Once again, I’ve rewritten a little history and used a lot of literary license to achieve my ends. New York City purists will point out, rightfully, that the High Line elevated park did not open until 2009, and the Whitney Museum of Art did not begin construction on its downtown location until 2010. I’m aware of the historical inaccuracy. It was entirely intentional, as I felt I could back things up a few years without altering the space-time continuum. Still, I apologize for any offense I may have caused to longtime Chelsea residents.
I wrote most of Finches at my dining room table. I have to extend my thanks to the charms that showed up at the bird feeder outside the window. Especially on the days when I felt I’d bitten off more than I could chew. I’d look out to see a cluster of bright yellow goldfinches or red house finches, and it was like they were telling me, “You got this.”
Rach Lawrence and Camille Barrineau were my twin towers during the writing. Often my Scylla and Charibidis. They lean hard on rough drafts and if the story breaks, they stick around to talk about it. Both push me to be better and I’m intensely grateful and privileged to have them as friends.
My editor, Becky Dickson, leans even harder on my work. I am running out of words to thank her for…everything, really. Mostly for teaching me to just say what I mean and tell the damn story. Then she does that Thing of slicing a bit from the end and making it the perfect beginning.
From within my always-awesome Army, I had a crack elite force of beta readers. They were invaluable in figuring out the pacing and various points of view. All their little understandings added up to a tremendous wisdom. I can only hope they are aware of the ownership they have in this novel and how grateful I am to share the process with them.
Daniella Chacón Araujo who fixed my horrible white New Yorker Spanish. And Astrid Heinisch who fixed capitals and cases in the German. Gracias and danke.
Tracy Kopsachilis reversed the color palette of Larks and produced original oil-on-canvas artwork to create a masterpiece of a cover. Colleen Sheehan took all the formatting worry out of my hands and made it beautiful.
Someone who deserves a lot more recognition than I’ve given is my massage therapist, John Scalzo, who’s been with me for five books now. He’s one of the most loving and kind souls I know, with amazing power in his hands. So much of this book came together while he was taking my neck, back and shoulders apart. We only recently discovered we come from the same hometown (although when I graduated high school, he wasn’t born yet) and I don’t think it’s an accident he ended up on my team.
Emma Scott, my beautiful kaleidoscope of butterflies… Dude, I have no words and I know you’d tell me to save them for the next book anyway. I’m coming back to you, I promise. Let’s always be us. Oh, and thank you for telling me it was continuum, not compendium. (What does that even mean?)
I get no compensation from the BBC for advertising Planet Earth. Seriously, if you’ve never watched this series, you need to. Wild ass. It’s a thing. The coffee table book is awesome, too.
“You kill the average guy” is my Uncle Bill’s line. I use it often.
My husband’s parents met when they had summer jobs at Creedmoor Psychiatric Center on Long Island. They took great pleasure in answering “How did you two meet?” with “In the mental hospital.” How could you not?
My daughter’s interest in art therapy shaped Steffen Finch’s brief mention at the end of Larks. While I sat and wrote at the dining room table this summer, Julie was often on the other side with her artwork. I’m not sure she knows how much it helped me, having her there. Or how much I enjoy being together, alone.
My son AJ is kind and his heart is strong. He slipped off the chair lift at Gore Mountain and I jumped after him. “The mothers always jump,” the attendant said to me. AJ loves that story. And why not? I fell into the pool when I was four and my mother jumped in, fully dressed. It’s what mothers do.
Thanks, Mom. And I’m sorry I scared you.
It’s ridiculous how thrilled I was to use one of my dad’s favorite jokes in a book. Oy, I’ll Tell Ya Airlines has been making me giggle since I was twelve.
And JP, my curator and sailor, my most treasured friend and partner. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and loving you is the best thing I do.