Crier's War - Nina Varela Page 0,128

do this. You had so much more faith in me than I ever had in myself; when I said “if,” you always said “when.” I don’t think that’s the norm. I got lucky with you. Thank you for loving this strange daughter. Thank you for raising me in houses full of books. Thank you for encouraging every story. My first readers, my home. I love you.

Piera, you’re the younger one, but I think you’ve taught me more than I’ve ever taught you. You are my role model. You are empathy and bravery and damn good poetry. No offense to our parents, but I’m your biggest fan.

Tony, you’re already teaching me new things. How dare you be so young but so wise. Remember I love you, remember I miss you, remember my home is your home, remember I am here for you, always. Fiona, thank you for your endless love. You didn’t have to make me your daughter, but you did. From the very beginning. Paul, thank you for everything you have done for us; thank you for being there, unconditionally.

Thank you to Nana and Grandpa for the love and support and Doctor Who marathons and fruitcakes and just for being there. To Granny, I miss you; I vow to never see a giraffe without thinking of you.

Yes Homo, Full House, my guad, thank you for your weirdness, for your kindness, for making me laugh, for listening, for making this southern baby feel at home in LA; you are worth the lack of green things. To Amy, thank you for the music-up-windows-down fly away nights, thank you for the Treat Yourself days, for your loud, beautiful heart, for always texting me when there’s a particularly good moon.

Thank you to Mr. Wilson for seeing something in me, for taking me seriously. For the Jane Kenyon.

Thank you to Lady for being consistently horrible and also the love of my life. Thank you to Crave Café for being open 24/7. Thank you to Namjoon for the light.

Glasstown folks, thank you for making this happen. Thank you for giving this queer girl a chance to write about queer girls. Thank you to Lexa for being there every step of the way, for sparking everything, for loving this story and these characters so deeply, for believing in me and my writing, for your patience and hard work, for championing this story, for being gentle when you remind me for the thousandth time that not everything can be an inner monologue and there does, at some point, need to be a plot. Thank you to Jessica Sit for helping bring this world to life, Mekisha Telfer and Kat Cho for your thoughtfulness and insight across so many drafts, Lauren Oliver for making space for stories like this. Inkwell folks, Stephen Barbara and Lyndsey Blessing, thank you for getting this book on the shelves.

Thank you to everyone at : Karen Chaplin for turning a draft into a book, for untangling some very tangled threads, for working hard to make this book beautiful inside and out; Rosemary Brosnan for believing in this story from the beginning; David Curtis and Erin Fitzsimmons for the absolutely gorgeous cover; Megan Gendell for the copyediting (I’m sorry about all the commas); Jon Howard for bringing everything together; the entire marketing and publicity team for making sure people actually read this thing; Emily Berge-Thielman for the hard work and enthusiasm despite my social media ineptitude.

Thank you to Ryan Douglass—I appreciate you, your effort, your thoughtfulness.

Thank you to the old readers. I’ve been posting my writing online for over a decade, and I was always, always met with kindness. Some of that writing was incredibly cringey—the work of an angsty thirteen-year-old. It would have been easy to tear it apart. Nobody did. I cannot tell you how much your kindness and support meant to that angsty thirteen-year-old. And that angsty sixteen-year-old. And that angsty twenty-year-old. And—you get the idea. You made me keep writing. Really, above all else, it was you. Your comments, your kudos, your friendship, across multiple platforms, across dozens of stories. From the silent lurkers to the faithful commenters to the online friends I’ve known for years, it was you. I was sad and lonely and I needed someone to tell me, “You are not wasting your time, you are good at this, keep going,” and you did. Over and over again, you did. Tens of thousands of you. Ironically, I cannot put it into words: how much that meant, how much that means. How much you helped me. I wrote for you. I write for you. Thank you.

To the queer readers: for reading this book, but also just for existing. Some people will try to tell you your story doesn’t matter. That is the biggest lie you will ever hear. Reader, everything you feel and experience and create is vital to this world. Never sit down; never shut up. Nobody else wants to write about us, so: screw it. We’ll do it ourselves. We will write ourselves into every genre. We will make it impossible for anyone to pretend we don’t exist. Please tell your story—I’d love to read it. Thank you for reading mine.

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