I’m about a month behind on delivering first draft but we’re nevertheless nearing the time when the jacket designer has to be briefed. My editor and I had the following exchange yesterday:
LG: Bearing in mind that my principal characters are now in their seventies and eighties can we please have a jacket that reflects that? Something like this
Or even this
LG: Because, you know, us old gals rarely get a look in. And frankly, I’m sick of it.
Editor (who is herself north of seventy): I hear what you’re saying, Laurie.
Well we all know what that means.
Editor: I’ll do my best but I can tell you now, the sales force won’t like it. ‘Old’ doesn’t sell.
So there we have it. The gospel according to Salesman of the Year. A complete crock, if you ask me.
When this book comes out next June, please don’t blame me if the cover has been purged of wrinkles. I’ve done my best.
There will now be a short intermission while I
slave away at the day job take advantage of my husband’s admission to respite care and go away for a wee holiday. I’ll be carrying a small case packed with guilt, sadness and ambivalent relief. I’m assured this is the normal emotional baggage allowance.