Nuggets – Cover Design

Hey folks!

I promised a post a while back about Book Covers, similar to the Web Design Hell post I did for the Fictorians. But then I found Creativindie’s post 8 Cover Design secrets that Publishers use. While he’s talking specifically about larger scale publishers and practices they use to draw in readers, there’s a lot of things that he covers that are good design guidelines.

NOTE! This is useful for writers and designers as well. Pretty much anyone that ever wants to make a book cover.

What it boils down to though is the following three ‘laws’:

1. Make it clear

2. Make it interesting

3. Make it look worth the cover price.

There’s that whole saying about ‘don’t judge a book by it’s cover’ but people do. They totally do.

Art Student Owl

I do. Why?

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Missive from Plague Island

OH THE CALAMITY. (har har, shut up it’s the best I can do today.*snifflekoff*)

I wound up coming down with the cold from hell last Wednesday and only just got better enough to return to work today. That’s almost a whole week of lying in bed, groaning at the cat and making pawing motions at the computer to try to make my self-imposed word count.

Spoilers: I didn’t.

Sad Word Count

Also please ignore the Cumulative Actual count, it’s not self-updating. I’m behind, but not THAT behind. (Also yes I am insanely organized when it comes to writing and cosplay, don’t judge me! You don’t know me! [except you mom, hi.])

I missed the NaNoWriMo marathon day, I missed a whole heck of a lot of write-ins, and basically lived in my bed for a week, eating paleo-friendly chicken soup while my cat sat on my chest, happy I was home. Well, for the first couple days. Then Cat got bored and started poking me to get up and leave, or move, or anything.

Also Spoilers: I didn’t. Continue reading

Belated Flash Friday – 1 667

For those asking why the 1 667 doesn’t look like this: 1,667 it’s because I went to french immersion and the French hate commas.

Part of Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fridays, theme is the first 1 667 words from Nanovember

The God Device

[working title]


Kiana had curled up on the window sill; her feet and back wedging her into place between the two sides of the frame. The window was old, and the cracks in the glass let in cold winter air. The little bundle of a girl shivered, letting a puff of breath fog up the glass, before wiping it away to watch the snow fall. Large soft flakes fell thick and white in the orange light of the streetlamps.

As Kiana watched, the snowflakes lit up bright blue and gold, all shimmery and pretty, the light brightest down the alleyway, just out of view. The little girl craned her cheek over to get a better look.

“Don’t you put your face on the glass, I just cleaned it,” Kiana’s mom said. The glass might have been clean on the inside, but the grime between the panes, and on the outside of the window was still there, making it harder to see what was happening..

“But Mom, there’s something going on down there,” she said, looking up before pointing to where the blue-gold light was already fading. “Maybe it’s Santa!”

Mom walked over, wiping her hands on her apron. The stripes on it had faded, but you could still tell it was from the Pancake Place, where she worked. Kiana liked the pancake place, they let her eat the burnt pancakes on the weekends, and watch the cooks when Grammy couldn’t babysit.

“Sweetie, That’s not Santa,” Mom said, brushing a hand over Kiana’s curls. They were soft and dark, just like Mom’s, but without the grey. “Santa has  red lights, that’s just a policeman.” She kissed Kiana on the forehead. “Now go wash up, the soup’s ready.”

“But Mom! Cops are blue-blue and red, not blue-yellow,” Kiana said as she climbed down from the window, careful to avoid the radiator. The heat never seemed to warm up the apartment, but the radiator itself could still get hot enough to burn.

“Kiana, don’t make me ask twice.”

“It’s true,,” Kiana said, but she threw a last look at the window and walked to the bathroom, dragging her feet with every step. She’d pout too, if she thought that would do anything, but it never did., The apartment was small, though to Kiana it fit just right. It had room for the bed-couch, the old tv that looked like it was snowing, and the kitchen. Grammy had a bigger house, but didn’t live in a tall building like Kiana and Mom did. . But most of all, Kiana liked being able to watch out the window of the apartment, seeing the people walk by all little, seeing the flash of police cars and seeing the blue-gold of tonight.

“I’m totally sure it wasn’t a cop car,” Kiana said, stepping into the chilly bathroom.


“Washing!”  Kiana turned on the tap, waiting for it to get mostly warm. She’d just shoved her hands under the faucet when someone knocked on the door. No, it wasn’t a knock so much as banged on the door.

Kiana poked her head out the bathroom door, to see her Mom staring the door. When the person banged again, even louder, she saw the way Mom flinched. Was Daddy back?

“Kiana, baby, close the door,” Mom said murmured on the way by, brushing Kiana’s hair back and planting a light kiss on her forehead. “You close the door and lock it. Don’t you open it for anyone but me.”

Kiana nodded.

“FBI. Open the door.” It was a man’s voice, rough and raw. Like Daddy used to get before he went away, but not as angry. Almost scared. Kiana’s Mom walked over to the apartment’s door, and glanced back.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled, but something was wrong about it.

“It’ll be okay baby. Just wait in there.”

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