“Insanity is knowing that what you’re doing is completely idiotic, but still, somehow, you just can’t stop it.” — Elizabeth Wurtzel
When I was kid, TV shows like “Mr. Wizard” were popular. Mr. W (aka Don Herbert) performed a lot of cool experiments: like making glue from milk, pushing against a wall while wearing roller skates, or using a fork, a piece of string, two paperclips and a sheet of paper to find a coat hanger’s center of gravity—because, who wouldn’t want to know that?
At some point the host would toss out a disclaimer, something like: “Kids, don’t try this at home.” The same can be said about designing your own book cover. (It’s too late for me — it might not be too late for you.)
It’s not that I’m unhappy with the final result. In fact, I’m quite happy. The problem: If I had spent more time marketing the book than designing the cover, I might have sold more copies. (Maybe it was creative avoidance. Maybe it was control. Maybe it was, as Elizabeth Wurtzel says, “Insanity.”)
A little background:
My book, originally titled “Enchanted War,” is a compilation of stories I’d told over the years about my Vietnam experience while serving in the world’s largest and cleanest nuclear Navy. One of my friends, Sam Harris, kept saying I should write down these tiny tales. Eventually I did.
With a manuscript mostly done (I suspect most manuscripts are only ever “mostly done”) I turned to my son, “The Lawyer,” who had agreed to help me get published. The first thing Jesse said was that the title, “Enchanted War,” had to go. Too obscure. Nobody would know what it meant. Etc. We fought about that awhile. Jesse ultimately won — and rightly so.
As I shared bits and pieces of the book with friends and family, the chapter named “Orange Socks” was easily the favorite. OK, then. That’s that. “Orange Socks” was the title. Later I added the sub-head “And Other Colorful Tales” to tip off readers that the book was a collection of vignettes.
My original idea was to pay an artist friend to work up a cover based on Robert Crumb’s “Keep on Truckin’ … ” poster.
I’d been under the impression the image was freely available — but it wasn’t: A court decision in 1977 reversed a previous judgment, and “Keep on Truckin’ …” was pulled from Public Domain. (I mention this not to be tedious but to show that ignorance may be bliss, but it also wastes time.)
It was back to square one: My best idea for a cover, illegal.
“There must be some way outta here,” said the joker to the thief. “There’s so much confusion; I can’t get no relief.”
Moving along . . .
I decided to go with a text-oriented cover for two reasons: One, I could do it myself. Two, I’d already spent the $350 budgeted to pay an artist on something stupid — like a car payment, or food, or meds. All I had to do was determine what to put in the empty space where art was supposed to be. I settled on a text balloon, the kind you’d see in a comic strip.
Why?
I figured it would set the tone for the comicality inside. That’s also why I used Comic Sans MS for the font. (Hint, hint: I’m funny. The book is funny. Please buy it.)
The words I chose for the balloon were “How I survived Vietnam & kept my sense of humor.” (It was an oblique reference to Stanley Kubrick’s “Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb,” a 1964 film that satirized the Cold War.)
How many iterations did I go through to get the cover just right? I can’t say. More than two dozen; less than a thousand. Every time I had it close, something would go wrong.
“Crash. Burn. Die.”
Because I was wingin’ it, I had no baseline for comparison. I started taking detailed notes on fonts, sizes, colors and positions. That way, when something did go wrong, I wouldn’t have to re-create it from scratch. (I’m sure real graphic artists reading this are giggling with glee.)
What did I gain from my graphical excursion? Pain. Confidence. More pain. Satisfaction. Poise. Self-assurance. And, of course, pain.
Was it the right decision? I’ll never know. The cover I ended up with fits my book. I’m thinkin’ that’s about all you can expect. Would I have sold more copies with a professionally designed and executed cover? Maybe. But I wouldn’t have this story to tell — or this experience to share.
Jim Lamb is a retired journalist living in Florida. He’s the author of “Orange Socks & Other Colorful Tales,” the story of how he survived Vietnam and kept his sense of humor. For more information, visit www.jslstories.com.
