Dead Harvest (36 page)

Chris F. Holm was born in Syracuse, New York, the grandson of a cop with a penchant for crime fiction. He wrote his first story at the age of six. It got him sent to the principal's office. Since then, his work has fared better, appearing in such publications as
Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, Needle Magazine, Beat to a Pulp,
and
Thuglit.

  He's been a Derringer Award finalist and a Spinetingler Award winner, and he's also written a novel or two. He lives on the coast of Maine with his lovely wife and a noisy, noisy cat.

There was a time when I – then but a lonely writer clacking away at a keyboard in a dark corner of my basement apartment – looked upon acknowledgments with skepticism. Writing is, by its nature, a solitary task. So who were these people to whom authors claimed they were so indebted?

  Now, of course, I know better. Because it turns out those people are the difference between a dusty, unread manuscript cranked out by some lonely writer in a dark corner of a basement apartment, and the book you're now holding in your hands.

  To that end, I'd like to first thank my agent, Jennifer Jackson, for her tireless work on my behalf. My path to publication has been circuitous, but Jennifer's enthusiasm and faith have been unflagging.

  Thanks also to Marc Gascoigne, Lee Harris, and the rest of the Angry Robot team, for giving Sam and company such a loving (er, angry and robotic) home. Marc is also responsible for my stellar cover design, which was rendered beautifully by Martin at Amazing 15. Gents, I am forever in your debt.

  My deepest gratitude to Charles Ardai, Frank Bill, Stephen Blackmoore, Judy Bobalik, Hilary Davidson, Leighton Gage, Jon and Ruth Jordan, Sophie Littlefield, Stuart Neville, and Mike Shevdon for their kindness and generosity of spirit. I can't tell you all how much it means to me.

  I'm fortunate be part of an online writing community whose members' friendship and support I value more than I've room here to express. I would, however, like to single out a few of them for championing my work these many years (with my apologies to anyone I've missed, as this list is certainly inadequate to so Herculean a task): Patti Abbott, Patrick Shawn Bagley, Nigel Bird, Paul D. Brazill, R. Thomas Brown and the fine folks at Crime Fiction Lover, Joelle Charbonneau, David Cranmer and his cohorts at Beat to a Pulp, Laura K. Curtis, Neliza Drew, David Dvorkin, Jacques Filippi, Allan Guthrie, Sally Janin, Fiona Johnson, Naomi Johnson, John Kenyon, Chris La Tray, Jennifer MacRostie, Erin Mitchell, Lauren O'Brien, Sabrina Ogden, Dan O'Shea, Keith Rawson and the guys at Crimefactory, Chris Rhatigan, Darren Sant, Kieran Shea, the whole Spinetingler Magazine crew, Julie Summerell, Steve Weddle and the rest of the Needle team, Chuck Wendig, and the inimitable Elizabeth A. White.

  I'd be remiss if I did not include a shout-out to the Cressey clan, fierce cheerleaders one and all. Thanks also to my family, who've not only supported my writing from the get-go, but have also given me no shortage of issues to work out in what one hopes are many books to come. (Kidding, family, kidding. Mostly.)

  And last, but certainly not least, thank you to my lovely wife Katrina: my best friend, my sounding board, my first editor and ideal reader. I never would have had the guts to put pen to paper had she not encouraged me to do so – and even if I'd somehow managed to, I guarantee the result would have been nowhere near as good. Any mistakes contained herein are no doubt my own, but if ever you find I've stumbled onto a fleeting moment of grace, you now know who to thank.