Victoria who?

Back in 1872, when Victoria Woodhull became the first woman to run for President of the United States, nobody would have asked that question. Considered a visionary by some, a “she-devil” by others, Victoria had acquired quite a reputation by the time she was nominated by the Equal Rights Party. She’d been born poor in rural Ohio, the daughter of a con artist and a fanatic spiritualist, and she lived exactly the sort of peripatetic life those beginnings imply. Social activist, stockbroker, newspaper editor, suffragette, spiritualist (many would add prostitute, con artist, and fraud), Victoria got around.

Victoria Woodhull

It would take more than one blog post to do justice to Victoria and her vivid existence. Her relevance to me, however, is more easily defined: my novel, Newport, was inspired by an incident in her life that took place during her spiritualist phase.

Victoria and her younger sister Tennessee had spent much of their childhoods traveling in the Claflin family medicine show, promoted by their father as fortune-tellers and psychic healers. Victoria grew into adulthood claiming an ability to communicate with the dead. This communication grew particularly lucrative in 1866 when, at the insistence of her “spirit guide (the Greek statesman Demosthenes),” Victoria relocated to New York City to join her sister, who was already there. It was in New York that Victoria and Tennessee caught the biggest fish of their spiritualist careers: Cornelius Vanderbilt, one of the richest men in the country.

Cornelius Vanderbilt

The sisters met Commodore Vanderbilt at just the right time. Still mourning the loss of his wife, Vanderbilt was between spiritualists. His old one had made so much money getting rid of the two spirits the old man feared were haunting him that she could retire to Vermont, leaving the path free and clear for a new medium. Victoria and Tennie began hosting seances to ease Vanderbilt’s pains, both psychic and physical. Victoria channeled not only messages from Vanderbilt’s other-world mother and children, but stock tips from the great beyond. (Never mind that “the great beyond” was probably her friend Josie Mansfield, who was the mistress of one of Vanderbilt’s business rivals.) The tips worked so well that when Vanderbilt was asked about his stock market success, he replied, “Do as I do, consult the spirits.”

In the long run, the arrangement proved fortuitous for all parties involved. The sisters got the financial backing they needed to open the first female-run brokerage on Wall Street; Cornelius’s broken heart (and many other ailments) were soothed not only by Victoria’s seances, but by Tennie, with whom he had an affair.

Reading about this a few years ago made me think. At what point do people who grieve become so desperate that they’ll believe anything? What besides greed motivates the medium? Or …what if the medium is legit, and the messages delivered from “beyond” are real? Once the questions began flowing, characters, setting, and plot fell into place, and Newport was up and running.

Of course, Newport has many other plot points. But those who have read the book will recognize how this chapter from Victoria’s life impacted the story.

Who’s to say what will trigger inspiration for a book? Almost any tidbit or event will do, and once ignited, the writing process takes on a life of its own. Sometimes, the flow of ideas can feel like a gift from another realm. So, maybe I should add “muse” to Victoria Woodhull’s long list of professions.

Rumor had it that after Cornelius Vanderbilt’s death, his heirs paid Victoria and Tennessee to go away. If so, the money came at a good time. Recently divorced and exhausted, Victoria left for England, where she became a lecturer and magazine publisher. She married again and lived fairly respectably until her death in 1927 at the age of 88.

Victoria Woodhull was inducted into the National Women’s Hall of Fame in 2001. You can read a little more about her here.

Woodhull for President

A blurb is a short, positive description of a book, written by other authors (because let’s face it, your mom is a little biased). Blurbs are featured prominently on a book’s cover and sometimes on separate pages inside the book as well. NEWPORT has four, and I am extremely grateful to the generous authors who provided them: Deanna Raybourn, Simone St. James, Ashley Weaver, and Beatriz Williams. No matter how much someone enjoys a story, providing a blurb takes time – time to read, time to think, and time to compose a few-sentence sketch that might encourage readers to pick up the book. I so appreciate that these four authors made room for NEWPORT in their busy lives.

So, how do those blurbs get there? For fiction, blurb requests usually are sent by editors to authors whose own work attracts an audience that might enjoy the book in question. But just because an author has been approached does not mean she is obligated to provide praise. Requests to read can be turned down. Even if an author is kind enough to read, she may decline the opportunity to blurb. There are all sorts of reasons for passing: the book may not be the author’s cup of tea, or there may be time constraints (like most parts of publishing, blurbs come with deadlines). But those blurbs on the cover were not command performances, churned out by authors through sheer obligation.

Of course, you won’t pick up a book that screams, “Worst book ever! Read at your own risk!” Even though blurbs are not coerced, they are meant to be marketing tools, not warning labels.

Since NEWPORT’s release, I’ve had the opportunity to blurb a few books myself. To me, it’s an honor to be asked at all, and I take my blurbing seriously. I know the feeling of being the one waiting to hear whether or not a reader (me, in this case) likes the book enough to endorse it. No matter how gentle or logical the refusal to blurb is, the author of the book will always see it as a rejection. We can’t help it; we’re wired that way. It helps (a little) to remember that these are professional decisions, not personal slights.

Good book blurbs allow you a glimpse of the story that awaits once you start reading. Now, thanks to the wonders of the internet, the books those blurbs adorn are not the only written words subject to review: the blurbs themselves are, too.

This brings me back to my original question: are you influenced by the blurbs you read on book covers? I’d love to know.

Here’s what you need to know:

1. The author had attended a book club to discuss her first novel and was then invited to join that club.

2. The author feels that her reading experience is totally ruined by discussions with a “huddle of women blathering over mimosas and cheese cubes.”

3. The author prefers to “let the book simmer” in her head “before it becomes a part of my soul,” and she can’t do that while “trapped in a room with 12 biblio-bitches who can’t articulate …”

Ok. So there’s nothing wrong with the desire to internalize one’s reading experience. Reading is personal, different for each of us. But, even when I set aside the author’s need to belittle other reading approaches in order to aggrandize her own, there’s still something I just don’t get. The writer of this essay isn’t simply a reader. She’s an author, which means she’s dissing the very people who could help make her novel a success. But, beyond that, she’s missing out on a huge gift: the opportunity to engage in discussion about that book she worked so hard to bring into the world. (Because, really – who wants to invite her to their book club after knowing the disdain she holds for each member there?)

I’ve enjoyed my recent interviews. Both in written and oral form, interviewers have posed questions that made me view NEWPORT in a whole different way. Book clubs take that even one step further by inviting conversation. They not only provide reader insight, they offer an author the chance to understand the “why” behind those insights. That’s a veritable gold mine of information. I have a few book club invitations on the horizon, and I couldn’t be more interested in what readers have to say.

I wish I had that same conversational opportunity with reviews.

Reviews seem to fall into three categories: positive, “meh,” and “huh?” Not surprisingly, the positive reviews feel great. I write because I want to share a story that I hope people will enjoy. Knowing that I’ve given someone that pleasure is a lovely thing.

The “meh” reviews can be hard (see above reason for why I write), but they’re to be expected. Not every reader enjoys the same kind of book or writing style, and it would be foolish to believe that I could please all. I do appreciate when “meh” reviews include explanations that allow potential readers to decide for themselves whether or not the story might be their own cup of tea.

But the “huh?” reviews … they’re the ones where I want to know more. What does it mean when a positive review says NEWPORT was like a “plot from scooby doo (sic)”? Why the surprised irritation that the story line includes seances when the plot synopsis states that it does? Why are “flawed characters” a bad thing? Enquiring minds want to know!

I would love to sit in a forum that included those who loved NEWPORT’s aura of the 1920s and those for whom there was no evocation of the era at all. And let’s invite those who felt that the supernatural aspect of the book was a fascinating addition and those who thought that the supernatural torpedoed the story. Ultimately, writing is about communication. I’d consider myself lucky indeed if something I wrote stimulated a conversation.

So, please invite me to your book club! And, if that’s not feasible, there are a few other ways to clue me in on your thoughts (or to get an idea of mine). I’ll be hosting #LitChat on Twitter on Monday, August 24th from 4 p.m. until 5 p.m. Join the conversation! You can also drop me a line at jillmorrowbooks@gmail.com. (All of my contact info is here.) I’d love to hear from you.

And I actually like mimosas and cheese cubes.

In 1891, Oliver Hazard Perry Belmont was a thirty-two-year-old divorced socialite who wanted to build a summer home in Newport. He hadn’t really accomplished much. He’d attended the United States Naval Academy, resigning after a brief and uneven naval career. He’d rejected the family banking business. His gambling, womanizing, and fondness for absinthe had ended an early marriage to debutante Sara Swan Whiting. But what OHP (as he was known) did have was wealth and connections. His recently deceased father, August Belmont, had been a financier, diplomat, and horse-breeder (he’s the namesake of the Belmont Stakes). His mother, Caroline Slidell Perry, was the daughter of Commodore Matthew C. Perry and great-niece of Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry. The Belmont family was well-known in both New York and Newport society. Oliver Belmont had little trouble getting what he wanted.

Oliver Belmont

Although Belmont hired Richard Morris Hunt as architect for his “cottage,” he personally designed it. Hunt swallowed down each idea by remembering it was his client’s money he was spending. From 1891 to 1894, Belmont’s mansion, Belcourt, rose on the corner of Lakeview and Bellevue Avenues. By the time it was completed, it had grown to 50,000 square feet and 60 rooms. It was mostly French Renaissance and Gothic decor but also incorporated touches of Italian, German, and English architecture. The entire first floor was designed with Belmont’s prized horses in mind, built so that the coachman could drive the carriage right into the castle, drop Belmont off, and then continue to the stables located on the other side of the house. Aside from the servants’ quarters (there were approximately thirty servants employed at Belcourt), the mansion had only one traditional bedroom and bathroom. It didn’t have a kitchen, either: Belmont was terrified of fire, so Belcourt’s kitchens were located several blocks away, accessible by tunnel. Meals were ferried by carriage to the mansion. Belmont didn’t see any of this as problematic, since he only intended to be in residence at Belcourt for six to eight weeks of the year.

Many times remodeled (no surprise there), Belcourt stayed in the Belmont family until 1940, when Oliver Belmont’s brother, Perry, sold it. For the next fourteen years, the mansion sank into further disrepair as buyers declined to live in it. Finally, in 1954, Belcourt was bought for $22,500 by Elaine and Louis Lorillard, founders of …you guessed it … the Newport Jazz Festival. The Lorillards saw something in this magnificent white elephant of a house. They saw lawns that could accommodate thousands of people. They thought the facades (masonry and stucco) would provide good acoustics. They envisioned concerts in the large central courtyard, workshops in the huge rooms of the mansion itself.

The first Newport Jazz Festival (actually called “The First Annual American Jazz Festival”) was held in 1954 at the Newport Casino on Bellevue Avenue. It was such a success that the Casino declined to host it a second year, claiming that it could not accommodate the crowds. This was Belcourt’s chance …

…except for neighborhood objections and zoning laws. In the end, Belcourt hosted the 1955 festival’s workshops and receptions, but the concerts were held in a sports arena nearby. The Lorillards, unable to use Belcourt as they’d hoped, sold the crumbling mansion to the Tinney family the following year.

There are a few epilogues here:

Belcourt stayed in the Tinney family for over fifty years. They renovated it, lived in it, and even opened it as a museum in 1957.  (Belcourt is currently owned by Carolyn Rafaelian, owner of the Rhode Island-based company Alex and Ani.)

In 1896, Oliver Belmont married Alva Vanderbilt, ex-wife of his good friend, William Vanderbilt. He became more politically active, serving in the New York Congress from 1901-1903 and publishing a newspaper called The Verdict, meant to expose corruption in business. In short, OHP grew up.

And the Newport Jazz Festival ? It’s this weekend – July 31-August 2.

Just not at Belcourt.

I’ve been asked one particular question several times now, and it’s one I never anticipated: “Is Liriodendron real?” The answer is a resounding “Sort of.”

For those who haven’t read NEWPORT, Liriodendron is the Chapman family’s “summer cottage,” the mansion where most of the novel takes place. It occupies a prime spot of oceanfront real estate, but you’ll never find it on a map. Its location is deliberately blurry because, no, Liriodendron does not exist in Newport, Rhode Island.

It does, however, exist in Bel Air, Maryland.

Although Bel Air’s Liriodendron has been described as “belonging on the cliffs of Newport…,” the real and fictitious mansions only superficially resemble each other. Both were designed and constructed around the same time (1897-1898), but by different sorts of people for different reasons. Bel Air’s Liriodendron was the summer residence of Dr. Howard A. Kelly, one of the “Big Four” founding physicians of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. Born in New Jersey and educated at the University of Pennsylvania, Dr. Kelly specialized in gynecology and obstetrics. During most of the year he, his wife Laetitia, and their nine children lived at 1406 Eutaw Place in Baltimore City. As the heat of summer descended, however, they decamped for Bel Air, where the temperatures were cooler. Unlike a gilded Newport summer, a grand season of over-indulgence and society did not await. For the Kelly family, Liriodendron was more of a family getaway than a place to “be seen.”

Designed by Baltimore architects Wyatt and Nolting, Liriodendron is a two-and-a-half story, stuccoed brick Palladian mansion currently listed on the National Register of Historic Places.  I became aware of it during my band days when I played weddings there. I thought it was beautiful with its grand staircase, fireplaces, and graceful terrace. Places like this can’t help but inspire. The house – along with its name – stuck with me.

Let’s talk about that tongue-twisting name for a moment. “Liriodendron” is the botanical term for the tulip poplar tree. With all due respect to Dr. Kelly, who named his summer home, “poplar” would have been much easier to say.  (Apparently, “The Poplars” was in early contention for the name of the estate.) When I needed a name for my fictional Newport cottage, Liriodendron came to mind for several reasons. One of those reasons was that for Bennett Chapman, my new-money magnate, “more” equaled “best,” and I suspected that he’d approve of a five-syllable name for the summer home he intended as his calling card to the upper echelon of Newport society.

Fortunately for the Kelly family, the real Liriodendron was less of a status symbol and more of a home. It stayed in the Kelly family until 1980, when ownership passed through agreement to Harford County, and the estate became part of Heavenly Waters Park. It’s now managed by the Liriodendron Foundation. You can visit if you’d like; there’s a weekly open house on Wednesdays between noon and 7 p.m.

As a postscript, here’s an interesting fact I turned up while researching this post: Howard and Laetitia Kelly, married for fifty-three years, both died on January 12, 1943, he of heart disease and she in a coma six hours later, in the hospital room next to his.

There’s a book in that.

Liriodendron

But, wait. What’s that other piece of music I hear swelling in the background? (And, believe me, this song always swells.) It’s “Time to Say Goodbye,” that 1996 European hit sung as a duet by Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli. It’s sappy as anything … and totally appropriate because, yeah, as I watch Newport go public, I realize that it’s time to say goodbye to these characters I’ve lived with for so long. I’m going to miss them.

Most authors know much more about their characters than they share in their writing. I usually know everything about mine, from their childhood fears to how they take their coffee (if they take it at all). Because I “see” and “hear” them as I write, I am aware of their facial expressions, gestures, and the timbre of their voices. Best of all, it never feels like I create these people, but rather that they reveal themselves to me as we continue along our mutual path. This means that I’m always learning fresh information about them, and our relationship never feels stale.

It’s very hard to let go.

For a while after I begin a new novel, I feel unfaithful to the old gang as I turn toward a new one. The new characters aren’t instantly thrilled with me, either. We have a stiff relationship at first. It takes time for us to trust one another. But I know that soon we’ll become familiar enough with each other that they’ll start spilling their secrets, and I’ll be off on another adventure. After all, Newport‘s characters were once strangers to me, too.

In addition to missing these characters, I worry about how the world will treat them. I wrote Newport because I wanted to share their stories. Some readers will like the book, some not so much. No author can please every reader. But it can be a roller-coaster ride, and I hope my characters don’t get too beaten up out on their own. Like any parent watching a child achieve independence, I want others to treat my “babies” kindly.

So, I hope you’ll allow Newport to temporarily transport you into another world. I hope you’ll leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. And, as always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. (My contact info can be found here on this website.) But, mostly, I hope that I’ve done justice to my characters, and that you’ll be able to see beneath their surfaces and flaws to understand why they act the way they do and who they really are. I want you to get to know them the way I did because, ultimately, Newport is their story. I’m honored that they allowed me to tell it.

Goodbye, Newport friends.

And hello to my new confidantes.

This was my introduction to the word “anachronism.”

An anachronism is a custom, event, or object stuck in a period in which it does not belong. When readers find anachronisms in their historical fiction, it makes them doubt everything else the author tells them. It’s like being offered a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven and discovering that those “chips” are really raisins. The cookie is suddenly less palatable, and you’re never going to trust the baker again.

Most authors do their very best to research as accurately as possible. Nailing down historical fact is relatively easy. For example, it’s obvious that characters in 1912 can’t hear news of the Titanic sinking via radio; a diabetic character in 1920 can’t reach for insulin; characters in 1957 can’t refer to 50 states in the U.S.A.

Conveying the “feel” of a time period is a little more difficult. Even if a character is meant to be a free-spirited “one-of-a-kind” (which she technically can be only after 1961), there’s only so far an author can go before it challenges the bonds of credibility. Language counts, too. It broke my heart when writing NEWPORT to part with the expletive “horsefeathers.” It was perfect for the character and the scene. Unfortunately, NEWPORT takes place in 1921, and “horsefeathers” did not enter the vernacular until 1928.

I research constantly when writing historical fiction. I try hard to nail the facts and textures of the era. But no matter how many times I check my facts, there is always the chance that something incorrect will slip into the story. I’m already wincing about it.

It is in this spirit that I offer the words of Maud Howe Elliott.

Maud Howe Elliott (Nov. 9, 1854-March 19th, 1948) was the daughter of Julia Ward Howe and Samuel Gridley Howe. She won a Pulitzer for co-authoring The Life of Julia Ward Howe (1916). A prominent resident of Newport, R.I., Elliott was a founder of the Progressive party and a patron of the arts. She wrote many books during the course of her long life, including This Was My Newport, an autobiography published in 1944. This “apology” appeared in the Foreward to the Second Edition of that book, and is dated August 1945:

My attention has been called to certain errors in the first edition of this book. I am sorry to have made any misstatements, but I wish to point out that it is commonly believed that no book has ever printed without some errors.

It is human to err, and I can only say in reply to my critic that I tried to tell the truth, and if I have failed it has been with malice toward none and charity to all.

I do find it amusing that Elliott doesn’t go back to correct anything after this disclaimer, making it clear that she’s convinced her memory and facts are in far better shape than those of her singular “critic.”

Me? I would go back and correct. At once. But in the meantime, I’m thinking I should print Mrs. Elliott’s words up on cards to distribute should the worst occur.

Please know that I have tried my very best to make NEWPORT as accurate as possible, and that I am now fully aware that American prairie kids in the mid-19th century would not be lobbing paper airplanes.

Whew. I feel so much better now.

Maud Howe Elliott c. 1928

I’ve been thinking about my love affair with historical fiction. It goes way back to my childhood, when burying myself in the pages of a book meant a trip to other times and places.

Books were better than movies for me. A book provided the set, characters, and plot but allowed my imagination to fill in some details. My very favorite books inspired me to write my own version of fan fiction before fan fiction was cool. Some authors might have been surprised to learn that a character they’d never created had hijacked their plot and now starred in a whole new version of the storyline.

My preferred historical “vacations” changed as I got older. My favorite era in middle school was colonial America, which made sense since I grew up in 18th century Annapolis. But then I started sliding backward. I slipped through the Jacobite risings in the Scottish Highlands, down past Charles II and the English Restoration, and straight into Tudor England.

By the time I hit college, I was a history major with an emphasis in medieval studies. But after I’d written a few novels, I changed course again and found myself drawn to the late 19th century, an era that had never enticed me before. From there it’s been a continued upward drift. Newport takes place in 1921; the novel I’m currently working on is set in the early 1930s.

It’s even more fun to write historical fiction than it was to read it. Once again, I get to immerse myself in a time period different from the one I inhabit on a daily basis. I get the opportunity to research random events and inconsequential details to my heart’s content. And this time my characters aren’t photo-bombing somebody else’s story. The setting and plot details are my own.

I worry that despite all of my best efforts to accurately re-create the texture of an era, some pesky anachronisms might creep in. But even with that pressure, I believe that authors of contemporary fiction have a much tougher time telling their stories than I do. Why? Because technical advances have made it difficult to build tension in any story set in modern day.

I offer the following examples:

Your protagonist, an amateur sleuth with a nose for solving crime, has a hunch the popular new guy in town isn’t on the up-and-up. But how to prove it? (Well, what do you think Google is for?)

The gorgeous woman who just introduced herself to the protagonist stirs faint memories; he knows he knows her, and he knows she knows he knows her. But, how? (Check Facebook first. If that fails, back to Google.)

The protagonist has information that could change the course of humanity. He must find a way to share this information immediately! (All right, then. Let’s just try a few cell phone numbers, because just about everybody is accessible all of the time these days.)

So, it’s pretty clear I lack the imagination to write a contemporary novel at the moment. We’re all better off if I stick with historical fiction.

And that’s just fine with me.

The Cliff Walk begins benignly enough at Memorial Boulevard and Easton’s Beach, where it looks like this:

But while much of Cliff Walk is paved, there are many portions of it that are not as easy to navigate, and walkers are advised to take caution should they choose to follow the Walk to its end. There are spots along the way where the cliffs have drops of over 70 feet. In case you don’t believe the written warnings, this picture helps drive the point home:

The dangers were even more apparent after Superstorm Sandy, which slammed into Newport on October 29, 2012. Sandy devastated Cliff Walk. Parts of the walkway washed away. Retaining walls caved in. Tangled fencing littered the paths. Cliff Walk did not completely reopen until June 24, 2014.

…which didn’t mean that SOME people (*ahem*) didn’t slip past the warning gates and chains to see the damage for themselves. As always, the views were wild and wonderful, this time edged with the reminder that no matter how developed, the coast is always vulnerable to the whims and ravages of nature.

I last walked the Cliff Walk at the end of April 2015. Because I didn’t have to worry as much about falling off as I did in October 2013, I was able to observe a little more.  There are new trail markers along the Walk now, sixteen of them placed at various points of interest along the way, each including a QR code that visitors can scan with their smart phones to learn more about what they are seeing.

The views, as always, were spectacular in every direction. But I also noticed this:

That’s right: random padlocks on any length of chain link fence along the way. These are love locks, which started popping up throughout Europe in the early 2000s and spread globally. According to legend, couples write their names or initials on the padlock, lock it, and then throw away the key, symbolically locking their love for eternity. It’s said that if both of the lovers are not present as the lock locks, their love is forever jinxed. It might be a better idea for these couples to figure out what it means if the locks get cut off, as is now happening at various bridges across the globe when the weight of these padlocks begins to cause structural damage to the bridges themselves. Will true love be any safer along the Cliff Walk?

There’s so much to experience along the Cliff Walk, and I plan to write more about it at a later date. For today, though, I’ll leave you with a few images to enjoy. If you try really hard, maybe you’ll feel the sea breeze on your face. Better still, plan a trip. You won’t be disappointed!

Aren’t they gorgeous? I’ve been lucky. It doesn’t take a special study to know that book covers matter. A good cover inspires a potential reader to pick up the book to learn more; a bad cover barely registers as the book browser moves on to a different title.

Some people believe that originality and a fresh approach are key to producing good book covers. That’s not entirely true. While we have a tendency to scorn cliches, there’s a reason that certain images, colors, and fonts are used repeatedly. A book’s cover, after all, exists primarily to help market the book. It gets about three seconds of our attention to do that. One quick glance at that cover should not only make a good first impression but should help the reader categorize the story within the pages as well. Using elements familiar to particular genres triggers instant recognition in our brains. That’s one reason you won’t find elegant, flowing font and pastel colors on the cover of a tense thriller, or big, blocky fonts and gun illustrations on a romance. Sticking to general design standards for a particular genre lets a reader instantly know what sort of book to expect; connecting cover imagery to books that have been successful in the past further encourages that reader to take a chance on a new title.

You can tell a lot by looking at my three book covers. With the otherworldly nature of their illustrations, ANGEL CAFE and THE OPEN CHANNEL imply some supernatural chills. ANGEL CAFE in particular has some pretty spooky font going on, and if that didn’t communicate the nature of the book, the tagline would help: “Some spirits are best left alone.” The mood continues for THE OPEN CHANNEL, although the font here has a slightly medieval feel, telegraphing the fact that part of the story takes place in the 14th century.

If you guessed from their covers that my first two books belong to a different genre than NEWPORT does, you were correct. NEWPORT is historical fiction, and its cover evokes its era (the story is set in 1921).

Just as we know what we like when we see it, we also know what we DON’T like. If a great book cover can encourage sales, the unfortunate downside is that a poorly designed cover can become the butt of jokes. It was only a matter of time in our internet-saturated world before a website like this happened.

NEWPORT’s cover was designed by Amanda Kain. ANGEL CAFE’s cover was illustrated by David Stevenson, who also designed the cover of THE OPEN CHANNEL. I am indebted to them for keeping me off of that website.