Reign the Earth (The Elementae #1)(119)

I leaned away from my brother, remembering the last night I was here, when Kairos wished I would find someone who moved the heavens and stars for me. I looked up, knowing I had, knowing that those star spirits were the most eternal of all.

I prayed my family had found their places up there.

I prayed no more of my family would have to anytime soon.

“Maybe,” I told Kata softly, “fate has only begun to play her hand.”





Acknowledgments

This is my fight song.


So this book sold in March 2015; April 1 of the same year, I found out that because of a long and tumultuous history with diabetes, my retinas were bleeding into my vitreous fluid and blocking my vision. I spent almost a year with extremely compromised vision, getting laser treatments, injections, and surgeries in both eyes—I spent a year not knowing if I would be completely blind within a few years (I guess I still don’t really know that, so keep your fingers crossed). I spent a month not lifting my head because to do so would disrupt a gas bubble that was keeping my retina attached.

Let me repeat—I looked at the floor for a month.

And all this while desperately trying to get my diabetes under control, and deal with an insidious sense of my own guilt and shame—I had done this to myself.

Through this all, I had this book. I worked on edits while I was facedown, making notes on Post-its since I couldn’t even use a computer because of the angle of the screen. Thinking constantly about this book, primed for the day I could raise my head—ready for the chance to heal.

It’s virtually impossible to, in a few public paragraphs, explain what a dark time that was for me, and the kinds of fear and depression I wrestled with. But in writing my acknowledgments, I somehow need to acknowledge what this book really became for me—it wasn’t escapism. It was proof that I was still capable. It was my ability to function. It was my measure of worth for myself.

This is my fight song.

And yet, there’s so much more to the story of this book, and this series. I wrote the first draft of Shalia’s story when I was sixteen. It took me fourteen more years to learn how to tell her story the way it needed to be told—and I can’t even express how many false starts and dead novels lie strewn in the wake of this final version. I mean, the first draft was handwritten across two composition notebooks. COMPOSITION NOTEBOOKS. I think one has my history notes from high school and plans to go to a party in my freshman year of college in the margins.

And now you’re reading this in the back of a published novel. So for writers everywhere, never give up on a story that you want to tell. You may not know how to tell it just yet, but don’t ever believe that you don’t know how to tell it period. We learn craft and practice our skills to get better at this.

For myself, for many reasons and in many ways, I will always need reminding that my pen—and my heart—will never fail me. And this book is a testament to that.

But I didn’t get here through force of will alone. So here is a paltry list:

To Mary Kate, thank you for never once making me feel like I was taking too long. Thank you for sending Word docs so that I could zoom in on the font and actually see things. Thank you for continuing to ask for excellence when it would have been so much easier to settle for less—not only did it, of course, serve the story, but it also reminded me what I was capable of producing. Thank you for believing in this book, but more than that, thank you for believing in me.

To Minju, thank you for being my incredible, dedicated agent—you are a tough-as-nails champion and a badass crusader, but you’re also a loving and supportive friend. Your thoughtfulness and care have meant so much to me—thank you.

To the whole team at Bloomsbury that has had my back from day one, I can’t believe the level of love and support you’ve shown for me and this book. Lizzy Mason, Courtney Griffin, Emily Ritter, Erica Barmash, Beth Eller, Melissa Kavonic, Oona Patrick, Pat McHugh, Christine Ma, Claire Stetzer, Charlotte Davis, Cristina Gilbert, Cindy Loh, and Donna Mark—you are the ultimate dream team. Thank you for making this beautiful baby a reality.

To the fans and bloggers who have been so excited for this book despite the long wait, your cheerleading helped me every step of the way. I’m looking at you, What Sarah Read, Melissa Lee, Andi’s ABCs, Gail Yates, Mundie Moms, Gaby Salpeter, Jenuine Cupcakes, the Irish Banana Review … there are so many, many more. Thank you.

The funny thing about grappling with debilitating illness is that, while making me feel the most incredibly vulnerable I’ve ever felt—because I really do not like accepting help from others, and the need to do so was problematic at best and humiliating at worst—it also taught me how many people love and care for me. It’s no coincidence that this book is all about the families you’re born into and the families you make and choose.

To Annie Cardi, Tara Sullivan, and Katie Slivensky, you guys are just supposed to be my critique group. Where do you get off being some of the truest friends, confidantes, secret-keepers, and bitchfest arbiters I’ve ever met? Thank you for all the rides, all the love, and especially for my stuffed dragon to keep the other dragons out of my eyes. And of course, for getting this book shipshape. I literally don’t know how I did this stuff before you guys came along.

To the Apocalypsies, the Class of 2k12, and the other authors, writers, and bookish people I have met along the way whom I now have the extreme privilege of calling dear friends, thank you for being excellent and inspiring more beautiful stories in your wake. Tiffany Schmidt; Diana Renn; Erin Cashman, Bowman, and Dionne (dude, there are a LOT of Erins I like); Gina Rosati; Sarah Aronson; Elly Swartz; Emery Lord; Trish Doller; and Cristin Bishara—thank you all for keeping my hope and my heart up.