Bee, darling, you’re a child of the earth, the United States, Washington State, and Seattle. Those East Coast rich kids are a different breed, on a fast track to nowhere. Your friends in Seattle are downright Canadian in their niceness. None of you has a cell phone. The girls wear hoodies and big cotton underpants and walk around with tangled hair and smiling, adorned backpacks. Do you know how absolutely exotic it is that you haven’t been corrupted by fashion and pop culture? A month ago I mentioned Ben Stiller, and do you remember how you responded? “Who’s that?” I loved you all over again.
I blame myself. None of what’s become of me was Seattle’s fault. Well, it might be Seattle’s fault. The people are pretty boring. But let’s withhold final judgment until I start being more of an artist and less of a menace. I make you only one promise, I will move forward.
Sorry, but you have no choice. You’re sticking with me, with us, close to home. And I don’t want to hear it from the Runaway Bunny. The Runaway Bunny stays.
Say yes, and I’ll be gone an extra month. I’ll return and work on my plans for the new South Pole Station, you’ll graduate Galer Street and go to Lakeside, Dad will continue making the world a better place at Microsoft, and we’ll move into a normal house, dare I say, a Craftsman?
Say yes. And know I’m always,
Mom
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you…
Anna Stein, fierce and elegant agent, dear friend. Judy Clain, true believer, full of kindness and sparkle.
To my parents. Joyce, for the near-embarrassing belief in me, and Lorenzo, for making me want to become a writer.
For the hands-on help: Heather Barbieri, Kate Beyrer, Ryan Boudinot, Carol Cassella, Gigi Davis, Richard Day, Claire Dederer, Patrick deWitt, Mark Driscoll, Robin Driscoll, Sarah Dunn, Jonathan Evison, Holly Goldberg Sloan, Carolyne Heldman, Barbara Heller — I shudder to think what a mess I’d have on my hands without your notes — Johanna Herwitz, Jay Jacobs, Andrew Kidd, Matthew Kneale — my Roman star, twinkling — Paul Lubowicki — especially, especially! — Cliff Mass, John McElwee, Sally Riley, Maher Saba, Howie Sanders, Lorenzo Semple III, Garth Stein, Phil Stutz, Arzu Tahin, Wink Thorne, Chrystol White, John Yunker.
The Cassella girls: Elise, Julia, and Sara, without whose decency and charm, there’d be no Bee.
At Little, Brown: Terry Adams, Reagan Arthur, Emily Cavedon, Nicole Dewey, Heather Fain, Keith Hayes, Michael Pietsch, Nathan Rostron — sometimes I think my whole writing career is an elaborate ruse to make you take my calls — Geoff Shandler, Amanda Tobier, Jayne Yaffe Kemp.
Deep, lifelong thanks to: Nicholas Callaway, Mia Farrow, Merrill Markoe, Peter Mensch, Ann Roth, James Salter, Larry Salz, Bruce Wagner.
For the Seattle embrace: the parents, faculty, and staff of the ___ school, Mr. Levys all, gnats not a one. Huge thanks to my comrades at Seattle7Writers, Elliott Bay Book Company, University Books, and the Richard Hugo House.
Most of alclass="underline" George Meyer, who, with kindness and minimal complaint, suffers the arrows so I can wall off and write. Thanks for sticking with me, baby.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Maria Semple is the author of This One Is Mine. Before turning to fiction, she wrote for Mad About You, Ellen, and Arrested Development. Her writing has appeared in The New Yorker. Semple lives in Seattle, where she teaches fiction, studies poetry, and tries to stay off the Internet.
mariasemple.com
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This One Is Mine