Thank you to my parents, who gave only encouragement when I announced I was majoring in creative writing. Do you realize how rare you are? I love you.
Endless thanks to Laini Taylor and Sumner Smith. Laini, not only do you give brilliant advice, but you also write brilliant emails. Thank you for the guidance (and for the goinky freak). Sumner, you are the most honest reader that I could ask for. Thank you for your romantic wisdom and your contagious enthusiasm.
The Weaverville librarians were unrelentingly awesome. Thank you for looking the other way whenever I googled “Notre-Dame” on the job, and extra thanks to Lauren Biehl for letting me hold her thesis captive for an entire year.
Merci beaucoup to my sister Kara for being brave when I couldn’t be.
Merci, merci, merci to Manning Krull, American Parisian superhero.
And thank you, Kiersten White, for always being there. It is this simple: I would not have survived last year without you. It’s an honor to travel this strange path together.
The following people provided answers to questions and immeasurable moral support: Jim Di Bartolo, Marjorie Mesnis, the North Asheville librarians, Taiyo la Paix, Fay and Roger Perkins, Mary and Dave Prahler, The Tenners, Staci Thomas, Natalie Whipple, Thomas Witherspoon, Sara and Jeff Zentner, and everyone who reads my blog. Special thanks to Amanda Reid for keeping my hair blue, and to Ken Hanke and Justin Souther, film critics extraordinaire. Chris Prahler gave me several versions of what his acknowledgment should say. Here is the shortest: “Thanks to my favorite brother-in-law.” Chris is my only brother-in-law, but my thanks are genuine.
This story was birthed during National Novel Writing Month. Thank you, Chris Baty and staff, for everything you’ve done for aspiring writers.
Finally, thank you to Jarrod Perkins. Who will always be my first reader. Who pulls me out of bed, pours coffee and tea down my throat, and pushes me into my office. Who cooks dinner, carries it to my desk, and carts away the dirty dishes. Who never doubted I would succeed. Who wipes away my tears, laughs at the funny bits, and seriously considers my most frequently asked question: “Is the boy hot enough?” I am deeply in love with you. Thank you for being you, because you are my favorite.