The Making of a Book Cover

There’s an old adage… you can’t judge a book by its cover, meaning (according to the Brittanica Dictionary) “that you shouldn’t judge someone or something based only on what you see on the outside or only on what you perceive without knowing the full situation.” It’s a good reminder to try not to make snap judgments about people and situations.

However, when it comes to actual reading materials, I think many of us fall into the trap of judging books by their covers.

Let’s face it: So many books, so little time. If I’m in a bookstore with the goal of choosing just one book (even if I might want to buy 20) the cover–as well as the title–WILL play a huge role in my decision, especially if the author is unknown to me, or the book hasn’t been specifically recommended. And I don’t even consider myself a visual person, so I think this may be even more true for others.

That’s why the cover of a book is so important.

My first two books were published by major houses, which meant I had very little say over their covers–or titles, both of which were changed from my originals. I could suggest tweaks but I had no say over the whole concept. I was lucky to love the cover for my first book, Escaping Into the Night, but I never liked the cover for my second book, Playing Dad’s Song. It wasn’t much consolation that the book with the cover I liked did way better than the book with the cover I didn’t like.  I couldn’t help but wonder and wish that a stronger cover would have made a difference with this book’s  performance in the market.

My third book, Wolf in the Suitcase, was a poetry chapbook published by a small press, and I had a lot of say in the cover design. I chose a painting by my late father-in-law, Michihiro Yoshida, in part to honor him post-mortem. Since poetry is tough to sell to people who don’t know you, I didn’t really think too much about market impacts, though I hoped the bright and engaging colors would evoke interest.

And this brings me to my current short-story collection,  Immigrants, coming soon! When the publisher, Creators Press, first asked me for my ideas, I sent a couple of photos I’d taken on my trip to the U.S./Mexico border, but they thought these images were too blatant, especially since most of the stories weren’t about the border. After their team generated a list of different ideas, we followed up on two possibilities: a person at a crossroads, and a half-hidden face. When the designer worked up both images, it was clear to me that the face was the winner.

Still, there were several more iterations. The first face looked too white, the second too young and romantic. In a subsequent draft, the tear in the curtain looked too ill-defined, so the designer came up with the idea of adding barbed wire. This certainly raised the clarity and emotional temperature; however, I was worried about the implied violence in the image, since the emphasis of the book is more about human connections than about politics. So I asked the designer for one draft with the barbed wire and one without, and then asked around 15 people–writers, artists, and activists–to comment on which one they liked better.

While the majority of those I asked seemed to think the barbed wire image was more powerful, those who didn’t like it, felt strongly (as I did) that the implied violence was a turn-off. But one of the people I asked, got her artistic juices flowing. After printing and cutting up different pieces of the image, she came up with a hybrid of the two that had pleats and just a hint of barbed wire, which the designer took as a model for the final draft. While I was a bit worried about being so picky and taking so long, I was happy that the designer (instead of thinking I was a pain in the butt) thanked me and said, “I feel like this has been a very rewarding process so far, and I’m really excited about the final product we can achieve!”

 

So, there we have it. Who knows what impact the cover will have on the book’s success, but I hope that if Immigrants is judged by its cover, it will be judged favorably.

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The Quest for Perfect Words

It’s amazing how many times I can edit the same piece of writing. For the last five days, I’ve hunkered over Ganesh Ascends to Heaven, about a woman who kills an Indian pedestrian in the U.S. and goes to India to try to make sense of the man’s paintings and her own life. It’s one of the stories in my forthcoming collection, Immigrants (Creators Press, Fall 2023).

So I’ve started every morning re-reading the same 14 pages, shifting pieces of paragraphs back and forth–up and down the page, deleting words and putting them back in; deleting commas and putting them back in; going back to a file of an earlier draft to splice in a sentence I’d eliminated, all in the quest of trying to make the story sail more smoothly.

And the dirty truth: I couldn’t tell you with certainty whether what I’ve come up with is better than what I had before. But I think it is! At least–today–I like it a whole lot better!

I will say this: it absolutely helps me to take breaks from my writing, long breaks, where I can return to what I’ve written with my mind in a totally different place and assess the story as if I’m reading it, rather than writing it. I just have to hope that I don’t have too many “What Was I Thinking” moments that Christine Lavin totally nails in her very funny song.

The important thing to remember is that everything is changeable, but also to take care not to throw the baby out with the bathwater.

What I noticed on the initial read this round, having not looked at the story for a couple of months was a clunkiness to the writing–details that didn’t need to be there that slowed the story down. So, I was able to chop out 300 words, shortening the story by an entire page, with no essence lost.

And I noticed more sloppiness–places where I used the same verb or a weak verb, or too many instances of words like “that” or “just.” (And this was after spending a month last year on micro-editing the entire collection, focusing entirely on sentence structure and word choices.)

And it’s also after two rounds of editing by my publisher, who has been great at flagging larger contextual/developmental questions as well as clunky and ungrammatical phrases.

So the underlying moral of this story–perfection is elusive, like the graph going toward infinity. Yet, I feel energized pursuing it, getting closer and closer to that unreachable axis.

 

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