Everything but the Cover: Part Three of Publishing an Essay Collection

by Sandra Gail Lambert

Everything but the Cover: Part Three of Publishing an Essay Collection

In Part Two, the final, clean files of the edited manuscript had been sent to the publisher. And the preliminary production schedule was set. And right on that schedule, the page proofs showed up.

Page proofs are the manuscript laid out in its final version, ready for the printer. Besides the thrill of its very existence, I loved the font (It’s named after an astronomer—Kepler Standard Regular) and how each essay's title was in all caps but not bolded. I loved how the page numbers were along the side margins, and the name of the essay extended vertically below them. So cool. So elegant. In fact it was all elegant.

But the title page which I was worried might end up as the cover—well, I should be more diplomatic—but it horrified me. I could hardly breathe. As has been evident in the earlier essays about this process, despite this press being unfailingly forthcoming, part of me is always waiting for The Disaster to happen. I mean I knew what with the title I chose, "My Withered Legs," there could be a chance that the sarcasm and irony with a smidge of bitterness could be misunderstood as simply (and erroneously) descriptive.

The phrase comes from the time an editor felt the story of a disabled person swimming in a Florida Spring needed a few words about, as he put it, the character's withered legs floating uselessly behind her. Yuck. So much wrong and creepy. The points I make in the essay include saying that a person immersed in the experience of swimming wouldn't be thinking about her legs. But there's also the assumption that wheelchair users all have those stereotyped long skinny legs which probably comes from the assumption that wheelchairs users are all people with spinal cord injuries.

And "useless." Really! I know my legs (which I based the character's on) aren't useless—they feel the pleasure of hot sun on their thighs and the shiver of a loving touch. And they are useful in practical ways such as bending into lotus position to stabilize my torso, providing a bridge to slide myself over a gap between a car seat and wheelchair, and being clad in bright, billowing, flowered pants and cute shoes.

So, pulling back from this rant, more about the title page. It had my name across the top and extending down and out in the shape of stick figure legs was the title. It was optically confusing and especially unreadable to anyone who processed language in not the typical way. I panicked. Was this a big deal or not? The University of Georgia Press was being such a joy to work with. What if I was going to have to have a big, anti-ableist fight? I hate conflict. I sent the image off to Sarah Einstein who does not mind either of these things.

She sent me back a strongly worded, all dressed up in academic language, response for me to use. (It had the word "mimesis" in it!) It was so affirming I almost cried and also so not my style. I toned the language down and used my own less expansive vocabulary, but still it was firmer than is my usual way. But I needed to shut down this whole parody of the disabled body thing from the get go.

The editor got back to me right away and said that it was just a title page and not the cover and no problem to change. And they did and what they sent as a replacement (see above) was again, elegant.  Perhaps I "overreacted." Yes, I recognize falling into the trap of how anytime a woman reacts, it's considered an overreaction. Still, I figured I'd avoided any photos of spindly, white legs as a cover possibility. Okay, enough about that. Let's move on in this process.

Next, I hired a proof reader, Michele Sharpe, a friend, to go through the manuscript one more time. She was unimpressed with my use of commas and paragraph breaks and fixed those. Here's a proofreading fun fact. There's a place in the manuscript where I quote Michele's views on supposed "old lady dabblers." (She says they're the anti-capitalists of the writing world.) Anyway, I had misspelled her name. We laughed. Next, I was sent the catalog copy which was so glowing that it made me blush. And it made those dreams where the press ghosted me go away, mostly. Still, I asked for a few changes to the text.  No problem. Then the back cover copy arrived. Also glowing. And yet, emboldened by my own self, I suggested more substantial changes. Again, it was no problem.

I don't have a vast experience with publishers, but for my past books I was not included in this way. It's been exciting, although it's taken me a while to be less anxious about offering my feedback. When a blurb was being chosen for the front cover, once again I was asked my preference! It was hard to give up the quote that said I was charming and funny (Yes, I know this was a description of my writing, not me, but let me pretend.), but the other was more descriptive of the book. I had to be firm with myself and choose that one.  

And then the person designing the cover reached out and included images of her initial creative musings about colors and shapes. She asked if I had any ideas. Wow. This never happens. But I, who am not a visual person, but who was by now full of, in this case perhaps unwarranted, confidence, told her. No yellows. (I like yellow fine, but it seems as if every recent book about disability has a yellow cover. What’s that about?) Also, the title needed to be easily read. Also no realistic or abstract portrayal of legs, not even a hint. I also sent her a few color combos and images I liked which was way beyond anything I knew anything about. She ended up ignoring them, thank goodness. She sent me a few final cover images with no text yet. And yes, one of them did have legs. Sigh. But I choose a selection and said no to the legs. And then there was nothing to do about the cover but wait until it showed up in my email.

But there was still plenty to figure out. Jeremy (Vesto PR), the publicist I worked with for my last book, is onboard for this one. I knew he'd want a list of all possible contacts for reviews, interviews, and such. So I made one. My website is old and creaky, so I contacted the original creator, a local artist, and asked them if they were still available to hire. We have an appointment scheduled.

And there is a release date—March 1, 2024! Which means that my friend Aliesa and I can finalize the launch party plans. My first launch party ever (The River's Memory) was at her house, and she assembled a friendship team to make the food. The second (A Certain Loneliness) we set up at The Matheson Museum. It was a fully catered, wildly fun event. Since the day the contract for this book was signed, before even, Aliesa has run ideas by me. This time, I wanted to simplify. So less of a focus on food, which is a little painful for Aliesa, but she agreed with my reasoning. (Which is that we're older now.) Although we did decide on a little something, something. The Matheson was enthusiastic about sponsoring the event! But this time we’re having it on a Sunday afternoon instead of at night, because, again, we're all older now. So put it on your calendars—Sunday, March 3, 2024 at 2pm! It's going to be a blast.      

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