The decision to publish my second novel, Certain Liberties, should have given me some relief. Just making a decision lifted a burden of major proportions, but this next stage of creativity didn’t feel as liberating as I’d expected.
“There’s still plenty of work you can do before we set the final draft,” my publisher said.
Feeling the pressure to complete “everything” before the summer exploded with outdoor plans and a riot of family activity, I desperately wanted to give her my manuscript before it was actually finished. She assured me there were a few tasks still calling for attention before that was needed. Ordinarily I like cleaning up details. They quiet me down; assure me my project is balanced. But far from reassuring me, this news that there were still things I hadn’t envisioned awaiting my consideration unsettled me.
“Like what?” I choked, noticing my voice didn’t have the breezy tone I intended.
“Oh, just things like the dedication page, and of course acknowledgments …”
“Stop right there!” I ordered. “I’m already overwhelmed. Seems to me these are two really big deals since they involve other people. Let me just get these done before you give me any more bad news.”
She must have recognized my panic because she did indeed ‘stop right there’, and I went off to do the work, aware of some discomfort I couldn’t identify. Like a sensitive spot on your body you can’t connect to a specific trauma, I could tell something about the Dedication or Acknowledgement page made me sore. And just like one of those mysterious maladies, I couldn’t wait for a private moment to explore inside my head, palpating the essence of dedication and acknowledgement to find out how painful this was likely to be.
I started with the dedication, because that page comes first. No problem. The nature of dedication is clear. Devotion, commitment and loyalty are definitive passions in a broad context. Whether one dedicates work to a friend, colleague or family member, the commitment and loyalty are both implicit and explicit, no matter what their source. I had that page done in no time, possibly having already written it in my head, but that suggested my sore spot was lodged somewhere in acknowledgements and still had to be faced.
I’ve always hated those interminable lists of people no one knows clogging up the end of what might well have been a pleasurable read. Why do they annoy me? Because I’m one of those audience members who stays seated at the movies to read all the credits, right to the very last one. That compulsion might be a discussion for another blog post, but it definitely ensures my attention to all of the acknowledgements an author feels compelled to include. Often, by page three or four of endless boredom, I’ve sworn I would never create such a mire for my own readers when my turn comes. But if I tend toward connecting with the filmmaker or my readers through credits or acknowledgements, then what’s the problem?
The choice of heading for the list of collaborators is part of it. Acknowledgements doesn’t describe the involvement of the people on those pages properly, because it’s clear they’re significant to the author. Acknowledgements have a transitory quality. The dictionary tells us they’re not much more than greetings, or perhaps a response, salute, or wave…all implying that a nod in the direction of the contributor would be enough. But clearly authors who put together an Acknowledgements page feel they have a debt to repay; a debt of gratitude for a special service rendered; a service of anything from emotional support to corrective editing and everything in between, the inference being the book wouldn’t be the same or maybe even exist without them.
And so, as uncomfortable as I am with titling the page, “Acknowledgements”, I’m not at all sure I know what to call it. I don’t care what everyone else writes at the top of that list. I can put whatever I want, and I don’t want to offer these special people ‘a nod’ of appreciation. How can you leave anyone you’ve ever shared oxygen with out when the category is so broad and amorphous? The more specific its nomenclature, the more definitive and meaningful the list.
So…now what? Collaborators would narrow the field nicely and indicate a partnership of some creative degree between the author and honoree, but the noun has connotations for our war-weary planet that are still too painful. The debt of gratitude for the partnership in creativeness needs to be exposed and repaid, but neither Creditors nor Mortgagees, though both might be more accurate than Acknowledgements, has quite the ring of appreciation I’d like to convey. Maybe the fact that these are people to whom I owe a great debt, who I also want to honor for their selfless support, is the key.
I’m thinking the final page of the book should be titled Honor Roll. That alerts the reader a list will follow, but also that it denotes special and unusual distinction for its honorees. Allergic to lists? Avoid my Honor Roll. Curious? Sneak a peek at the end of my book when it comes out in the fall. Wondering who’s on it? Oh, come on. You know who you are! And thank you so much, in advance.