When the proof copy of my teen novel, This Side of Forever, arrived, I was thrilled. My husband and I took turns oohing and aahing over the miracle of it all. I’d given birth. It was time to count the baby’s toes and fingers.
And then disaster struck.
It came in the form of omission.
On the page in the book where I express my deepest gratitude to those who so generously helped me along my journey to publication, I had remembered my husband, friends, critique groups, writing buddies and people who were generally helpful.
But I had not mentioned Betty.
How could that happen? I mean, we read The Women’s Room together, raised our consciousness, eschewed hormones for freedom. We laughed ourselves silly, and we helped one another chart unknown territory.
When the chips were down, and they seemed to be down plenty in my life, Betty was there, reminding me of who I really am. Without Betty, there would be no novel.
Dearest Betty, please consider this a formal addendum to my acknowledgments. Were it in the book, it would be at the end of the list, because we always save the best for last.