The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

Acknowledgments

Anyone who follows me online knows I have a rather fraught relationship with stories.

Or rather, with bringing them to life. With holding up the whole messy beast until my arms shake and my head hurts and I know if I drop it now, before it’s ready, it will shatter, and I’ll have to sweep it up, and I’ll lose at least a few of the pieces along the way.

And so, while I held up Addie’s story, so many people held up me.

Without them, there would be no book.

This is where I’m supposed to acknowledge them all.

(I hate acknowledgments.)

(Or rather, I hate Acknowledgments. I have a terrible memory. My mind, I think, has been burrowed full of holes by all these books, so when it comes to thanking the people who helped this book come into being, I freeze up, certain that I’ll forget.)

(I know I’ll forget.)

(I am always forgetting.)

(I think that’s why I write, to try and catch the ideas before they slip away and leave me staring off into space wondering why I walked into this room, or why I opened that browser tab, or what I was looking for in the fridge.)

(It’s ironic, of course, given the theme of this book.)

(This book, which lived in my head for so long, and took up so much space, it’s responsible for at least some of the forgetting.)

So, this will serve as an incomplete list.

This book is for my dad, who walked the streets of our East Nashville neighborhood and listened while I first spelled out the idea growing in my head.

For my mum, who followed me down every winding road, and never let me get lost.

For my sister, Jenna, who knew exactly when I needed to write, and when I needed to stop writing and go get a fancy cocktail instead.

For my agent, Holly, who has dragged me through so many fire swamps, and never once let me get singed or drowned or eaten by ROUSes.

For my editor, Miriam, who was with me every step of the long and winding way.

For my publicist, Kristin, who’s become my knight, my champion, and my friend.

For Lucille, Sarah, Eileen, and the rest of my incredible team at Tor, who believed in this story when it was an idea, cheered me on when it was a draft, championed it when it was a finished book, and made me feel, at every step, like I could let go, and you would catch me.

For my friends—you know who you are—who dragged me through the dark, and ran away with me in search of words (and roast chicken).

For Al Mare, and Red Kite, for giving me a place to think, and write, and supplying me with ample pots of tea.

For Danielle, Ilda, Britt, and Dan, for your passion, and for sliding pizza under the door.

For every bookseller who has kept me on shelves this long.

For every reader who told me they couldn’t wait, while promising they would.