The dedicatee at the beginning is my brother and I have to thank him for driving me crazy all those years with constant guitar ballads coming from his bedroom and for explaining to me his many, many theories on the integrity and importance of music. Thanks for being you, little brother.
And here’s where I get mushy. Music is such an integral part of who I am, it’s almost impossible to articulate. When I was barely tall enough to sit in the front seat riding with my dad in an old pickup truck listening to what my mom referred to as “knee-slapping” music, I had no idea that one day he would be gone and those songs would forever be the music playing in my internal memory box. Just like I didn’t know that one day anything and everything by Boyz II Men would remind me of that painful eighth-grade breakup, or that Aerosmith’s “Crazy” would still conjure up the tingles of my very first kiss even fifteen years later. Shania Twain and Bryan White crooning “From This Moment” will always paint a clear portrait of my wedding day and there are so many songs on the soundtrack of my life that they’d be impossible to list here. I don’t know how to go about thanking music, so I will thank the folks who support musicians. Thank you, music teachers. Whether you teach kindergarten kiddos to sing “The Wheels on the Bus” or you’re the maestro of a world-renowned orchestra, what you do matters and I am grateful for it. Thank you to the many musicians who have struggled and overcome and made their music despite the odds. Every musician I’ve ever met has a story about “this one time” when someone gave them a chance or a shot that led to their lucky break. Thank y’all for giving me mine.
To those of you who sing in your car and don’t get embarrassed when the guy next to you notices and to my family for letting me sing off key in the car at the top of my lungs—I love y’all.
And lastly and most important, if you read this book in its entirety and for some crazy reason you are still reading my overly emotional babbling nonsense, thank you. You are the ones I get emails and Facebook messages and tweets from and you make my world go ’round—literally. If I could see you in person I would hug you entirely too hard. If you come see me at a signing event, it’s likely that I will!
This series is a lot of things. It’s a glimpse at the backstory of a band. It’s sexy, and gritty and romantic—sweet at times and ugly at others. But at its core, it’s about dreams. Since I was a little girl writing silly stories and buying every single Babysitter’s Club book I could get my hands on, I dreamt of being a writer. As I got older and the reality of how many writers actually got publishing deals and made a living with writing alone set in, my dream began to seem like just that—a pipe dream that was fun to imagine but not likely to happen in real life.
If you are reading this, my dream came true.
Never ever stop dreaming. And more important, never stop trying to achieve your dreams. While it might not be feasible to make it the central focus of your life (unfortunately, we can’t pay bills with dreams or eat them), do something every day that keeps your dream alive. Your future self will thank you.
Y’all, I’m shutting up, I swear, but I know I forgot at least one person because I always do. To that person, or those several people I should have mentioned but forgot, please forgive me. You are likely the most important folks and I take you for granted! I am a flawed human being; thank you for loving me anyway.
About the Author
Caisey Quinn lives in Birmingham, Alabama, with her husband, daughter, and other assorted animals. She is the bestselling author of the Kylie Ryans series as well as several new adult and contemporary romance novels featuring Southern girls finding love in unexpected places.
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