Literary Masturbation?

I’m a writer, but not much of a blogger, it seems.  Guess I’ll try again.

Today I saw “The 25 Most Intriguing Book Jackets of the Year.”  Loved it.  Then moved on to find the most exhilarating website for ebook covers – I never plan to really use it, of course, besides my “baby” will be a real book and not an ebook, but it’s SO MUCH fun to just look…

As a writer, I want the traditional “white wedding,” with an agent who helps me secure Mr. Right, an editor to advise me and fix all my flaws before the big day, a publisher to walk me down the aisle, and a publicist to record every second of that stellar, one-brief-moment event.  The way it was meant to be, right?

Like our mothers told us, “true love waits,” and I will not sell out before the time comes.  I have an MFA and twenty-eight years teaching experience; no adjunct professorship will consider me “clean” if I self-sell my wares without the proper guardianship expected before that all-important first cotillion, right?

So I will be a good girl, and keep writing, re-writing, and sending out these useless queries to agents who never read them and small presses who have enough seasoned horses in their stables to last until virtual ponies are the norm or even passé.  Because true love waits, right?

But today I found this website of inexpensive, pre-made ebook covers.  They are glaringly colorful, tawdry, and simply SCREAM “the wrong kind of woman.”  I would die a self-starved virgin before I would consider wrapping my perfect child within such cheap harlot’s clothing, but I have to admit that a little fantasy never hurt anyone.  Right?

“Absolutely not,” I’ll tell them, pushing my hair back from my eyes and swallowing that sweet, dry taste of too much, too soon.  “My book is set in the deep south—nix on the oceanfront cover.”

I’ll have hundreds of reasons to say no, enjoying the flirtatious banter of each one.

“Why is her blouse falling off the shoulder, and where is his other hand?  Not appropriate!”  I may even manage to blush.

“All the heroines look like Angelina Jolie or Jennifer Anniston.  I need Mary Steenburgen.”  That should let ‘em know I mean business.

“Are there any covers that don’t have Barbie and Ken figures?  And what’s up with all the mist?”  I’ll have them sweating, groveling at the feet of one who simply knows her stuff.

“Is there a reason for using so many pics from the Microsoft Clip Gallery? What’s with the symbolism—a gun here, a skull and crossbones there, a caldron, a partridge, and a pear tree? ”

I’ll state my concerns, then finally ask—

“Why is everything so damned shiny?”

The possibilities are endless.  I’m having more fun than I ever have sending queries, and besides, this is a secret.  No one needs to know, just a little gratification to keep me going ‘til the real thing comes along.  Right?

I will never sell out.  True love waits.  But to heck with explaining it—find it yourselves.

I have temporarily abandoned my search for truth and am stopping now to enjoy a good fantasy.  Merry Christmas, folks!


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