Family (18 page)

now
;

it is

mine.

it is only

my

own.

and as i

flee the tangled webbing of my

tainted,

tattered,

fragile

family—

i
know.

finally.

finally,

i know:

that there is

no such thing as

infinity,

after all.

that there is

nothing—

nothing—

after all,

that doesn’t

end.

This book was a leap of faith for me in many ways, and would certainly never have come to be without the love, guidance, and support of many people.

My most sincere gratitude goes to my agent, Jodi Reamer of Writers House, who has helped to shape the evolution of my writing career, and who managed to keep an open mind when I asked if she’d like to see a verse novel about the Manson Family. Thanks also to her trusty right hand, Alec Shane.

My peers and advisors at Vermont College of Fine Arts were endlessly generous with their time, insight, and warmth, without which I might never have moved out of my creative comfort zone. In particular, Tim Wynne-Jones quite literally (and quite forcefully) insisted that I try my hand at something new, and Rita Williams Garcia offered invaluable feedback on early pages. Gwenda Bond, Gene Brenek, and Shawn Stout—there’s no one I’d rather storm Noble with than the three of you.

Elizabeth Law at Egmont USA is responsible for all of the very best parts of this book. Her early enthusiasm for the manuscript was matched only by the caliber of her editorial direction. I can’t imagine what
family
would have been without her insight.

Bottomless appreciation goes also to the entire extended Egmont crew: Mary Albi, Katie Halata, Alison Weiss, Becky Green, Doug Pocock, and Gordon Vanderkamp. Nico Medina, you understood my book intrinsically.

Hugs, kisses, and buckets of good karma to Katharine Sise and Nova Ren Suma, my early readers and always-muses. I am in awe of the both of you.

And finally, I am blessed with a wide network of family of my own, all of whom mean everything to me. My in-laws Len, Fleur, Liz, and Josh Harlan have welcomed me into the fold unconditionally. My brother, David Ostow, inspires, challenges, and amuses me. My mother, Carmen Ostow, schooled me in Stephen King and slasher movies, and my father, Jerry Ostow, tolerated (and sometimes even supported) our obsession with the macabre.

As for my husband, Noah Harlan—you are proof-positive of the existence of miracles. I love you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.