No.

No one does.

But good friends…amazing friends…friends deserving of their name IN PRINT…listen anyway.

Good friends respond to the following frantic text messages within minutes: “HELP! I THINK I KILLED OFF THE WRONG CHARACTER! HELP! MUST REWRITE! GOING TO DIE!” They buy you bourbon and meet you at bars and pretend to love your characters as much as you do. Or, better yet, they DO love your characters as much as you do.

Good friends know that you are capable and talk you off the brink of bad decisions. They help you see your potential and encourage you to take chances when you are thinking that it’s better to take the easy way out.

And when you apologize to these friends and say, “I’m sorry I’m talking about the book so much. I’m self-aware to realize that this is not how we should be spending lunch,” instead of admitting you are right, they say it’s okay, it’s fine, and together you wax philosophical about parent/child relationships.

Real, good friends respond to long rambling Facebook posts lamenting how you’re not strong enough to be a writer and your ego is too fragile and you’re pretty sure everyone thinks you are a fraud. They remind you that you are just a paranoid idiot and there are, surprisingly/unsurprisingly, people who really like you. So, shut up.

Yes, a lonely journey indeed.

Because inside my own head at any given time are multiple narratives spinning and weaving and growing into full-fledged stories. Many other authors talk about how they don’t want to bother their friends and family with drafts and writer’s dilemmas. I guess I’m a bad friend. Because if you are my friend, I have asked you to come along this journey with me. Some of you are my beta-readers, some of you are my escape, some of you watch my kids so I can write, and some of you let me wake you up at 3 a.m. to read a new chapter. (Okay, that one is just my husband.) Some of you are just an encouragement to me always—through kind words or excitement over this crazy life I have chosen. I could not ask for a better group of people to spend my time with.

No matter what role you have had in helping this trilogy come to fruition, you are essential to its existence. And to mine.

So (here come some, but not all of, the people, if you want to skip the names and stick with the sentiment, then stop reading):

First of all: THANK YOU TO MY BROTHERS, BRYCE AND CORBIN. I got a ridiculous amount of flak for thanking them after bacon in the last book. I mean, bacon is around every day, is very delicious, and quite literally sustained me through writing The System, but I can understand the issue at its base level. Bacon vs. Brothers seems very callous, especially when I have exceptionally talented brothers. I am lucky to have shared my childhood with them. They are fantastic and I suppose if I had to choose between them and bacon, I’d choose them. (And a specific thank you to Corbin for helping me with the audiobook theme and my trailers and all that stuff that I cannot do on my own. No matter what you are working on, you drop it to help me. I’m grateful. Thank you.)

Thanks Mom and Dad and Matt and my boys; and the entire Sherman clan: It would be impossible to write three books in this timeframe without essential and dedicated support from all of you. People always say that you can’t choose your family or your in-laws, so you are stuck and you have to deal with it. Or something along those lines. Well, I feel like I won the lottery.

Elliott: I don’t know if you will remember this time of our lives with any great clarity, but watching you draw and write your own Virulent books and staying up late with me to tell me all your stories has warmed my heart more than you could possibly imagine. I hope you do grow up to be a writer, little man.

Interlude…a story:

Me: I wrote about a five-year-old boy in my book and he’s kinda like you.

Elliott: Oh. What happens to him?

Me: He gets kidnapped.

Elliott: And then what happens?

Me: And then he is rescued by some brave people.

Elliott: That’s not like me. I’m a superhero. If I were kidnapped, I would rescue myself.

I love you, kid. You are a superhero.

Ike: you were just a mention, a thought, a possibility when I started these books. And here you are now, a “getting big” three-year-old, as I finish this journey, and your little personality is such a joy to me. You are funny and brilliant and creative. You are sly and patient and determined. Your smile slays me. You bring light to everyone with that crooked little grin. If you ever decide that you can forgo the ten bedtime songs, in specific order, every night, in order to go to sleep, then mommy can write more to save up for your braces.

Matt. No words. No gushing. Just. I love you. And I promise I’ll do a little bit of my fair share of the cleaning now. (No, I’m totally kidding. I’m sorry, mean joke. That isn’t going to happen.) I’m sorry that you had no idea when we got married ten years ago that I would turn into a slovenly mess who sat around drinking and eating pizza and spending so many hours in front of the computer that my eyes would start to twitch. You are my biggest fan and my kindest critic. And none of this is possible without you. Everyone should know that. And everyone should also thank you because you are the one who has to deal with me crying at 3am when I know that I have to revise something that already took weeks to write. You deal with that so others don’t have to. Way to take one for the team.

BOOK CLUB! Y’all get top billing because you are my sustenance and my joy. In my best Groban voice: “You lift me up…” Look, I can’t even START to communicate what you all mean to me; so, I’m not even going to try right now. But the love I feel for all of you and for the group we have created is real and powerful. You are a necessity in my life, not unlike breathing. Sometimes I wish my world was just weekends with book club and nothing else. An endless rotation of time with my best friends, my biggest cheerleaders, and just, in general, some of the best women in the entire world. (The world’s a big place, but I’m still very confident in this assessment.)

Sunshine: thank you for all of your hard work as a beta-reader and early champion of all the various forms this book took over the past year. You are honest and thorough and have pulled me back from the brink on so many occasions. Superfluous words don’t cut it. The gratitude runs deep and I hope you know that.

Nicole: I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. You are my rock and my partner in crime and you allowed me to waste entire prep periods with book talk and you never once made me feel like you had better things to do (when you totally had better things to do). You, more than anyone, know exactly where this ending could have gone; thank you for reading seven different versions and helping me put things in perspective. Thank you for peddling this book to all your students and making me feel like a celebrity.

Samantha: you are singularly responsible for giving me the confidence to finish Virulent. And your work on The Variables helped tremendously. Thank you for amazing edits and your insight. I still can’t believe that you gave up your winter break to help get me ready for this launch. You are so incredible in every way. (I mean, there are pictures of you on a Segway on your way to Quidditch practice. You are, in short, my hero.)