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I then had the misfortune to marry into a family of intelligent, generous, and insanely supportive people. Special thanks to Vivian, my blessed other mother; Donna, for the grammar and content notes and constantly making me feel like not just an in-law but a true sister; Chris and Derek, for not complaining while we spent those hours on the phone; Debra, Bill, Michael, and Justin, for being genuinely thrilled when I told them about this project; and Ollie Jane, for giving me back what I’d lost eleven years ago, a living grandmother.

Then there’s the extended family and friends who might not know how much a comment here or a suggestion there, or just a willingness to share the ups and downs of this life, has meant to me: Beth, Candy, Allan, Christiana, Carolina Joy, Sean, Katey, Maggie, Jack, Fred, Marianne, Freddie, Erin, Greg, Ralph, David, Katie, Tony, John Mitchell, Adrian, Julie, and most recently, Katherine. A special heapin’ helping of blame goes to Sam, who knows I wouldn’t be alive without her love of so many years.

Of course I can’t leave out Maura, who has never failed to take me seriously and in whose debt I plan to be for as many years as she’ll have me as a client.

And Jessica, who first invited me to turn my pitches into prose.

Oh, and let’s not forget Jeri Taylor, who actually poured copious amount of fuel on a small fire when she invited me to Paramount to pitch for her when Voyager was still in production; her cohort in crime, Bryan Fuller, who kept asking me to come back with more stories; and, finally, Mike Taylor. Sometimes negative feedback is more empowering than positive feedback. I learned that lesson at his hands, and what had been one of dozens of stories I’d created for Voyager over the years became a mission, then a teleplay, and finally the core story of this book.

Jeff was way too accommodating to a first-time writer to go without mention. Now I just have to wonder, why was he listening to me? He gets the shame of changing what he had done so I wouldn’t have to. Does he now begin to see how wicked I truly am?

Heather bears the lion’s share of responsibility. She answered an email and I found a soul sister I’d never imagined could exist in this world. She knows what she’s done and that I couldn’t have written a word of this without her constant love, support, comments, suggestions, and belief. I honestly don’t know sometimes how I got through a day before we were writing partners. An extra-special heart-stopping thanks for the moment she said, “I’m thinking we could incorporate Siren Song into this project. What do you think?” Somewhere inside, she knew better than I did how much I wanted this story in the world.

I notice Marco there, trying to fade into the woodwork as if all he did was his job, but oh, no… he’s not getting off that easy. He had no good reason to believe in me or hand me such a glorious project my first time at bat. I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to figure out how to repay that faith and to live up to his high regard. It means the world to me.

But always, at the end, it’s the husband’s fault, isn’t it? Deciding who to dedicate my first book to wasn’t hard. He’s listened to every word I’ve ever written. But more than that, he’s walked this road with me, constantly by my side, and his love has given me strength and courage I didn’t know existed. There are no words for my gratitude to him or the daily wonder that is our life together.

So, if you enjoy any of what you are about to read or have just read, you know whom to call.

About the Author

Here’s what happened.

Kirsten never wanted to be a writer. Nothing against writers, you understand. She’s a voracious reader, as the many groaning bookcases in her house will attest, along with the nice folks at Brentano’s, Barnes & Noble, Waldenbooks, and Amazon.com.

But writing is hard.

The problem was she loved to tell stories. She’d been doing it as long as she could remember, and by the time she was in her teens she had figured out that telling stories onstage was her favorite thing in