This week, I’ve been lucky enough to see several versions
of Angel’s Ink cover. The art is done and they are now tweaking the
words, working on font, arrangement, and colors. It’s awesome that I’ve been lucky enough to
be sent several versions and allowed to comment. Largely, authors are sent a finished cover
and told: “There! There is your
cover! Tell us how much you love it!”
And I have blessed by the cover gods in that I do love all my covers. Generally, you don’t have any say in your
cover and it’s better that it is left up to the experts. At least in my case. I have no knowledge of art and I don’t know
what’s going to catch the eye of a reader.
But, I got to put in my two cents and it was fun!
Meanwhile, the writing continues.
In my spare time, I’ve been doing a lot of reading. A small part of me feels guilty for what I’ve
been reading. I’ve got so many friends
and acquaintances who have written the most magnificent stories, and they are
simply sitting on the shelves, piling up.
That’s the danger when you become an author. You meet other authors and you want to read
their books. So you buy their books when
they come out (which gets really expensive when you think about all the people
you now know), but you’ve also got to find the time to write your own books.
And then there’s this Guttenberg Project thing, which is
also threatening my reading life. If
you’ve got an e-reader you probably know what this is. If not, welcome to my heaven and hell. It is my understanding that the Guttenberg
Project has taken all the old classics that are a part of public domain and
made them available for free as e-books.

I love my classics, but it’s a restrained, quiet love as
the language and pace of the story is different from what I write and read on a
more regular basis. I generally read one
classic about every three to four months compared to two or three contemporary
novels a month.
But Tarzan is
different. Oh, the language is different
from the contemporary novels in my collection, but the story is so wonderfully
compelling. It is 100% pure
escapism. There is danger, intrigue,
romance, honor, chivalry, heartbreak, adventure, exotic places, and just a
sense of freedom that seems long dead and cold from this world. And somehow, quietly, underneath it all, is a
little social commentary on the so-called “civilized man.”
It represents to me the heart of what a novel once was so
long ago. It was a means of escape. It was an adventure folded between two
hundred thin pages and so much fun.
So, I unexpectedly found myself sucked into the African
jungles with a sexy man in a loin cloth as he hunted from the treetops. I watched as he killed and fought and fell in
love. I watched as he learned what it
meant to be human.
When I finished Tarzan
of the Apes at two in the morning, I screamed. The book did not end how I had expected. Furthermore, it quite obviously continued in Return of Tarzan. I didn’t know there was a second book so I
hadn’t downloaded the second book.

So, thank you Mr. Edgar Rice Burroughs for writing such
an amazing, compelling tale about a man raised by apes in the jungle who turns
out to have a better sense of what it means be human than his more “civilized”
counterparts.
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