I WANT TO thank my friend Sara Kenney, who read every single chapter as soon as I wrote it, even the ones that should never see the light of day. Thanks to her intervention, they never will. Also Gayle Abrams and Carolyn Ramsey, enthusiastic early readers. I thank Carolyn, too, for connecting me to Isaac Burks, a gentlemanly retiree of the Los Angeles Fire Department, who explained to me why cars don't blow up like they do in movies, and other incendiary things I needed to know to write this book. I’m grateful to my favorite teacher in the world, Leslie Epstein, who took me under his wing when I wasn’t old enough to know better, and always believed I had a novel in me even if it did take a few decades to work its way out. My agent Lisa Bankoff somehow saw in my first draft what this book could be someday and nudged me in the right direction. Charlotte Simms stumbled onto the scene just when I needed somebody to laugh at all my jokes. My genius editor Kate Nintzel thought the same things were hilarious and heartbreaking that I did, and made everything she touched so much better that I count myself insanely lucky to have landed with her. Most of all I’m thankful to my mother and my children, who taught me how very little I knew about raising children right, but loved and indulged me anyway and gave me extra credit for trying hard. Also my husband, the funniest man alive, who’s patient and handsome and smarter than anybody I’ve ever met. He also has just one dimple, which is absolutely killer.
About the Author
JULIA CLAIBORNE JOHNSON worked at Mademoiselle and Glamour magazines before marrying and moving to Los Angeles, where she lives with her comedy-writer husband and their two children.
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