Flaming June

I just published Twenty Questions as an electronic book and here’s the cover.

It’s taken from a painting called Flaming June by Frederic Leighton, 1895, currently housed in Arte de Ponce in Ponce, Puerto Rico. I’m not sure that the tone is right. The novel is foreboding, but the picture I’ve chosen is dreamy and romantic. Can I choose a cover primarily because I love it? My character’s name is June, like the woman in the painting, and in the book (written without the painting in mind!) this painting is mentioned to June.

When she said her name, he had said, ‘Flaming June, like the painting.’
She knew the painting he meant. It was a woman lying back in an orange dress, with golden hair spread out on a pillow. She did look like the woman in the painting. She had always secretly thought so.

Did you notice the plants in the upper right portion of the painting? They are the poisonous oleander. The oleander symbolizes

• the mother
• caution, the need to beware
•  the close relationship between sleep and death.

Each of those things is central to the story. I recently read an article in Salon claiming that people actually get more pleasure out of a book or movie if they know the ending, but I don’t believe that, and I am not going to say why each of these symbols in relevant.

Here is the first cover:

Readers are usually surprised to hear that authors, unless they are famous and powerful, don’t choose their covers. I like this cover although it makes the book look like a mystery, which it isn’t. It has a mystery in it, but it doesn’t follow a mystery format. A newspaper wrote an article about me and the caption said, “Mystery writer,” which was a surprise.

I like the green and pink colors. I like the hydrangeas. I like the fact that they are an Oregon flower and the book is set in Oregon. Often covers are chosen with no attention to this kind of detail. Once when I complained about the fact that one of my book covers had no relationship to the book, an editor told me, “Writers are always so picky about that stuff!” Readers, she said, never notice. But it’s not true. Readers do notice.

An oleander.

electronic publishing

In response to my last post, reader Miriam Sagan asked what the alternative to electronic self-publishing is– oh, we have to think of a better term, that one is way too long. The other choice? The other choice is to spend who knows how much time looking for an agent and then finally, if I find one, wait for them to try to sell my manuscript. Maybe I get lucky and they manage to find a publisher. Then I take whatever terms are offered because I’m so grateful that someone wants it. Then I wait two more years for the book to come out and spend a month or so in stores before it disappears. I’m not sure that’s the best route anymore.  I’ve been reading everything Barry Eisler writes about electronic self-publishing, oh that term again! I want what’s best for my writing. That’s my starting point.

not always Plan B

I’m thinking of publishing my new book, Watching Rhonda Honey, myself as an e-book. Barry Eisler points out that an electronic book is still a book, still a story, just a different delivery system. He turned down a half a million dollar contract so he could publish his latest book himself electronically. Self-publishing is different now.  It is not always Plan B.

>they don’t deserve books

Today I bought two books at the library book sale: Sister Noon by Karen Joy Fowler and Tales of the Master Raceby Marcie Hershman. They were $3 each. The woman next to me said to her husband, “Three dollars for a paperback! That’s ridiculous. I can get them for nothing at the Senior Center.” Three lousy dollars for a whole book. Since when did people start thinking they shouldn’t pay for books? How do they think publishers and writers and printers and booksellers and all the people who work to make a book get paid? Plus, it was a benefit for the library, for crying out loud. Come on.

>not because chomsky needs the 80 cents

Yesterday I bought twenty novels at the library book sale. I bought The Tortilla Curtain by TC Boyle and two books by Elizabeth Bowen. I bought Zorba the Greek, House of Sand and Fog, The Temple of My Familiar. I bought three books by one of my favorite writers, Kent Haruf. I bought Dorothy West, Raymond Carver, James Elroy and Katherine Porter. I bought a book by Louis de Bernieres, author of one of my favorite books, Birds Without Wings. I bought essays by Ursula Le Guin and letters from my hero, Flannery O’Connor. The books cost only one or two dollars each.

I felt a little guilty about this. I’ve been getting more and more irritated by the market in cheap books. People who wouldn’t think of shopping at Walmart, because they understand the connection between money spent and things that happen in the world, don’t think twice about never spending a penny they don’t have to for books. Who do they imagine supports books, if not book lovers? How do they think publishers decide which books to publish, if not through book sales? I’m being self-serving, but — every book you buy is a vote, it’s a vote that counts. It’s a way of saying to a publisher– we like this. We want more of it.

I’m on a peace listserv, and recently there were posts between some of the members about one of Chomsky’s books. It was the book that Hugo Chavez held up in front of cameras on the news. Some people in the group wanted to read it, and there was a big discussion about how to get ahold of the book– the library had a copy but it was checked out, someone had one copy they could loan, maybe they could find a used copy, etc. For crying out loud, go buy a copy. Not because Chomsky needs the 80 cents he’ll get from the sale, but because your purchase tells the publishing world– we want this. We’ll pay for it.