‘Trust the reader’ is a bit of advice I took to heart at the beginning of my author’s journey, on the topic of balancing exposition against pacing, and the value of a fly-on-the-wall third-person-limited narrative form, a staple in the writing of Hemingway and others. It suits me. It’s what I do now. I’m not about to change, although the critique gives me pause.
Mom was the artist of the family. Philippines, 1967. Norma Jean Roberts Dyer Razovsky posing at her easel, mid-blink, in the company of Alan Maury Razovsky (Dad) and little Johnny Dyer (me).
We can’t tell what she was working on due to harsh lighting, but it had to be amazing because Mom was good at it. However, in the acorn-tree department, yours truly once drew a circuit diagram on posterboard for a science fair project (1963), and to this day, that is the extent of what I can do with a drawing instrument.
I am, however, an advanced novice on Adobe Photoshop — and what a great tool that is, especially when reinforced with a dollop of AI software IP theft facilitator, or whatever the kids are calling it these days.
Turn away in disgust if you must, but that’s how I did this.
Now that you’ve noticed creepy fingers on the right hand, you can’t look at anything else, can you? AI is notorious for glitches — Mason’s neck is too long, the lighting is off, color balance is iffy, and it looks like a paste-up job, which it is.
Never mind. This is just a placeholder for the actual cover, which will be developed by an artist, unless I attend a seance during which Mom teaches me how to paint.
In the meantime, this illustration will get me through the pre-release phase, during which authors traditionally leak WIP chapter excerpts into the ether, a tried-and-true means of inciting readers into an anticipatory frenzy — such as you might be experiencing right now.
May I suggest you visit my catalog to satisfy your cravings until publishing date. July perhaps, unless I perform another massive rewrite, which is not out of the question.
So, answer me this: Does my first mockup cover elicit comparison to Japanese tentacle erotica?
I completely forgot such things existed; and by the way, I have discovered services that animate illustrations for free, and worth every penny of it.
Maroli Tango cast members posing for a promo. You can’t get a maroli to stay still.
Mason Fowlkes out of costume. Mind you, I have no idea how this happened. Might have been something I said.
Did I mention you should buy my books? Also, are you an artist? Are you aghast at my brazen use of AI? Do you know how to paint hands? Tell us in the comments.
Approaching 2 years into what will be my seventh published novel, I am still in the process of discovering what the book is about.
Life, certainly; but what else? The manuscript is currently 85,000 words, the ‘excised’ document 70,000.
The conclusion is envisioned but not written down. I’ve now gone back to the opening chapters, seeking to clarify the theme, motivate the reader, apply craft, say something important, break new ground.
This is not a complaint. I’m reporting on the process. It’s a form of therapy, common to the activity.
In other news, I’ve been told my stand-in cover design (a concept, composed to accompany WIP essays) elicits comparison to Japanese tentacle erotica.
First off, my audience isn’t supposed to know such things exist.
Yes, I can see foliage poking through walls and windows. It’s been fixed. My point is: Loyal House is 122 meters long, 27 meters wide overall, 45 meters wide in the sanctuary, center section ceiling height 35 meters.
Draw an imaginary line bridging tops of columns — a new floor deck will be installed, making part of the layout two-story. However, the issue of scaling an interior to fit available volume will not be solved by this tactic alone.
But look at how cool it is.
Loyal House fly-through
Yep. There's a lot of work to do. Does anyone want to draw up floor plans?
Where do you think elevator(s) should go? Shall I publish the WIP on Epic Games for all to see? Tell us in the comments.
The assignment was entitled: Shepherd’s template for “5 great books centered around a topic, theme, or mood.”
The abstract was 11 pages long. Every aspect of the task, right down to the whys and wherefores, with examples. And then the admin critiqued my work, thoughtfully, inciting a rewrite — which turned out objectively a lot better than the draft.
Are you looking for something worth reading — and if so, did you fall for the headline, the featured image, perform a keyword search, scroll and stop? Whichever, this is a rare moment, even rarer if you’re here on account of having read one of my novels.
Which is unlikely. According to The 10 Awful Truths about Book Publishing, 2021 saw 3 million titles published in the United States. That’s a lot of blurbs to plow through for the sake of a quiet evening with a Kindle in your lap. If you’re reading this (you are), I’m grateful.
And I will not abuse the privilege — the payoff is right here. Click image to follow the link.
Shepherd is not a publisher’s site, nor book blog, nor book review aggregator (per se). Here you will find, among other enticements, essays by authors, sharing what’s on their reading lists, and why.
That’s a clever angle. Authors may be counted upon to have streetwise standards for literature. The potential, especially for a reader looking to change up the bookshelf, cannot be overstated.
I have an essay scheduled for January 13. Look for it.
In the meantime, try the site. Please tell us what you think in the comments.
Back in 1928, off-planet operators were still booking lemur folk into the historic Wild West for steak dinners and trail rides, but the proposition was on shaky ground.
America’s first interstate highway had been routed straight through the Dakotas. The Lazy L Ranch, 20 miles north of Black Rock, was not as discreet a place to land spacecraft as it used to be.
A wave of Italian emigration to Mexico in the late 1800s had left its mark on the village, particularly at the center. The church and courthouse, on opposite sides of the square, were Spanish. Everything else was Italianate except the band shelter — aluminum poles, sandbags, nylon ripstop roof, circa big-box warehouse store.
The sun descended below mountaintops, throwing shadows into valleys. Streetlamps blinked on. Shops lit signs. The town square came alive with hanging lights and illuminated fountains.
A gypsy jazz band from Hungary filed onstage; guitar, upright bass, clarinet, and a gym-bag percussionist equipped with snare drum, high-hat, washboard, block and cowbell.
John Dyer Writes 
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