He was sweepin, ya sonsabitches: The Last Picture Show, by Larry McMurtry.
Empty Devils: The Tempest, by William Shakespeare ('Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.').
I Ain't Livin' Long Like This was written by Rodney Crowell. Besides Crowell's version, the song has been recorded by Emmylou Harris, Jerry Jeff Walker, Webb Wilder, and Ole Waylon.
And, of course, everything by Ole Hank. If there's a ghost in these pages, it's as much his as Scott Landon's.
I want to take a moment of your time to thank my wife, too. She's not Lisey Landon, nor are her sisters Lisey's sisters, but I have enjoyed watching Tabitha, Margaret, Anne, Catherine, Stephanie, and Marcella do 'the sister thing' for the last thirty years. The sister thing is never the same from day to day, but it's always interesting. For the stuff I got right, thank them. For the stuff I got wrong, cut me some slack, okay? I've got a great older brother, but I was sisterdeprived.
Nan Graham edited this book. Quite often reviewers of novels— especially novels by people who usually sell great numbers of books—will say 'So-and-so would have benefited from actual editing.' To those tempted to say that about Lisey's Story, I would be happy to submit sample pages from my first-draft manuscript, complete with Nan's notes. I had first-year French essays that came back cleaner. Nan did a wonderful job, and I thank her for sending me out in public with my shirt tucked in and my hair combed. As for the few cases in which the author overruled her…all I can say is, 'reality is Ralph.'
Thanks to L. and R.D., who were there to read these pages in first draft.
Finally, great thanks to Burton Hatlen, of the University of Maine. Burt was the greatest English teacher I ever had. It was he who first showed me the way to the pool, which he called 'the language-pool, the myth-pool, where we all go down to drink.' That was in 1968. I have trod the path that leads there often in the years since, and I can think of no better place to spend one's days; the water is still sweet, and the fish still swim.
S.K.
I will holler you home.
