“For Tim, forever.”

So, after several writing and revising years, the formation of a wonderful writing group, the extraordinary generosity and encouragement of some very classy authors, the miracle of finding a fabulous agent, and her success in finding a publisher in a tough market, my debut murder mystery is about to come out.

In the acknowledgements, I thank people by name. But, today I want to thank the one person I can’t walk up to and hug, the one whose copy of the book I can’t sign with all my love, the one whose face won’t be there, smiling proudly, when I start to read at a bookstore.

Tim Rose was my life partner for 18 years and a friend for almost as long before that. He was a gifted artist (www.mobilesculpture.com), a loyal friend, a loving dad, and an unswerving supporter of all my dreams. He believed in me to an extent that’s hard to explain and was even harder to escape. When I told him how difficult it was to get a book published, he said, “You just write it and it’ll happen.” To prove his point, he promptly wrote a book (okay, it was a short book), found a creative young friend to pitch it to Chronicle Books and, voila, there it was, Exploring the Fine Art of Mobiles.

I gave him some p.r. advice about getting attention for his beautiful artwork and he sailed into the project with no hesitation. The results: newspaper articles, television segments, a web site well before that was standard, good commissions. An education video company approached him and I now treasure his gentle voice explaining the process of creating a mobile. “Start from the bottom….”

A week before he died, sitting in our living room, surrounded by the friends who were with us every day, he said, “I want you to get an agent before I die.” I said that it was a hard task and lots of people worked years at it. My defensiveness probably frustrated him. He had no patience for self-doubt, rarely letting himself sink into that state. His consistent advice to other artists was “Go for it!” and he took his own advice.

When I found an agent, several months after he died, it felt miraculous, like a fairy godmother had waved a wand over me. Except I have a strong hunch my magical helper wore jeans and Balinese vests, and what he was waving was a pair of needle-nosed pliers.

So, here’s to you, Tim, with my thanks for your optimism and your faith in the people you cared about, and with my love, forever.