January 1, 1970I got my first bound copies of Phyllida this week. No matter how many times I've looked at the jpeg image, and seen the image on fliers and e-mail announcements, holding the real thing in my hands is a thrill.
Anyone who has worked hard to get a book published--that is, any published author--knows the feeling. I hope it sells, only because the thought of such a beautiful object being pulped, as I've heard remainders are, is worse than the thought of my own death. That event will be far in the future; I'll be old and decrepit. But this book will be always young and beautiful, those three young Regency figures, the smiling woman and her scowling, sulky young suitors forever retaining their youthful glow.
Oh, how superficial! you exclaim. What about the content? The reviews? Well, as you've seen, I have had a rave review in Library Journal. I have little more to wish for there. But the reviews came too late to put any quotes on the printed cover.
Like all newborns, Phyllida's appeal depends on her looks, on her bright eyes and sweet face. She's too young to demonstrate her intelligence and wit directly. But it's there, hidden inside the dazzling cover.
Beauty and wit combined in one individual, like my heroine herself. How can she not succeed?