First acknowledgements must go to AC Crispin.  When my little ten year old hands picked up the first book of her Han Solo Trilogy, I had no idea that my life would teeter in this direction, but I feel so much gratitude for the care with which she handled a truly delicate character like Han.  She wove complexity into a man who I already sensed had it, and his story landed for me in a way that actually left me unsatisfied upon reviewing the films.  So much of my plot and many of my characters are borrowed shamelessly from Crispin's work.  I hope she'd feel flattered; I hold her in high esteem.  I started writing because of those books.  

When I first began my foray into writing, I appealed to a seventh grade English teacher for advice.  Without pause, she told me, "Great writers read," and I took the advice to heart.   No amount of words can express the debt I owe to many amazing authors whose books I have scoured for the secrets to compelling storytelling.   To Dostoyevsky, I owe the exploration of psychology; to Tolstoy, sweeping narrative; to Dumas, gripping adventure writing; to Steinbeck, an accessible existentialism; and to Marquez, a rich, detailed eye for description.   Modern writers, too, have helped me experience literature in a way some of the old masters haven't.  How I clutched Circe to my chest at times, holding back tears, because of how acutely Miller described a feeling I wasn't sure if other humans even had.  And filmmakers as well have captured that same barely constrained existential crisis or sense of loss or the harnessing of untampered fire, Nolan and Villeneuve in particular.  To all these artists, I don't feel like I stand on your shoulders; I stand in your shadow.  

Of course, as a teacher, heaps of praise onto the many educators who pushed and pulled me throughout my educational career.  A special shout out to the Reading professor at Boston College who squinted and smiled when I told her that I used to be a writer and had given it up, and coyly suggested I should get back into it.  

I have many, many thanks to lend my friend Dave for being the wall that I pelted so many ideas off of.  He has been an ardent listener, brainstormer, critic, and overall resource as I've sailed these stormy seas.  His ability to give encouraging feedback and make suggestion without holding grudge if I disagreed has been priceless.

Finally, boundless adulation for the man himself.  Han Solo could have simply been a stock character; he was written that way, and in the hands of someone less reflective, likely would have risen to little else.  Yet Harrison Ford breathed into Han something more, something...layered.  Those little flashes of emotion across his brow before he smiles, the way he turns his head at just the right time to hide his discomfort, the depth in his gaze, the gravitas in his voice...Ford let Han be more than a flat secondary character, even if he didn't get the space to tell the story.