Savant Jacket Covers

This morning after spending a few hours outside burning brush and watching the sky. I had some ideas for a jacket cover.

In this blog, I am only posting the ones I really liked since it would take too long to put all of them here. You can view the rest on myspace, just click on the link and go to the photo albums.

I started having images of what the cover could look like and at the first little drop of rain, I was inside, got a shower, (discovered poison ivy on my elbow, yea for me!) ate lunch and then began creating. I'm pretty impressed with what I came up with. I only scrapped one drawing. Hummm...I wonder.....maybe I need grapic design software for christmas? I don't know, it's the first time I've really played around with the default paint software. It's very basic designing but I sure had fun with it. I thought about having someone do the cover, but I don't think that will be necessary.

I wonder if I haven't stumbled upon something I didn't know I could do? Huh. Here is another excerpt from Savant......

At the end of the excerpt are the covers. Leave a comment if you feel compelled to do so.

It started a year ago, when FBI Agent Gibbons died by the hands of what the media was now calling the Tic Tac Toe serial killer, while on an undercover assignment. His body was found in a trash bin behind a seedy bar in Nashville, Tennessee with the letter “x” carved into his back, and a blood smeared note nailed into the back of his head. His wallet and its contents intact, his watch still on his wrist. With robbery ruled out, motive speculations became clouded and fuzzy. No witnesses, or clues; nothing. It was like that with each case so far. Trent needed Tic Tac Toe to slip up, like someone surviving an attack, have close call victim or laccidentlly leave DNA. Something.
Trent desperately needed a solid lead. He guessed poor Ester Varner, the woman lying face down in her own blood, wouldn’t yield much information either. Maybe when he got a chance to talk to the first officer on the scene something might come to light. Trent’s doubts engulfed him like a dark shroud.
It bothered him that he did not pick up even a slight twinge from the killer, no vague images, or a mental nudge. He had no other explanation for it. He could go to any crime scene and touch the victim or an object nearby and get fuzzy mental pictures, distorted impressions or flashes of the incident. He prided himself on his ability to sniff out the bad guys with his keen sixth sense, a secret nobody knew about, not his family or his boss.
But, with this guy, not a damn thing. That bothered Trent more than anything else. He had to catch this monster and soon.
He stared out into the small knit cluster of onlookers. It amazed him how macabre curiosity could be as he watched emergency lights play across women in curlers and robes hugged tight across their bodies. Their eyes full of concern and questions on their lips. Some of the men gathered in small groups, hands in their pockets, nodding their heads every now and then toward their dead neighbor’s home. Reporters strained against the yellow crime scene tape wanting answers. No matter the incident, the lookie-loos were there, speculating on what happened. The people next door thought she was in Florida, not on the floor of her living room starting to rot.

From Savant copyright March 2007
Connie Clark