Wordless Puzzling

//Without words, you may deduce what I have been doing.//

Fancy Flies Like Snow

Sometimes when it snows, my fancy flies....

When I told them I want to be more like the snow, they called me foolish.

They—the watchers, worriers, waiters, hurriers—had never stopped to notice the things I did. I couldn't blame them. If they had not seen the things I had, snow was nothing but a blocker of cars, a jammer of traffic, a danger, a distresser, a thing that kept one from going out and another from coming in. Snow was a biter, nipper, spoiler, killer. All nasty, ugly names for a crushingly beautiful thing.

To one who will not go at a snow-pace, snow is foolishness. To one who never slows down, the secret truth of it is hidden: that snow is honest; that it is an artist; that it tells stories.

So when I said that I want to be more like snow, they laughed and rushed on their senseless way, fretting against peaceful things. No matter.

For one day they will hear my honesty, taste integrity that crunches white and crystalline between the teeth, and see the snow. It will blind them.

One day they will find themselves surrounded with a sudden beauty, their barrenness covered by a loving word, their sere fields sifted over with quiet art made in the wing-ends of life. Their curtailed words and fell mood will be eased by the same innocence they despised. Beauty, love, art, thrown with a liberal hand to the ones who never deserve it. They will see the snow. It will chill them.

One day they will sit, bound by the spell of my fables. Like bird-tracks, fox-feet, deer-steps, I will show them wonders. I will tell of things their hearts have muttered and spin for them webs of words. The tales to come and the stories past, the dreams they dare not dream, the hopes they knew were dead. And things will awaken, thrum and pierce in their hearts for the Story their being craves.

And I will be snow, and I will gentle them.

I do a judge a book by its cover

In my not-so spare hours of the day not devoted to writing The Windy Side of Care (I only have 6k words left which means that in two or so days I should be done.) I have decided to browse cover-design ideas for my books. Whether I end up self-published or go the traditional route, there is one thing I will have: an awesome cover. I believe that the author ought to have some idea of what they want the cover of their book to look like or--at the least--to know the difference between a bad and good design. Hence, my diatribe...

There is nothing that brushes my fur the wrong way like a poorly designed, obviously amateur cover. I mean honestly. Sometimes I look at a book and think, "Oh, darlin'. I might read that if it wasn't so ugly." Because even though everyone knows the old adage about "You can't judge a book by its cover", we all do. The cover of your book is how you're selling yourself because if you can't lure a reader over by the appearance of your book, you'll never get them to become captivated by your characters and story. And though the inside of the book (like the inside of a person) is the most important part, you're doing yourself no favors putting forth a dowdy or childish presentation. I was on Pinterest, pinning eye-catching covers, and I decided to search Self-Published book designs. I have seen cheesy professional covers, but if we are to be honest, the ugliest covers are found in the annals of self-published novels. I found this hypothetical cover...

...making a fun (and heart-wrenchingly ugly) poke at what The Hunger Games might have looked like if it was self-published. {Note to self: never use papyrus or bleeding cowboys fonts if you want to be taken seriously. }With this example, I set off to put together a post of covers that work and most definitely do not work, and to discuss the differences with you. Please note that I have read very few (if any) of these books and cannot tell you if they're any good or not. Also, my thoughts on the cover-design are not intended to slam the authors' taste, but to point out where it works and doesn't work for my own taste. Not every one of these books is self-published, so I am aware that they range in quality. Please don't get ruffled and shout things like, "WELL THEY COULD AFFORD A PROFESSIONAL!" I am interested in discussing composition.

 What works: I like the guy and the way his palm is outstretched with the ring in the center. And I love how you can't see his face. I don't like being fed an image that never matches with my mental picture of characters. (especially Christian fluff that end up looking like those wretched Harlequine Romances you find by the drove in a thrift-store)
What doesn't work: The font. Everything is one font, one color, and aligned left. There was little to no imagination in the set-up of the text, and this immediately screams "SELF-PUBBER" to me.
How to fix it: Imagine this could be a pretty cool cover with a bit of tweaking as regards filters. This is pretty one-dimensional. Also, if the text was just cramped and blah, you could do something pretty cool with writing the title on the guy's palm instead of a ring. I think that would be a good use of your somewhat limited space, and a bit more interesting.

What works: For me, pretty much everything. I don't know anything about this book but I can tell it will probably involve Spies, Nazis (brilliant touch with the swastika), and a woman who appears to be trapped by her own loyalties. If I could get a cover design like this for Fly Away Home, I'd be forever happy. Note the use of three different kinds and sizes of fonts for interest, and the way the two photos (above and below the center stripes) use the same filter. This is what I meant with the cover above when I said it needed a filter. Something to tone the light and shade down so it isn't so glaring and raw, and to blend all the elements together.
What doesn't work: Really, there isn't anything sticking out that makes me think, "ew". I could do with less face because like I said, I don't like the cheesiness of face shots (full-body shots are far worse) but since her eyes are dropped, it works. And I love the veil
How to fix it: Run with this cover far, far away from everyone else who will want it for their own. (Ahem. Meeee? Ahem.)

What works: I like the filter used here, and the background image is pretty good, though there ought to be a bigger difference between the shades of sea and sky.
What doesn't work: Again, the font is horrifically monotonous. Not only is it all the same size and style, but the subtitle is rendered almost unreadable (it says "a tale of the Titanic) by the mirage-effect put on it. I am getting a headache from squinting at it right now.
How to fix it: When a book has nothing but a landscape-image on the front, I subconsciously assume its characters were too boring to make the cover. Or the personalities were too flat to occasion thought when the author went to make a cover. I know these authors were probably trying to go for the midnight desolation of a sinking-ship tragedy, but I'd request at least a teeny little row-boat bobbing along in a swath of moonlight to intensify the mood.

 

What works: I love this cover too. I love the ship in the background and the way we are seeing from behind the girl. I love the mood, and I most especially love the pop of crimson in her skirt to add life to an otherwise foggy cover. Also, I love the design along the bottom.

What doesn't work: It'd be nice to see a little more text. Maybe a subtitle or a quote from the book on the front because there's a bit of empty space up toward the top. Maybe that's purposeful, in which case leave it. All in all, I love this cover.

How to fix it: Add a bit of "what people are saying" or something at the top, or leave it as is. I like this cover.

What works: Fantasy is one of the hardest genres to create a good cover for, because one step in the wrong direction and you're sunk. This is a pretty cool cover. I like the illustration--that's how dragons are supposed to look, Mr. Man-Who-Made-The-Dawn-Treader-Movie. I mean honestly. The colors are great, it looks interesting, and bravo to the creativity with text-arrangement!
What doesn't work: It's a bit duo-chromatic, being entirely green and brown respectively.
How to fix it: More color would be nice, (some purple or navy shadows in the lake?) but I'm liking the author's choice to keep it simple and effective. Well done.

 What works: I admit, I'm a sucker for covers with awesome graphic-art. The black and red design is just gorgeous, and I love the unexpected blue smack in the center.
What doesn't work: Umm...it doesn't really give you an idea of what the book is about, which leads me to believe it's a literary novel which, in its turn, reminds me of stuffy people on an airplane who only pick up a book when their iPhone battery dies. I like literary novels, but most people who read them are dull. This is probably a book about a girl in India who was abused or something and has a secret orchard where she keeps jars with all her bitterness toward these people written on scraps of papyrus, and this helps her learn forgiveness.
How to fix it: Well if it is a literary-novel then they've made their point and personally I like this cover a lot. If not, then the author/publisher needs to adjust their cover design to better portray the story.

What works: I like the actual picture. It's interesting, it isn't too revealing as to exactly who this person is, and the lantern is a nice touch. The font is actually pretty and I like the accent-bar up at the top.

What doesn't work: There is too much dead-space in this cover. And since there's light being thrown back onto the girl from her lantern, I think there ought to be a faint glow on the rest of the cover. Also, a sure sign of being self-published is using your first and middle name only. (Bethany Faith) People in real life have last names, so real authors have last names unless you're Avi, in which case we can forgive you, or if you've otherwise stylized yourself for a specific reason. If you are one of those people who shy from revealing their identity, then by all means make up a pen-name. But give your alter-ego a last name because it just looks more professional.
How to fix it: Add a lantern-glow on the blackness. I get that the point is to make the book look dark (hence the name?) but a little glow never hurt anyone. I think the glow would fill up the blankness of the right side of the the cover. Also, get a last name. Truly, though, this is a pretty schnazzy self-pubbed cover and I actually think the book looks interesting and promising.

 What works: If I can't have Where Treasure Hides for Fly Away Home's cover, I'd like something like this. The girl is halfway-hidden, I love the glimpse of a town behind, and the filter used in the photos tells me its vintage if everything else fails. Also, notice the variation of scripts and sizes. Lovely.
What doesn't work: Unlike the example above of Bethany Faith (thanks for your patience, Miss Faith. I'm sure you are a fine author and I tip my hat that you've actually got books in print), Michael E. Glasscock III has surrendered himself to forever being identified in my mind with P.G. Wodehouse characters.
How to fix it: Either he's aristocracy and thinks himself entitled to drawling on and on in the credits, or he ought to have chosen either a middle initial or the III. Having both seems pompous. Some people might also find the introduction of the purple tab up-top to be annoying. I rather like it, as it adds interest and lets you know that this is Book 2 of a series. But if it bothers your sensibilities, take it off.

Your thoughts? Do you agree with my observations of this sampling of covers? And how important is cover-design to you? Leave all your thoughts, mind-wanderings, and what-not in a comment below and I shall reply with promptness. I'd love to hear what you think are the most important (and/or bothersome) elements in the composition of a cover-design.

"Marcella Grey"

Inspired by several different authors recently (including Louisa May Alcott and Katie, over at Whisperings of The Pen [Yes, Katie, how do you like being put in the same sentence as her?] ) I have been thinking I ought to write a very short story. I've never been much good at writing short stories...something about getting a plot and spinning out a plot in three or four pages never floated my boat...or at least, I've never found myself much good at it. But all things aside, I found that a short story would come despite my gripings. :)

I did not know what it would be before I began...I still do not know what The Scandal is...all I know is that it was the Duke's fault, and Marcella is innocent, though under suspicion. So you must read along and tell me what you think of the story, and what you think The Scandal is. :P I got rather interested in the beautiful, prideful Marcella Grey's fate. :) Oh yes. And sorry about the format...for some reason when I copy from Microsoft Word it double spaces everything on here.... Frustrating, huh? :)

“Marcella Grey”

By Rachel Heffington

“You simply cannot be serious!”

It was not a normal tone in which she said the words. Her voice thrilled with emotion—something indefinitely sorrowful and piercing that sent fingers of ice pulsing down the headmistress’ spine. Excess emotion from Marcella Grey was unheard of.

“I am quite decided, Miss Grey.”

Marcella clutched the polished arm of the cherry-wood settee until her knuckles shone white. This could not be real. Her position at Kensington School had seemed set in stone. Mrs. Breckenridge could not give her notice like this without good reason.

She drew as large a breath as she could over the uproar of her heart. “Mrs. Breckenridge, would you…would you mind telling me what the problem is? What I mean to say is, in what manner have I been unsatisfactory to you?”

The headmistress was by no means a clever woman, nor an interesting one. It is doubtful that an original idea had ever forced its way beneath her frilled mobcap and into her graying head. This question, put by the touch-me-not Marcella Grey, flouted the commonplace explanation she had prepared.

Mrs. Breckinridge folded and unfolded her lace-mitted hands and cleared her throat. “Miss Grey, it is not a question of your service being unsatisfactory. You are patient and talented, and the scholars had grown fond of you—”

“Than why, Mrs. Breckinridge—good Mrs. Breckinridge, please tell me! I have tried to please you.” The young woman’s dark eyes pleaded with the staid headmistress’ fishy blue ones.

“If the truth be told, Miss Grey, it has been brought to my attention…” She did not want to tell the truth to this girl who had the haunted wild look of a moorland hare about her usually complacent countenance. But Mrs. Breckinridge, in her fifty-year’s memory had never yet consciously broken one of the Commandments. Tell the truth she must and would.

“I have heard certain reports pertaining to a scandal…in which you…Miss Grey, were involved.” The woman drew back at the sudden fury burning in Marcella’s face. “Of course,” she hurried on, “I cannot ascertain whether the reports are true, but I feel it is in the interest of the pupils and the institution of Kensington School that you find a place elsewhere.”

The young school-mistress rose from her chair, pale and trembling, yet with none of the sign of her recent emotion. She had faded, like an autumn rose beneath the frost of the accusation. “I understand, Mrs. Breckinridge. If you will be so good as to send Lucien round with the carriage, I will have my things packed within the hour.”

A swish of Marcella’s skirts and Mrs. Breckinridge was left to the company of her muddled thoughts and lukewarm tea.

* * * * * *

Marcella passed a hand over her dark, simple bun as she mounted the stairs to her little garret room. So this was the manner in which she was to leave Kensington School. Why must suspicion dog her steps with such relentless persistence? If only she had never been born into her family. Then she could have lived till she too was a Mrs. Breckinridge with two and twenty pupils teaching the same dull lessons year after year.

No. She was never to have the normal life of a school-mistress. Why? Because of the father she had long yearned to forget, because of the mother she had loved with all the passion of a lonely child. Because she had once been Lady Susannah Marcella Chamberlain, daughter of the Duke of Chamberlain.

Marcella’s lips formed a bitter smile in spite of her worry. No one would guess that the simply dressed Marcella Grey was the dazzling Lady Susannah Chamberlain of the London season last year. Yes, she had enjoyed that life, that glittering world of parties and riches. She had lived, like the dolls in the glass-globes, in a beautiful society sheltered, as it were, from any outside troubles. But in order to make the glitter swirl around the doll, Marcella remembered, the globe had to be turned upside down.

And so here she was. A poor, virtually penniless school-marm who had just been “sacked” as the schoolgirls so eloquently put it.

Marcella opened the drawers of the ugly dresser and took her neatly folded things from their depths. These, with many a compression of the lips and a sound that just escaped being a moan, were deposited by Miss Grey in a trunk that looked as if it had seen better days.

Marcella stood and scanned the room with her eyes. The room looked just as it had four months ago when she stood on its threshold with a heart full of determined dreams. It had not been easy to forsake her heritage and stoop to being a lowly teacher at such a stodgy place as Kensington. But the scandal at home had necessitated such extensive changes—there it was again. Scandal. Ever present, ever haunting her life.

Marcella slammed the lid of her chest, then pinned her brown hat with the rose-colored ribbons to her head. Those ribbons were the only relic of Lady Susannah. A link, of sorts, to the old life. She checked her reflection in the mirror before carrying her trunk to the landing and locking the door.

Lucien would be waiting with the carriage. He was an uncouth upcountry lad, but he never looked at her as if trying to decipher the mystery of Miss Grey. He would not chatter and tell tales. And for that, Marcella was grateful. It had become a Kensington game, to guess what Miss Grey was, or had been, or hoped to be.

And to all the suspicion Marcella had been able to lock herself and her emotions away, deeper into the soul of Lady Susannah—until today. Why had she betrayed her tumultuous emotions in front of Mrs. Breckinridge? Her anger and pride only gave credence to the rumor.

Marcella stepped out the front door and hailed Lucien. He lifted her chest to the back of the wagon and helped her in.

“Is thee gooin oon a trip, Miss Grey?”

“Yes, Lucien.”

“Will thee be coomin’ hoom again?”

“Not to this home, Lucien, I’m afraid.” It took all of the Lady Susannah’s pride to admit her dismissal in front of a person who, a year ago, would have been miles below her station.

“Weel, I hoope thee hast a gran’ trip t’where e’er it is thee ist gooin.” And the mild Lucien tipped his hat before climbing up onto the box and starting the horses.

Marcella sunk against the seat of the carriage and loosened her gloves. She could waste no more time in memories or regrets. It was plain the scandal of Chamberlain would follow her to any respectable place she might find.

That was it then. She must go to someplace less respectable. Someplace the Lady Susannah would never set her dainty foot. With sudden decision, Marcella tapped on the outside of her window.

“To the city, Lucien.”

“Eh, Miss Grey? And wha’ can thee be wantin’ wi’ all them fine folk wha’ lives oop there?”

Ironical as it was, Marcella answered him with perfect candor. “I don’t know yet, Lucien, but I’d be much obliged if you would take me there.” She shut the window and let out a quivering breath.

Her nimble fingers, long accustomed to the pretty embroidery all gentlewomen excelled in, could not fail to find employment in the City. Of course she could not do the most delicate and skilled work, for the beautiful stitches and dainty patterns would give her high station away as quickly as if she had “Lady Susannah Chamberlain” on a twist of paper pinned to her bodice.

No, the plain sewing would have to do. She would rent a shabby apartment in a dingy part of town and hem cravats and put tucks into skirts for fine ladies if it killed her. In a few years’ time she might advance to opening a shop, or at least working around town as a seamstress.

The thought brought a wave of memories to Marcella’s feverish mind.

In the old days, the Lady Susannah had been an acclaimed actress among her glittering salon. How many times had she read Scott’s poetry aloud by the hour, or taken the leading roll in the quaint parlor charades and plays that had beguiled the long winter evenings? The first time she played the part of a poor and lowly young woman, they had all laughed. What a joke, that the daughter of the Duke of Chamberlain would take such a roll!

Marcella had forced herself to study the part of the hardworking and piteous woman until her audience no longer laughed, but shed tears instead and thought, with complacency barely ruffled, that perhaps they ought to send a basket round to the numerous poor in the neighborhood.

But of course the next moment the beautiful Lady Susannah stepped from behind the curtains arrayed in gorgeous satin, her dark curls held back with jeweled pins, and the brilliant company clustered around her like so many moths in the light of a lamp.

Yes, Marcella smiled at the memory, and a new sense of power filled her breast. If the Lady Susannah Chamberlain could play a beggar, Marcella Grey would have to try.

There need be little study to play the part. No costume, save Marcella’s own brown woolen dress. No false tears, for they would come on their own, despite her attempts to reassure herself.

It was the one talent Lady Susannah had possessed that Marcella could claim out of the brilliant inheritance she once held. She must act as she had never acted before and make the whole world believe that Marcella Grey was all, and only what she appeared to be.

So....what do you think of my first attempt? :) ~Rachel

Elephants Never Forget! (And Neither Should You! ;)

Everyone remember! The "A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words"contest closes on Saturday at midnight, June 4th! (so really the wee hours of Sunday, June Fifth!) Don't forget to enter! And don't forget to go to the post below and leave some questions for me to answer! :) -Rachel
p.s. Isn't this picture beautiful? I wonder how I look when I'm asleep! :P I love the color of her dress! :)