I had a dream last night that my cover for CREEP was pink. Not hot pink, like our signature color on Killer Chicks, but pale pink. Soft pink. Girly pink. I also dreamed it had curly letters that said CREEP: A NOVEL, and that there was a misty, blurry picture of a white flower (yes, flower). My name was also in curly letters, but the font was so small it was barely readable.
It looked like a wedding invitation.
I woke up sweating. Please God. NO.
My subconscious mind is an evil, scary place, and clearly it's in overdrive at the moment to torment and terrorize me more than usual. My editor at Gallery let me know last week that they were having a meeting to discuss the cover concept for my book, and of course that's all I've been thinking about lately. Because cover art is really, really important. I read somewhere that most buyers will purchase a book based on three things: author recognition, the cover, and the back cover blurb.
As a debut novelist, clearly I don't have name recognition. So the cover – front and back – really, really matters. Now, I can't imagine that anyone who's read CREEP would imagine a flowery cover in baby pink... but you never know, do you? You just never know what someone else's vision for your book will be. A writer friend whose book comes out next year sent me a picture of his publisher's first attempt at his cover... and it was Not Good. In fact, it was so Not Good that if it had been my cover, I would have curled up on the floor in a fetal position, sucking my thumb and wishing for the world to go away. Luckily, they re-did the cover and now it's outstanding! (Names withheld to protect the innocent.)
I can't imagine what it will feel like to see my cover for the first time. I'm guessing it will make things feel more real. Right now, even with all that's happened, things still feel sort of... surreal.