Buy Our Latest Titles
Events
Latest Tweets

BlogBurst.com

The Authors

MONDAY

Writing To Live

TUESDAY

Wild Card Tuesdays

WEDNESDAY

Write From Wrong

Agented Provocateur

THURSDAY

Changing Feet

The Aussie

FRIDAY

Off-Beat

Ghost Writer

WEEKENDS

Visit Our Archives!

ON HIATUS

Comma Sutra

And Furthermore...

Entries in cover art (1)

Sunday
Dec132009

An Author's 12 Days of Christmas 

by Toni McGee Causey

 

An Author's 12 Days of Christmas

(with apologies to cover artists everywhere*)

 

On the first day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

            One sad example of some cover art.

 

On the second day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

            Two antidepressants

            So I’d overcome that awful cover art.

 

On the third day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

            Three rounds of pep talks,

            Two antidepressants.

            “Please don’t off yourself; it’s not bad cover art.”

 

On the fourth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

            Four potential pen names.

            Three rounds of pep talks.

            Two antidepressants.

            ‘Cause the publisher really loved that cover art.

 

On the fifth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

            

 Five Re-al-ity Checks.

 Four potential pen names.

 Three rounds of pep talks.

 Two antidepressants.

 Since I was doomed when the world saw that cover art.

 

On the sixth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

            Six bottles of wine.

            Five. Re-ali-ty Checks!

            Four potential pen names.

            Three rounds of pep talks.

            Two antidepressants.

            Plus a note about more samples of cover art.

 

On the seventh day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

 

Yes, I know he's not leaping. Get your own poem. Seven Lords A’ Leaping. (Hell, I don’t know, there was wine involved.)

 Six bottles of wine. (all gone now) (duh)

 Five Re-al-ity Checks.

 Four potential pen names.

 Three rounds of pep talks.

 Two antidepressants.

                            As I sobered up to see the newest art.

 

On the eighth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

            Eight frantic emails. (because I was off somewhere with…)

            Seven Lords A’ Leaping. (wouldn’t you be?)

            Six (more) bottles of wine.

            Five. Re-al-ity. Checks.

            Four potential pen names.

            Three rounds of pep talks.

            Two antidepressants.

            Because the newest was truly terrible cover art.

 

On the…where am I again? Nine? Seriously? Already? Can we move it back to eight? I might not make the deadline, see, because there were these Lords…

 

On the ninth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

            Nine more artwork options.

            Eight frantic emails.

            Seven Lords A’ Leaping. (They had their own stash,               I swear.)

            Six (more) bottles of wine.

            Five. Re-al-ity. Checks.

            Four potential pen names.

            Three rounds of pep talks.

            Two antidepressants.

            And a deadline to pick out just one I could live with and not slit my throat over, and no, that doesn’t fit the meter, but YOU try having metered prose when you’re slitting YOUR throat and we’ll talk then, ‘kay?

 

On the tenth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

            Ten warnings to quit calling the artist.

            Nine more artwork options.

            Eight frantic emails.

            Seven Lords A’ Leaping. (like they had to worry                   about artwork, hmph)

            Six (more) bottles of wine.

            Five. Re-al-ity. Checks.

            Four potential pen names.

            Three rounds of pep talks.

            Two antidepressants.

            All for artwork my dog could do in a hurricane.

 

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

            Eleven restraining orders. (You know, that first cover wasn’t all that bad.                   If my name were bigger, it’d be perfect.)

            Ten harried phone calls.

            Nine more artwork options.

            Eight frantic emails.

            Seven Lords A’ Leaping (I wonder if one of them is an artist? What are the odds?)

            Six (more) bottles of wine.

            Five. Re-al-ity. Checks.

            Four potential pen names. 

            Three rounds of pep talks.

            Two antidepressants.

            And a reminder that I need to work in this town again.

 

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me

            Twelve beautiful cover flats. (They spelled my name correctly. Yay!)

            Eleven restraining orders.

            Ten harried phone calls.

            Nine more artwork choices.

            Eight frantic emails.

            Seven Lords A’ Leaping (Geez. Cover models.             When will they learn authors have no clout?)

            Six (more) bottles of wine.

            Five. Re-al-ity. Checks.

            Four potential pen names.

            Three rounds of pep talks.

            Two antidepressants.

            So I could practice saying, “I love my cover art.”

 

On the thirteenth day of… what? No, I hadn’t heard of the page limit. Really? Well, I thought it was going to go all the way to fifteen. Or so. Maybe weave a subplot in there? Something about a Santa Ninja Assassin and his pet… no? Really? Can I edit, then? Hello? Hello? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* because I really did love my own cover art.

 

Happy holidays, everyone. What's on YOUR wish list this year?