Having spent the better part of the last three years writing a book (and that doesn’t include the first three years I spent on it in the early aughts), I must admit I had not given a lot of thought to the acknowledgments. Some thought, sure. I kept a list on my computer, and every time I went to another archives or library, I’d make a note. But not, perhaps, as much as this underappreciated section of the book deserves.
Navigating the minefield of potential mistakes
The first challenge is accidentally leaving someone out. I raked through my notes, emails, journals, and manuscript drafts to try to ensure everyone who contributed to the book is on the list. But I may have missed someone. If it’s you, I apologize. It wasn’t intentional. Conversely, there is the issue of including people who, while supportive and interested in the project, didn’t contribute in a meaningful way other than to ask, “hey, how’s your book going?” I’m grateful for their interest, but I don’t think it rises to the level of include-in-the-acknowledgments. Hopefully they don’t either.
The second challenge is thanking people without getting them in trouble. Sometimes, going above and beyond in your job as, say, a librarian, means that you are going above and beyond your job description. That could be very helpful to the historian seeking that certain source, but maybe not so much to you when performance reviews roll around. So instead of, “I’d like to thank the staff at the Big History Library for not only fetching materials I requested but personally dropping them at my front door free of charge along with a double tall soy latte,” it’s smart to write something like, “The Big History Library staff graciously assisted with my sometimes persnickety research requests.” Not that I’d use “persnickety” in the acknowledgments.
Who goes first?
The third challenge is the order. Conventional wisdom says people are listed in order of importance, least to most, but that didn’t really work. My parents had an enormous influence over my choice of career and residence, although they could not have predicted that when they took me and my sister on a national parks road trip when I was 12. How to handle this? Well, they got thanked first because they set the stage for everything that followed, but that certainly doesn’t mean they are the least important people in the acknowledgments.
In fact, no one who merits inclusion the acknowledgments is unimportant. That’s why they’re in the acknowledgments in the first place. This isn’t some unrehearsed (ahem) awards speech, where the winners, overcome by emotion and disbelief, start naming everyone they ever knew. This is a book, a finite entity that, thanks in part to the assistance of a number of people, is published. For reals. I ended up with a family -> professionals -> friends -> family order, which works for me.
How much detail?
The fourth challenge is the amount of detail to include, which dictates the length of the acknowledgments. Reading the acknowledgments in other books by authors I admire, I discovered that I am not a fan of long-winded thanks. I get it. This is the one chance to let people know how much their help meant to you. But personally, I don’t need to know the details of that help. Your high school best friend brought you pizza and beer to keep your midnight writing sessions moving along, painted your garage, and watched your five small children while you proofread? Cool. But do we really need to know that? For me, the answer was no.
Therefore, my approach has been more journalistic and less gushing. It’s hard, though, because the acknowledgments are arguably the most personal part of the book (other than the book itself, which in my view is the most personal statement an author can make). So, how to thank everyone appropriately but not go overboard? Basically, I’ve taken the approach of “this person did this for me or for the book, and I’m grateful.”
Maybe a little mush
Mr. Adventure was particularly insistent on this point. “Don’t be too mushy,” he cautioned. Well, many of those mentioned in the acknowledgments know that I am a 5’5″ pillar of mush, especially when it comes to Mr. Adventure. The last paragraph in the acknowledgments is about him, and the book is dedicated to him. Before I wrote that section, I’d been thinking about how to try to thank him for several years.
I drafted the rest of the acknowledgments first and, as with everything else in the book, asked him to edit it. (Only Mr. Adventure understands my proclivity for passive voice and patiently points it out to me. Over and over and over.) Once I was happy with the draft, I wrote the last paragraph.
And then, because I couldn’t quite bring myself to finalize something without a once-over by him, I sent it to him. Texted it, actually. Very 21st-century of me, I know. I knew I’d nailed it when he texted back one edit (only one!) and wrote, “It’s beautiful. I’m really touched.” Still, I double-checked when he got home: “It’s not too mushy, right?” “Nope,” he said. “It’s great.”
Whew. Now I just hope everyone else who’s mentioned feels the same way.
A thoughtful post on a topic that will, hopefully, be pertinent for me some day!! Sometimes when I listen to an audiobook that includes acknowledgements, I listen all the way through just to hear how and who the author thanks. I will refer back to your post once I get closer to the stage of publication — thanks for pulling your thoughts on this together so nicely, Lauren!
Thank you Kathie!