I remember how I first dreamed of a book with my name on it.
I’d read about other writers and how they felt. The way William Faulkner exalted on the day when he finally received the finished jpg file in an email from his editor . . . and how he immediately posted that image on Facebook with the status line, “HOW COOL M I?”
Oh, the magic of those times.
I mean to say: Look at this! It’s only been kicking around in slightly-unfinished form since forever, because the art director, Rich Deas, needed to hold onto it for last-minute microscopic tweaks and noodles. And believe me, nobody tweaks and noodles like Rich. I owe that guy about twelve beers and a bowl of tweaks and noodles.
Anyway, I love this cover, I think it establishes the right tone. It’s appropriately dark and graphic and — oh, lord, here comes that word we can’t escape these days — edgy.
But regardless of the cover, I always make the same comment: My name should have been bigger. I’ve read that Faulkner felt the same way.
I’m told that I’ll be holding an advance copy of the book sometime in August, that it will hit stores in late September. You work and work, then wait and wait, worry and fret. I’ve learned that the only solution to this sorry state is to be working on a new book. Which reminds me . . . I’ve got to go!