August 8th update.
Looking at these images now, I’m partly impressed, partly disturbed. This concept is really kind of — odd.
I was definitely going for something subversive here, and the smiley face on the human body comes off as more than a little wacko. I still kinda like it, especially how the smiley face is looking up at the title.
But you know, really what it boils down to is: If I can’t be on the cover of my own book, I’m sure as fuckity fuck not putting Josh Coleman, my unwitting photographer from Unsplash, on the cover.
Especially because he’s younger and way more hot than me. Yes I am immature, spiteful and really—kind of a bitch.
I mean, someone call the Globe and Mail, already!
Just to keep things interesting, I am completely reworking the cover design. I have three versions which all have exactly the same elements but each of these draws attention in different ways and tells a slightly different “story”.
Here they are. Tell me in the comments which one you prefer, and why. I’d love to hear your views and reasoning. Click on the images to view full size and navigate through.
By the way, I am using a bigger font size for the title, and will use three lines instead of two. I realize it’s not optimum for readability as presented here. For font geeks, my display fonts are Rockwell Extra Bold and Lucida Handwriting; and the book text proper is set in Garamond.
My thought process, yes, there was one, behind this cover:
I realized I had to take “me” a little bit out of the equation. I sat myself down and explained to myself that, since no one actually knows of me, present gracious company excluded, no one is going to exclaim, “Oh, how ripping! A paperback plastered with images of David Roddis, and we KNOW how excellent his work is! Let’s buy it without even knowing what’s inside! In fact, give me fifty copies so I can distribute it throughout my network of the recently-released criminally insane! Ta ever so!”
No, I don’t see that happening, and besides all of the criminally insane are already hanging out with me. Mr One-Step-Ahead, as usual!
Anyway, I got a little sulky as I explained this to me, which made explainer-me rather lose patience. This resulted in a long, drawn-out kicking and screaming fit by explained-me, which I simply ignored, as Dr. Benjamin Spock would have recommended, and, in fact, I ended up putting me on a “time out”. Once I’d calmed down and accepted, however reluctantly, and with a LOT of fake sniffling and whining, that everything isn’t about me, 24/7, I allowed myself out of the bedroom and rewarded myself with a Peak Freen biscuit, the one with the gelatinous, red centre, and some No Name Earl Grey.
However, I will say that, when I find out who is responsible for everything not being about me 24/7, there is going to be, hoo boy, a conversation. Lemme tell ya. Yeppir.