I'm working toward re-releasing an existing, published book, Evening Breezes. The novel has only ever existed in e-format, but my plan this year is to do a print run, and I'd like to launch it with a new cover.
I wrote this book over a decade ago, and I've edited it several times since, and the final version is a difficult emotional piece about coming to terms with the death of a friend and innocence.
What do I want? I want to capture all of that! :-) Seriously, there is a poem at the heart of the book that should probably be the inspiration for the cover and it describes a young woman playing in the rain, dancing in puddles, and an old man seeing his own youth reflected in hers--maybe it isn't a feeling you lose, but something you experience in different ways throughout life.
Anyway, I've attached the previous cover, and the poem below to help express what I want. The previous cover is probably too esoteric/abstract to capture an audience, but most importantly, I think it is not captivating as a book cover.
Reflections, loss, youth, friendship... difficult concepts that need an artist to capture in an elegant relationship on a single sheet of paper.
Please do not hesitate to contact me! I'm available... if there is a delay in my response, please forgive it. I will get back to you as soon as I am able.
Attached a completed cover from another work for dimension information. The binding portion, the thickness, will vary depending on the weight of the paper, but Evening Breezes will be roughly 1/3 the size of the attached reference.
CreateSpace template PDF is also included. They've changed their system since I used it last, but using either reference for the size will be acceptable. I should be able to pay for clean up after the fact, if the size of the binding changes for some reason. I don't have a firm date for the new edition yet, so the specifics of the font, margins, and final page number have not been determined.
BACK OF THE BOOK EXCERPT: (Maybe too long?)
The rain fell hard on the roof of the car, heavy but hollow as I was driven to the
funeral. I sat in back, alone in my grief; selfishly refusing that anyone understood,
or that anyone cared or could care. Somehow the rain helped make it easier not
A gentleman in black hurried over to me. After a few seconds and an
incomprehensible greeting, the man offered me his umbrella. His insistence felt non-negotiable. He walked with me, and I hated him completely.
Inside, a somnambulant dirge was in progress. They came
and went from the podium. They told stories from
a book that didn’t relate to anything. They were behind the lectern for themselves
not for me, and not for him. Not one had ever had a meaningful conversation with him.
The rest of the funeral was a storyboard.
Hugs from strangers and friends. Ushers helping me to the door. More rain. An
umbrella blocked out the sky. A car. I sat in back.
Conversation, but I said nothing. A restaurant. A round
wooden table with a candle burning in amber glass at the center. Friends, and beers for each of us.
We talked awkwardly until closing time.
We talked about nothing.