by Tracy Kiely
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a writer in possession of the Edgar Award would never find the experience a tedious waste of an evening. In fact, my feelings as I stand here tonight are quite the opposite. I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!
I don’t know how to begin to thank you for this honor. This experience has pierced my soul. I sat here tonight awaiting the announcement of the judges, half in agony, half in hope. And while, I think I may boast myself to be, with all possible vanity, the most unlearned and uninformed female who ever dared to be an authoress, I am nevertheless grateful to those of you who saw more in my little bit of ivory.
I know there are those who regard my books as light and frivolous; a kind of literary Indian Muslin. But to those critics I say this; let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody, not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest. For me, three or four families in a country village is the very thing to work on.
Thank you again. I will treasure this award forever.