My book cover has a story, two stories really. The first is about finding an illustrator suited to my tastes. Fortunately, a friend introduced me to a website for self-publishing authors called Reedsy, where I could plug in my filters: memoir, inspirational; then sort through the list.

Since my memoir, Alive And Fixable, is mostly happy, I wanted cheery colors, no black. My number one pick used happy colors and I liked his short bio: enjoy working with chipped paint, rustic woods and rusty metal… I liked that, nothing canned or corny.  As I skimmed down to look at his portfolio, first on the list was “Life of Pi”, one of my all-time favorite books from 2001. The distinctive cover is so memorable even my oldest son remembers the curled up black figure and tiny tiger in a white boat, floating on a sea of pretty blue.

I thought, “No way will I be able to get this guy. I bet he’s a fortune!”  Then I figured, “Hey, Iive large,” and I threw him into my mix of illustrators to request a quote. Why not?

The beauty of the internet meant I could work with any professional from anywhere in the world, even my British “Life of Pi” Guy who lives in France. One of those nights when I awoke at three a.m., like I frequently do, I checked my email and there he was, a message from my top pick.

“I would love to work on this project. I am also a cyclist…”. What? He’s not saying no?  The kicker, “pay me whatever you want.”

It was all I could do to keep myself from shaking Hubby awake to share the exciting news.

Wahoo!!!

Once I collected all the quotes, I made a competitive offer to my Life of Pi Guy.

He accepted.

Andy, my new friend, agreed to read my manuscript, as most illustrators do. His reaction was efficient and humorous as it was the first guy to read my book, other than Hubby. “I felt empathy by some of the events…” My girlfriends and editor were more effusive with their comments: “I cried. I laughed. I cringed.”

While he was reading my manuscript, he asked me to narrow down what I liked or didn’t like in his portfolio. I found it ironic that I was putting words to his art, so he could make art from my words.

Our friendship blossomed. In between work-talk, he asked about the horrible forest fires a few hours away from my home in Northern California. I asked him about the yellow-jacket protests in Paris. It felt a little like getting to know a stranger on a train ride to some fascinating destination, in our case a book cover.

Before sending his first round of pencil sketches, he set my expectations. “Don’t go expecting Michelangelo or anything.” His sketches were closer to Master caliber than my stick-figure skill set. More importantly, he nailed it: A cyclist riding along on his bike, with his shadow resembling an angel hunched over a bike.

I loved it because to me, a shadow stays with you, always, and based on my book, so do angels.  To get the colors just right, I sent him a photo of Hubby’s post-accident jersey: green and white with jagged edges from being cut off his body and stamped with faint tire tracks. “That jersey tells its own story,” commented Andy.

He chose a combination of mint green and seafoam green, following the graphic lines of the original jersey. The bike and helmet, a soft red that popped against a light blue background. He added texture resembling chipped paint in the centuries old Raphael painting of the cherubs floating in the clouds. The grayish-brown wisps looked like stretches of land, as if the cyclist was riding across the globe.

Hubby and I were so mesmerized by the angelic shadow, we were slow to catch on to its deeper meaning: the angel was riding a time-trial bike, the same bike Hubby road in his terrible, terrible accident. The wider tubes of the frame and hand position of the rider were different from the colorful rider. The cover was a second story to my story and it felt so deep, almost deeper than my memoir.

The weirdest feeling was seeing my name in big red letters at the bottom of the cover. I wanted the book title to say it all and leave me deep in the background, noticeable but not dominating.  Of course, nobody else thought my name looked too big, so I left it to the artist’s judgement.

I love the cover! If I never sold a single book, I would be happy with the experience of turning my book into artwork. I framed a poster-size version for Hubby for Christmas; he loves it too.

I had thought of offering a copy of the book to my new friend, but it seemed a bit egotistical and he probably had more than he wanted on his shelves from other authors.  I was wrong.

His final words to me, “If it’s not too cheeky, may I have a signed copy of the book?”

Of course.

Frame-worthy!