I've had nothing but trouble with my jacket photo. It's the one on this page. I know you can't tell because it's so small but it's good and I like it. It was taken with a digital camera.
All day yesterday was spent back and forth to my editor and his assistant about this damn picture. It was the best one out of 53 and they wanted me to have another taken because the resolution had to be at least 300dpi. I was told the art department couldn't do anything with it. Yes, that art department.
They wanted it to be large and the resolution wouldn't allow that. I told them if it couldn't be fixed then I didn't need a picture on my jacket.
I couldn't believe they weren't capable of fixing it in Photoshop or some other program. Then I remembered my cousin Andy. He's a wiz at this stuff. So I sent him the picture, told him the problem and he fixed it.
I sent it to my editor and his assistant this morning. My editot said he would send it on to the art department. I await the verdict.
Raymond Chandler said: "Writers should never be seen."
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(It doesn’t look real, what I’m about to do, but let’s try...)
Talking about this secondhand book I found last week by the Rhône river while shopping.
It was lying on the stall of the bookseller, just waiting for me, I’m sure, on this sunny sunday afternoon of december. Nothing else to do, I’m afraid, nothing left to read at home, and the libraries closed.
Oh, for sure, it didn’t look fine, no, but ruined. How many hands had turn its pages back, and finaly thrown it away ? How many kilometers (miles ?) did it travel all over before standing there, quiet and silent, just waiting for me to buy it ? I could certainly not imagine I would find it, not even a minute, but it happened, finally.
I took it into my hands, opened it and stared at it as at an old friend’s face and then , I must admit, I smelled it – I know it’s a bad habit, but I couldn’t help doing it. It didn’t smell musty, and I had to accept the evidence that it had never know the dampness of any cellar. This book has probably had an exiting life from its conception to its birth, then translation into french and publication as a paperback.
But, this very moment it was mine. Good.
Now, here we are, home together, while Fortune Fanelli is having dinner with the children, and the phone is ringing (between my ears, I mean).
Me and that old book which has turned twenty (so did I , twice a time) are going to be very close for a while.
No jacket’s problem between us except for the photo on its back advertising for a now-prohibited-in-public-places substance which was known to be blonde and De Luxe at this time. No matter.
My actual problem is : how will I introduce this freshly purchased book to the others of yours (as a cousin or an half brother) and manage to make them share the same shelf with regard to each one’s sensitiveness.
No book should have to experience such a cruel moment in it’s life (career) – and I’m getting angry thinking of it – because of its difference, it’s absolutly unbearable.
May I quote : « it sucks ! » (was not in my Harrap’s, had to look for it in a bilingual today’s slang dictionnary –colourfull language indeed, love it – in actual french just say: « ça craint ! » ).
Please, don’t do it anymore – publish under an alias, we’re OK ! – let’s make a deal instead : I swear I’ll never buy a secondhand book of yours –don’t be afraid ! – but only freshly published ones, and, better than this, I’ll purchase them online and read them in original version .
Loving and respectful thought from a french fan
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