It only occurred to me on Wednesday to think--oh, Bookmarked for Death is coming out in large print next month.  I wonder what the cover looks like.  So I went in search of it.

Mind you, when I saw the cover for the large print edition Murder Is Binding, I thought it was okay.  Not as wonderful as the cover Berkley Prime Crime did for the mass market paperback edition, but not bad.  After all, it was done by the parent company that did the cover for Murder On The Mind (horrible) and Dead in Red (which was fantastic). Of course, I have to remind myself that cover art--like everything else in publishing--is a crapshoot.  Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.

So, when I saw the large-print cover on Wednesday I must say I wasn't exactly impressed.  The mass market paperback's cover represented the first chapter of the book, with the cake that looked like the guest author's book cover, the books themselves, and the open door to the washroom where the victim was found.  The artist even included the tin ceiling!  The artist must have at least read the synopsis and maybe even the first chapter.  Could an author be more pleased?

I found the large print cover on Amazon.  To say it was a disappointment was putting it mildly.  The cover artist decided to just do generic books on a bookshelf.  Not very inspiring.  Okay, large print editions don't sell all that much anyway, but surely the large print audience is just as interested in a beautiful cover as the mass market paperback audience.  Then again, consumers BUY the mass market version (@ $6.99).  Usually only libraries buy the large print edition (@ $25.99), and I don't think (at least I hope they aren't) as swayed by the cover art.

Authors don't make a lot of money on large-print editions.  But what if the cover art was just as stellar--maybe more copies would be sold, which would benefit not only the author, but the publisher as well.  At least, that's a theory I'm willing to embrace.

But the absolute worst thing about the cover:  THEY SPELLED MY NAME WRONG!!!  Note, there's only one "T" on Barrett. 

UPDATE:  Just after I wrote this, I heard from my Five Star editor.  (Five Star is a division of Thorndike--the parent company, famous for their large-print editions.)  I'd written to her to report the cover goof.  She was AMAZING!  Less than two hours later, the cover had been fixed, and she'd sent me a copy of the new cover.  Also, they'd caught it in time because the books hadn't yet been printed.  Whew!  I feel a LOT better now!

By guest blogger Avery Aames

Tweeting.  I get it, but I don’t.  And what I don’t get isn’t making me tweet, it’s making me twitch.  Yes, that’s right.  I’m “nervous” about tweeting.  I’m afraid I’ll do it wrong.  I’m afraid I’ll miss giving all 200-1,000 of my nearest and dearest followers (depending on the minute) something worth following.  Something pithy.  You’ve got 140 letters to make a statement about yourself, about your work, about life.  But you have to include some of those “tweeting” characters like # or @ or D.  If you forget them, you can forget it.  Your message won’t transmit.  It will vaporize in the stratosphere.  You won’t have contacted anyone.  Not a soul!  And now you’ve only got 136-138 characters to do the job. 

“Bleep!” said the little chickadee.

So, c’mon, spill.  Who came up with tweeting and all the little doodads that one has to use to communicate?  What do you bet it’s some cute little bird-beaked geek who is giggling his feathers off because he got all us dodos to tweet and think it’s something important?  Does he care if he’s making money from the advertising?  Probably not.  He is rapturous with the power, the control, over all these people who think this new form of social networking is special, unique, necessary.

Next up:  chittering.  Like squirrels running from tree to tree to tell the latest gossip.  And you can bet that everyone who leads a normal life, free of the internet, will think those who latch onto the latest and greatest form of social networking are nuts!  What do you bet they’re right?

And what's bugging YOU today?
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Avery Aames is the pseudonym for Daryl Wood Gerber, writing The Cheese Shop Mysteries for Berkley Prime Crime, first book due to be released in July 2010. Visit Avery's web site, but you can also visit Daryl's site, too.

Every couple of years, we seem to have "the summer that wasn't."  Two thousand and nine appears to be one of those years.  We had a very nice, sunny, HOT week back in June, but it seems like a long, long, time ago.

Blue sky?  What is that?  It's been gray and cloudy for weeks.  The weather report seems to be the same every day:  Cloudy, which a chance of thunderstorms.

Except for that really nasty hail storm two weeks ago, most of the thunderstorms have been pretty mild.  Still, with that first crack of thunder, our cat Chester goes flying across the house to hide under the guest bed.  This is actually the worst place he could go.  That room has a skylight and when the rain beats down on that bubble of plexiglass, it sounds like Ringo Star banging on drums.  My Mom and Dad's dog, Jessie, has recently developed a fear of thunder.  I read an article in the paper not long ago about pets and thunderstorms.  Unlike us, they would prefer NOT to be comforted, which is difficult for people like me who want to reassure my pet that things are okay and we won't let anything hurt him.  But, he's a cat.  To quote comedian Robert Klein, "he's got a brain the size of a walnut."

I don't ever remember a year when we had to turn the heat on in July.  Hello!  We've got the heat on in July!  I think we've only run our AC once.  (During that hot week I mentioned above.)  Okay, we haven't had to water the gardens, but we have considered building an Ark.

Unlike life for the Jetsons (remember, Jane would call handyman Henry who would raise the building above the clouds to give them a sunny day), you can't do anything about the weather.  If I could, it would be perpetually 77 with low humidity, and blue skies smiling at me.

Too bad I don't have Henry to get us out of the clouds.

What's with the yard sales this year?  Generally speaking--they suck warty pickles!  With so many people in financial difficulties, you'd think that the sales would be full of stuff as people scramble to come up with money to pay their bills.

Apparently not so.

But I did get a couple of good things this week--books, probably the last thing I need--but something I always want.

 As far as I can remember, I only read one Little House book by Laura Ingalls Wilder.  That was in third grade.  While I remember liking it, I didn't know there were any more in the series (apparently our school library didn't have them), and I was clueless until the TV series.  By then, I was more into mysteries than "family fare."

When I had my booth at an antiques co-op, I sold a LOT of used books by Ms. Wilder.  They seem to speak to children, or at least to parents or grandparents who wanted to share those stories with another generation.  But I never kept any for myself.

Saturday, I came across three of the titles for 50 cents each:  Farmer Boy, The Long Winter, and These Happy Golden Years.  I may not read them until I get the rest of the series and then read them "in order."  But they are now in the To-Be-Read pile.

The other book I got was "The Clue of the Broken Locket" -- a Nancy Drew book, a 1943 edition with, alas, no dust jacket. (But I found a copy of it on Wikipedia--isn't it delightful?) Still, I'm gathering things for a charity basket for next year's Malice Domestic, and I thought that would make a great addition. 

CONFESSION TIME:  I have never read a Nancy Drew book.  I may have to read this before it goes in the basket. 

What's in your TBR pile?

Almost a month ago, Martha Stewart was making tea out of cow manure.  I know it was before June 12th, because that's the last time I saw any daytime TV.  You know, that's the day when TV signals went digital and that was the end of all my TV watching in the kitchen.  (We do have a TV hooked up to cable, but we watch DVDs on that one.)

But I digress.

I'd heard about manure tea for the garden, because my parents had done it years ago.  (Here's how.)

(Have you heard the really old joke:  Do you put manure on your strawberries?  No, we put whipped cream on ours.)

My folks had some work done in the yard last year, and the workman just about killed their beautiful clamatis.  So in an effort to bring it back this year, they gave it some manure tea.  Hot-damn!  It said, and did come back.  My mother also put the tea on the coneflowers. Holy crap!  Did they love that tea.  (Have you ever seen 4 foot coneflowers before?  I never have.) 

My bean crop is suffering.  Between not enough rain, hailstorms, and too much rain, some of my plants are stunted. 

Can you guess what is in their future?  Yes!  Cow manure tea!  I'm also going to give my cosmos a shot, too.  They've been in the ground for six weeks and they've hardly grown at all.  Other people have cosmos and they're tall, willowy, and FULL of flowers.  Not mine.  Not ever. 

Yup, today's the day for a nice cup of cow manure tea.

Oh, wow!  My first tomato of the season.  This is from the celebrity "vines."  I have a bunch of flowers, but so far only this one little tomato, which is about the size of my thumbnail.  But hey, they have to start small before they get bigger, right?

The heirloom "seedlings" took an awful hit with the hail storm last week, and I did lose one.  The others are holding their own, but seem to be a bit soggy from all the rain.  (They and everyone else.)  But, hey, if I get just one tomato from that batch, I'll be ... well, not happy, but I'll accept it.  (And it better be good for all the angst I've gone through.)

* No sooner did I type this, than hubby called me out to show me two more. (On different plants.)  Yee-ha!  I see many BLTs in my future.

Today's guest is Jeffrey Cohen, author of the Double Feature Mysteries.

"How's the book doing?"

People ask you this all the time when you've gone miles out of your way to let them know you have a new book coming out, or just out.  They're showing interest in your work, your welfare, your career. It's a very kind gesture on their part.

It drives me nuts.

See, I pride myself on my conversation. I like to be thought of as witty or at least interesting when I'm talking with or to other people. And a question like that--"How's the book doing?"--leaves me at a complete loss for an adequate answer. I've tried things like, "How's the book doing WHAT?" or "The book's just fine, and it was asking about you," but the fact is, I really don't know what to say when friends, acquaintances or perfect strangers drop that particular question in my lap.

How's the book doing? The fact is, I haven't a clue. I can look at the Amazon sales numbers, which are at once depressing and meaningless. I can gauge the number of reviews or mentions when I Google the book's title (and any author who says they don't is LYING!). I can count up the emails I get from readers or visitors to my web site (http://jeffcohenbooks.com). But assuming that the question "how's the book doing" refers to sales figures, it will be months before I have an answer. Publishers don't call we aspiring mid-listers with regular reports unless omething highly unexpected (like people buying a lot of books) happens. We wait for accounting reports, which come months after the book is published, and even then, have to be read to me over the phone by my agent, because I don't understand one single digit listed on the page.

So when me meet, believe me, I appreciate your interest in my book. I honestly do. I'll talk to you for hours about my book if you don't shut me up, and I'll think you're a wonderful person for indulging my 
ego so selflessly. But please---PLEASE--don't ask me how the book's doing.

I really don't know.

And what's bugging YOU today?
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Jeff Cohen is the author of the Double Feature Mystery series.  His current book, A Night At The Operation, is third in the series and now available.  Check out Jeff's website.  Jeff also blogs on Mondays at Hey,There's A Dead Guy In The Living Room (Mystery Publishing from Idea to Bookshelf).

We had a terrible thunderstorm with hail last Friday, which I wrote about in yesterday's Writers Plot post.  (You can find it here.) The garden suffered a LOT of damage and we were pretty upset about it.

So on Saturday, when I started out on my weekly Garage Sale Hunt, I wanted to find something fun to cheer me up.

I did.

As I walked back to the car with my wonderful find, my husband commented, "These are the things that cause divorces."

Okay, so a pink flamingo is a cliche (and this one is so pink it's almost purple), but after the angst we went through over the garden (which is bouncing back, thank goodness).  I wanted.  I needed it.  And at 75 cents -- what a bargain!

This is Fred.  It's not the nicest picture of him.  He was quite annoyed at the time.  See, Fred likes to chill in his carrier.  We think this is amusing.  I mean, we've never had a cat who actually LIKED  being in a pet carrier.  Fred is NOT like most cats.

As a matter of fact, Fred was a rescue cat.  He and his brother, George, were in a cage at PetSmart for THIRTY-NINE WEEKS before we brought him home.  Technically, he should be a basket case.  He's not.  He's quite a mellow cat, and extremely affectionate. 

But don't mess with him when he's snoozing in his carrier. 

Today's guest is Mary Jane Maffini, author of the Charlotte Adams (organizer) mystery series.

Perhaps it was the climate, but I never so much as spotted a peony when I was growing up in Nova Scotia. The first time I saw them, I was a young teacher and a tiny girl in first grade brought me a bunch of delightful deep pink beauties for my desk in June. I was struck, no, make that besotted, and possibly even bewitched, bothered, and bewildered. Of course it was years before I had a garden of my own but when I did, whammo, in went peonies. New ones, heritage varieties, pale pink, white, deep fuchsia, you get the picture. They need to be planted just so, not too deep, not too shallow. They need sun; they need ants. Whatever it takes, I said, I'll do it. I had to have them.

And how did my darlings repay me? Well, let me tell you. Peonies usually bloom in early June in Zone 4 which is where my Ottawa peonies are. They allegedly continue flowering for several weeks.  For years I had jobs that required me to be at conferences for a week every June, although never the same week. For nearly a month I would watch the buds grow, flourish and bulge. Then just as I would be heading out the door to fly off to the Canadian Library Association conference, or the Special Libraries Association gathering, or the Canadian Booksellers Association educational sessions and trade show, I could almost hear the sproinging sound of petals bursting open. Perhaps there would be a tantalizing glimpse of a half-opened bloom.  Then my taxi would zoom down the street and I'd be gone.  I'd return to find millions of white, pale pink and deep fuschia petals lying inches deep on the ground and the spent plants gasping and ready to pack it up until the next year.

But now I work at home, allegedly writing. My conferences are in May except for Bloody Words one weekend in early June. My peony problem should be well in the past. But no. Not so fast. This year I headed out to Book Expo America secure in the knowledge that the peonies were not ready. Bloody Words followed the next week and they were just gearing up. I rubbed my hands in glee. This was going to be the best crop ever! Hundreds of buds all looking vigorous. And I was home, happily writing in my little office with plenty of time to enjoy them, taking a cup of coffee in the morning, and promenading by proudly.

The little scamps must have been playing games with my head. As I finally left for a family road trip in the third week of June, long after the peonies should have flowered, the blooms were getting ready to pop. One had unfurled in a provocative, even seductive manner. Maybe they can hold off until I get home, I thought, seeing as they are already well past their normal blooming pattern. Anything is possible.

Three days after I left, I called my husband who was watching the fort, which includes my tiny garden. "Please check the peonies," I said.

"The what?" 

"Peonies," I repeated, jaw clenched.

Long pause. "Are they the ones with the big beautiful flowers?"

"Yes."

"They're blooming, all right. There are hundreds of them. They're gorgeous."

"Huh."

I'll be home a week from today and once again will get to see a zillion petals on the ground.  Why do they do it? And how do they know?

"Take a photo please," I sniffed, "and email it to me. At least I can get to see them that way."

"But you have the digital camera with you," he pointed out.

True. Too true.

I think it's all part of the great peony plot. These flowers are not to be trusted.

Am I peevish? No kidding. I may be defeated, but it's not too late to plan for next year. This time, trust me, peonies, this means war.

And what's bugging YOU today?
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When not staring morosely at her peonies, Mary Jane Maffini writes the Charlotte Adams mysteries, the Camilla MacPhee series and the Fiona Silk adventures.  Visit Mary Jane's Web site.  her at . Her latest book is Death Loves a Messy Desk. Check out her latest book trailer here.