Dude Your Cover Sucks

As many of you know I am currently in the process of completing my first novel and readying it (finally thank you to the deity of your choice) for publication.  All is done with the exception of the cover.  I have NEVER in my adult life had such a difficult time deciding on anything than on exactly what should be on the wrapper for the fluffy,  nougat filled morsel of brain dropping.  I’ve literally spent weeks agonizing on this issue, even to the point of scouring the racks of the fiction section in Cleveland Library (shameless plug) looking for inspiration. 

The old adage about judging a book by its cover still holds very, very true in the publishing world.  Almost every new writer guidebook and website will implore you to either get professional help with a cover or make sure you are at least moderately gifted as a graphic artist before you even attempt creating your own.  Apparently, completely to my surprise, you actually have to entice a reader to open a book to start with before you can take your time pissing them off with mediocre content.

Imagine that?

I have to admit something.  In this process of trying to figure out what cute little picture and fonts to use when introducing my ramblings to the world it occurred to me that it seems more and more that we as a society snap to judgment on a person with the same ease we make a decision on a book.  It shames me to have to own up to it but I know for a fact of at least a dozen times in the past month I’ve made a dismissive judgment on a person based on very little information.  I will slap a label on someone and write them off in an instant on occasion with nothing more than three words out of their mouth or one less than intelligent action. 

These realizations started my brain down an even darker path, however.

Imagine how often we/I judge a person based on a label we’re aware of and not the person.  Let’s try a little experiment.  I’m going to throw a couple of the cute little labels that I’ve heard tossed at people lately out on the table.  Unemployed.  Bum.  Ex-Con.  Gay.  Bitch.  Creepy.  (Racial slur of your choice.)  Lawyer.  Little Person, Writer.  Veteran.  Be honest with yourself.  If this person were sitting alone at a table in a crowded restaurant, would you ask to join them? Better yet, would you want to start a conversation with them?

I’ll be the first to admit that, particularly when I’m having one of my special don’t-fuck-with-me days, that I am capable of being the furthest from social as humanly possible.  I did, however, try an experiment today.  I started a random conversation with someone just for giggles.  I then did something I don’t usually do as well as I should. 

I shut the hell up and let them talk.

Something really interesting happened.  That predetermined label I had for that person fell off and dissipated after about five minutes.

Trust me, I am in no way trying to preach to anyone here.  This is merely an observation.  It just occurred to me that we are constantly bombarded with the message of man’s inhumanity to man.  I wonder if sometimes we forget that the person on the other end of our label / rant / judgment is actually a worthwhile human being.

That is, of course, until they prove themselves to be a total waste of space fuck tard.  Once that happens, by all means invite them for a double helping of cock meat sandwich and wish them well in all their self-fornication endeavors.