As a writer, I love those lists at the beginning of books, wherein the author mentions all the people who have contributed something to their finished work. Karen Kingsbury writes paragraphs, letters almost, to each member of her family that appear in her books before the first chapter begins. Most authors feel compelled to say something about those who walk through life and writing with them. Very few can remain silent and disappear from the first pages of their work. Read the acknowledgments and you glimpse the author’s face right before the story begins.
Isn’t it funny that art, which finds its life in the appreciation of many and cannot be created apart from shared experience, most often finds its form in the absorbed solitude of its creator? As a solitude-craving introvert, I smile broadly at the needy extrovert within my art, indeed, within myself. Acknowledgments, while often ignored, acknowledge this very duplicity.
So, no matter what, thank you. Thank you, to those of you who have acknowledged what this means to me.
Thank you to my parents, for pouring out your love and time and energy on my children to their extreme blessing (and ours) and for continually, faithfully encouraging me. Thank you for making sure I had the time and space in which to do this and for saying, “You’ve got to do this.”
Thank you for telling me when my writing has blessed you in some way—that’s everything I ever hope for, everything I ask of God. I can’t believe that He would choose to use me to bless the lives of others, but I long for it. God has used every one of you to bless me beyond measure through this process.