Night of Miracles
Page 19
A Little Town
MASON LOOKS GOLDEN-RED IN THE light of the sun coming up on a late January day. Not much is stirring; the quiet is like a blanket. The snow is melting, and birds hopping about in it have made hieroglyphical indentations. Here and there, on people’s front lawns, are various-size snowmen, listing in one direction or another, like carrot-nosed drunks welcoming visitors. This day will be even warmer than yesterday, never mind the deeper march into winter; mittens and scarves will be left behind on playgrounds.
Outside Sugarbutter bakery, a man loads bread onto a truck. Newspapers are thrown onto porches with a satisfying thwack. Nurses change shifts, cops, too. Roberto starts the coffeemakers at the Henhouse, the grill gets heated up.
Abby and Jason lie awake in their bed, but feign sleep so as not to disturb each other so early in the morning. They will have a busy day today; it’s the grand opening of Menagerie Bookshop, the store they’re opening, complete with dog, cat, parakeet, and goldfish. Lincoln brought Hope into bed with him in the night, as he does every night, and the dog snores her funny snore. Monica and Tiny sleep curled around each other, wedding rings bright on their hands. Iris is up early in her kitchen, preparing for the “Lemon-ganza” class she is teaching this afternoon: four women and one man will be making lemon bars, lemon meringue pie, and gingerbread with an exquisite warm lemon-butter sauce.
Lucille’s alarm clock, stationed now at Iris’s bedside, glows in the relative darkness, but soon the moving hands will be clearly seen and there will be no need for artificial light.
YOU ARE SEATED BY CHOICE or misfortune in a window seat on an airplane. You look out as the plane takes off, rises up higher and higher, levels off. If you chance to glance down, you see a particular kind of order not realized on earth. You might feel a kind of hopefulness at the sight of houses clustered together in their various neighborhoods, at roads running straight or artfully curved, at what look like toy cars. You see the lakes and rivers, occasionally the wide stretch of ocean meeting horizon. You see natural quilts formed by the lay of fields and farmlands, you see the grouping of trees into parks and forests. Sometimes you see the splendor of autumn leaves or Fourth of July fireworks. Or sunsets. Or sunrises.
All of this can inspire something unnameable but nearly graspable, a kind of yearning toward a grand possibility.
Then you land.
And you know something. You can feel it. It’s right there.
In memory of Homer, still here
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I once wrote a children’s book called Ralph Anderson’s Pretty Good Birthday, about a dog who was having a swell birthday until a cat came along. I wrote it on ivory-colored, pulpy paper, illustrated it with crayons, took full advantage of my stapler and Scotch tape dispenser for the “binding,” and presented it to my young daughters. This meant that the reading audience for my book was three, and my payment nothing.
Were it not for the people I want to acknowledge here, I suspect my process would still be much the same.
Kate Medina is the editor who believed in me from day one. Let me tell you a story about her. When we first met, she had read the partial manuscript for my first novel and thought she wanted to buy it. She did have one question: What was going to happen at the end of the book? I didn’t know. I tried to answer, but I didn’t know. And so I said, “I don’t think I can talk about that.” Before the words were fully out of my mouth, she waved her hand and said, “Fine.” And that’s when I knew she was the editor for me. Not only does Kate know and understand writers, she respects their weird ways. She makes me feel like I’m her only author, too. It’s a miracle. When I think about what I am most grateful for in my writing life, Kate Medina is at the top of the list.
Kate has an assistant named Erica Gonzalez, who is the soul of patience and kindness and accommodation. I am grateful to her for favors both large and small, and though I wish her great success in the industry, I hope she stays where she is for a long time.
One of the things I enjoy most in the final stages of having a novel published is working with production editor extraordinaire Beth Pearson. She makes finding the best word or phrase so much fun. Exciting, even. And I trust her judgement implicitly. Thanks, Beth, for your many years of working with me, and for all the help you’ve given me.
I am an author who is perhaps overly invested in her cover art, and I am also an author who is blessed to work with Paolo Pepe on my jacket designs. He doesn’t just say he is open to my opinion, he really is open to my opinion. Also, the man knows what he is doing. I am so lucky that he is on my team, and I always look forward to seeing what he comes up with. Thanks, too, to Barbara Bachman, for the book’s interior design.
Christine Mykityshyn, in publicity, is the consummate professional, and just a really nice person to boot. Her assistant, Stephanie Reddaway, is indispensable in helping to craft a book tour, and she responds to emails lickety-split, no small feat.
When the writing’s done and the book is ready to meet the world, I am so happy to have Avideh Bashirrad, Leigh Marchant, and Andrea DeWerd in charge of the voodoo that they do. I owe you each a dozen of Lucille’s best cookies. Please put in your requests soon so I know how much high-fat butter to buy.
Benjamin Dreyer, you are a continual source of comfort, and a class act. Thank you.
Many sparkly thanks to Suzanne Gluck, my agent, for her expertise and honesty and good ideas, and for being a partner in crime for the Lucy-and-Ethel escapades.
Bill Young: Love and thanks for a gazillion things, including walking the dog in winter.
Speaking of dogs, to Gabby: You really are a good girl. The best girl.
To my writing group, Veronica Chapa, Arlene Malinowsky, Marja Mills, Pam Todd, Michele Weldon (and Phyllis Florin, in absentia): Whew, you save me from myself.
Last, but certainly not least, thank you to every single reader who lets me know that my message is being heard and appreciated. You make my days.
By Elizabeth Berg
Night of Miracles
The Story of Arthur Truluv
Still Happy
Make Someone Happy
The Dream Lover
Tapestry of Fortunes
Once Upon a Time, There Was You
The Last Time I Saw You
Home Safe
The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted
Dream When You’re Feeling Blue
The Handmaid and the Carpenter
We Are All Welcome Here
The Year of Pleasures
The Art of Mending
Say When
True to Form
Ordinary Life: Stories
Never Change
Open House
Escaping into the Open: The Art of Writing True
Until the Real Thing Comes Along
What We Keep
Joy School
The Pull of the Moon
Range of Motion
Talk Before Sleep
Durable Goods
Family Traditions
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ELIZABETH BERG is the author of many bestselling novels, including The Story of Arthur Truluv, Open House (an Oprah’s Book Club selection), Talk Before Sleep, and The Year of Pleasures, as well as the short story collection The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted. Durable Goods and Joy School were selected as ALA Best Books of the Year. She adapted The Pull of the Moon into a play that enjoyed sold-out performances in Chicago and Indianapolis. Berg’s work has been published in thirty countries, and three of her novels have been turned into television movies. She is the founder of Writing Matters, a quality reading series dedicated to serving author, audience, and community. She teaches one-day writing workshops and is a popular speaker at venues around the country. Some of her favorite Facebook postings have been collected in Make Someone Happy and Still Happy. She live
s outside Chicago.
elizabeth-berg.net
Facebook.com/bergbooks
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