To Everyone I Have Ever Met In My Entire Life.

from Jacqueline

I’ve a confession to make. Before I begin reading a book, I go straight to the “Acknowledgements” page. I love those pages because, more than a biography, more than anything else I find out about an author, that page intrigues me, helps me to build up a picture of the person behind the writer. And I like knowing who writers really are, outside their books. I feel more than a little shortchanged if the only acknowledgment is a short thank you to the editor.

There are writers who have penned particularly good acknowledgements. I remember in one of her books, Susan Isaacs thanked the local chief of police, the fire chief, the Rabbi and several lawyers – a raft of insider knowledge was represented in this list of thanks. Then she wrote (and I am paraphrasing here), “Where their fact doesn’t fit my fiction, I have jettisoned the fact!” That’s my kind of writer. In that one sentence, she acknowledged that we are storytellers, and that any research we do, no matter how painstaking, is there to support the story we’ve created – otherwise we’d all be writing narrative non-fiction.

I am often taken with the words people use in their acknowledgments. Long before I became a published author myself, I read a memoir where the author thanked her “wizard of an editor.” It had never occurred to me that an editor might be something akin to a wizard. Now I know better – wizard, seer, psychic (the better to see inside my mind) ... there’s a lot of things you could call an editor. Many years ago I worked in academic publishing, and in my role was also a “field editor.” Sounds important, and I suppose it was in a way – it meant that if we needed a new book on microprocessors, or some big breakthrough in physics, I was the one who found the academic with the credentials to write the book. When I’d sold the expert on the idea of writing a book for the company, the project was handed off to the editor – the real editor, who saw that book through every stage in the painful process to publication. Having brought a couple of crusty professors on board to write a book on software engineering (I know, that dates me, doesn’t it?), I handed the project over to the in-house editor, a studious type who should have been a professor himself. Imagine my surprise when, in their acknowledgements (where I received fleeting mention), they thanked that editor and waxed lyrical about the many pints of Tetley’s Ale consumed together as the book was knocked into shape. Who would have thought it? I had taken them for a "sherry in the staff common room" pair of chaps!

In one of his books, Garrison Keillor touched upon the more touchy-feely acknowledgment, the sort that begins – and this is my creation, not Mr. Keillor’s – “To Bunty, who cared, and to Russell, without whom both I, and this book, would be incomplete ...” You’ve read ‘em, I know you have.

I’m always curious about the authors who have connections in high places, or those who have friends with aristocratic roots. “Thanks must go to the Contessa Cecilia de Rothschild, for her unwavering support, and to Sir Marcus Cholmondeley, without whom this book might not have come to fruition.” I always envisage the author wafting into a palace in Cannes, holding a perfectly turned out manuscript in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other, and saying, "Darling you're too kind - have a little gander at this for me."

Acknowledgements can cause as much trouble as the dedication – ah, the dedication, subject of another post completely. One of my friends failed to mention a man he considered to be a friend, who had completely ignored the manuscript he’d been sent, and had never offered comments or any response regarding this all-important (to my friend, the author) first novel. When the book was published to critical acclaim, the unacknowledged one became rather stroppy with my friend when his name did not appear on the acknowledgements page. They haven’t spoken since.

I’ve tried to keep everyone happy in my acknowledgements. I’ve thanked everyone who offered advice or information. I’ve drawn attention to my wizards, saints and seers, and I have made sure the people close to me are mentioned, especially considering the times they’ve had to put up with the odd pre-deadine, “No one will ever want to read this load of c**p,” as I fling myself onto my manuscript-strewn desk, my head in my hands. Ah, thanks must go to John, who cared - enough to say, "Come on, Love, you say that about every book."

In the grand scheme of things, the “Acknowledgments” page is a new phenomenon. There was an era of literary endeavor when the only time you would include an acknowledgements page, was if you had written a non-fiction book and needed to thank your sources. You never heard of Jane Austen acknowledging anyone – she was too busy ripping them to shreds in her stories. I can’t imagine Ernest Hemingway acknowledging, or F. Scott Fitzgerald (“Thank you to Zelda, who poured ...” ).

So, what do you think about all the acknowledging, and what does it say about what we write today, or how we want to be seen, as writers?

And in closing, to my fellow Naked Authors, and to our faithful readers – thank you for caring, for being there, for your wizardry with rhetoric, your insightful commentary and for laughing, crying, and just being with us. Thanks must forever go to ... you.

Have a lovely long weekend!

PS: One of my personal favorites among acknowledgments was not taken from a book. Remember Kim Basinger when she received her Oscar for Best Actress in a Supporting Role? She got up there, bless her, smile plastered across her face, and said, “I want to thank everyone I have ever met in my entire life.” Can’t say fairer than that, eh?