margie Scott Tucker, Tammy Nam; and, not least, the eerily-supportive Thriller writer community, especially Steve and Liz Berry, James Rollins, and Joe Finder.
To Carl Lennertz, a publishing triple threat: you rock at the editorial, sales and friendship sides of this slippery business.
To Laurie Liss, my agent. You should all be so lucky.
To my parents, for always listening and reading, and my in-laws (you heard it right) for kvelling.
To the eMs — my beloved Meredith, a tireless reader and quiet creative force, and our babies Milo and Mirabel, muses all.
And to my grandparents: Leo and Barbara, thank you for always remembering us and keeping us in your hearts; Marty, your soul rests but we will strive to pass on your peerless grace, strength and generosity. Grandma Annie, your insatiable zest for life and curiosity has set the highest bar. May you keep resetting it for years to come.
In memory of Dan Reed, who stuffed two lifetimes of amazing stories into one cut way too short.