The Evolution of a Book Cover

 JENN McKINLAY: I may or may not get into trouble for sharing the evolution of my most recent book cover. Maybe I should ask first but I long ago discovered it's easier to get forgiveness than permission.

So, my upcoming 2026 romcom THE SUMMER SHARE just had its big cover reveal. It came out great I'm thrilled, but how did we get there?

About a year out from publication, my publisher always asks what I want on the cover. Given that this is a story about two people who inherit a cottage in the Outer Banks only to discover when they get there that it's a shared inheritance, I knew right away I wanted a cottage on the cover, a beach, our heroine, our hero, and the heroine's Great Dane named Dude, or "El Duderino, if you're not into the whole brevity thing" -- bonus points if you can name the movie that quote comes from!

Being ever helpful, I sent my publisher a mock up (with notes) of what I thought the cover could look like.

There was some debate about changing the cover from my previous  romcom styles (see my website for examples). It's the old debate about whether or not "cartoon" covers were out of fashion, etc. Given that I write comedy, I feel like a cartoon cover is a good heads up about what you're going to get but what do I know?

A couple of months passed and I received three options for the new cover. Wow!

How great are these? I sent them to everyone I know (the Reds can testify this is true) and asked for help with choosing. I mean, they're all amazing. I felt like I was tasked with the impossible. The colors on book one dazzled, the blue water on book two was so inviting, and the cottage with the couple sitting on the title was ridiculously charming. After several weeks of debate, my editor and I picked our favorite elements from the covers and sent our thoughts back to the art department. And this is what they came back with: Perfection!

PRE ORDER NOW (May 2026)

You can see the final is vastly different than the mock up I sent in and yet it captures the vibe I was hoping for. This is why I'm a writer and not a cover artist. 

So, what do you think, Readers? Did the art department do right by me? There is no wrong answer here as art is purely subjective.

More about the book:

When two misfits discover they’ve inherited the same beach house, sparks fly in the most unexpected ways, in this hilarious and heartfelt rom-com from the New York Times bestselling author of Summer Reading.

Free-spirited travel influencer Hannah Spencer has spent five years touring the country in her vintage van. An unexpected inheritance from her Pops brings Hannah to Cape Split, North Carolina, where she learns she’s the new owner of a worse-for-wear seaside beach house. Or, rather, fifty percent of one. Turns out Simon O’Malley inherited the other half from his Gramps.

As Simon and Hannah spend the summer tag-teaming repairs on the crumbling cottage, they discover the house was once home to a timeless love story. Soon, they begin to wonder if the house’s romantic past may be a good omen for their future together. But there’s one problem—Simon is set on selling the property at the end of the summer.

Hannah thought one summer at the Split would be enough, except it isn’t like any place she’s ever been, and Simon isn’t like any man she’s ever known—and she’s thinking about putting down some roots. She just needs Simon to see their budding relationship and this newfound community the same way or their first summer share might also be their last.

What We're Writing: Spite by Jenn McKinlay

We have a winner!!! The winner of last week's Ellen Byron/Maria DiRico signed book is Kathyc23!!! Email Ellen at ellenbyronla at outlook dot com and she'll send your book!

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Jenn McKinlay: Authors are frequently asked what motivates them. I always thought it was my desire to create, my love of words and stories, or more practically my need to eat. Come to find out, none of that is it. I'll explain.

A few months ago, my agent thought it would be a great idea if I submitted some original novella ideas to an audio book publisher. The money was great, the novellas were a third of the length of what I usually write, and I have come to LOVE audio books, so I was all in. 

I toiled to write what I thought were three super fun ideas for romcoms. Set in a fictional Museum of Literature on Museum Mile in Manhattan, the books are everything I love about the romantic comedy - snappy dialogue, fun settings, characters that a reader can relate to, and -- in this case -- plot lines centered around books.

My agent read them and agreed. Yay! We submitted and waited (this part of publishing never seems to change) and waited and waited. When the audio publisher did get back to us, it was a "These stories are fabulous, but..." There's always a but. The publisher didn't like my existing audio sales numbers so they passed.

Well, here's a little known fact about me. If you want me to do something, the best way to get me to do it is to tell me that I can't. I think this stems from being the youngest - always too little, always too young, always having to stay home with mom when everyone else went out and had fun, and so on. It makes you feisty!

Needless to say, I wrote the novellas, hired an editor and cover artist, and novella number one ROYAL VALENTINE drops on Jan 4th with the next two coming in June and December of 2022. The audio will follow eventually -- because the whole point of this was to publish audio -- but I ran out of time (deadlines!) so now my agent is shopping the audio rights because she's awesome like that. 

So, when I was finished writing the first novella, I realized it wasn't my need to create that drove me to finish the story as much as it was...spite. Yeah, I'm not sure this says anything good about me. I had a whole "I'll show you" thing going on while I wrote, for sure, but in my defense, I was also in love with the world I'd created in my head -- a museum of literature, people! -- and I had to see it through because I knew they could be so fun as audio books. Let's hope the audio versions, when they manifest, prove me right!

Here's a snippet of our museum registrar heroine meeting her love interest for the first time: 

There was a light shining from beneath my office door and I realized I must have left it on, knowing I was going to come back from the gala and change out of this Austen inspired nightmare. I yanked the ribbon beneath the old fashioned bodice loose and began to shrug out of the constricting gown. 

     I opened the door to my office and stepped inside, eager to peel off the dress and slip into my day clothes, when a movement behind my desk startled me. I jumped and let out a small high-pitched shriek. 

     There was a man—a stranger—behind my desk!

     We stared at each other for a beat and then his gaze drifted down and then shot right back up to study the ceiling.

     “You, eh, um, I’m not sure—” he stuttered. 

     Furious at the violation of my privacy, I planted my hands on my hips and glared. “Who are you and what are you doing in my office?”

     He was standing in a half crouch as if he’d been rising from the chair but was now stuck somewhere in between, not wanting to make a move that might scare or offend me. He glanced at me but didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, his gaze fastened somewhere over my head.

     “M. Graham, I presume?”  He waved his hand at the door where my nameplate was attached.

     “Molly, the M stands for Molly,” I said. “And, yes, that’s me. And you are?”

     He was wearing a tuxedo, which made it obvious that he’d been at the gala, but his bow tie was loose, the ends dangling on each side of his unbuttoned shirt collar. Had he sought refuge in here because he’d been feeling ill? Or was he a very well-dressed burglar? 

     It hit me then that I was all alone on the upper floor of the museum with an absolute stranger. This was what avid readers described as a protagonist’s TSTL (too stupid to live) moment, which was frequently found in modern fiction. I’d always been a critic myself, but I now had a new appreciation for those sticky situations that characters found themselves in.

     “I’m a guest,” he said. He still didn’t meet my gaze. “Would you believe me if I said I was hiding?” 

     He had a deep-toned British accent, which was annoyingly distracting. In the silence, his gaze met mine, drifted down, and then rocketed away. “You might want to um…” His voice trailed off, but he pointed to his chest and then mine, indicating there was a situation . 

     Suddenly, I was aware of a cool breeze in a place I should not be feeling a breeze at all. I glanced down and then clapped my hands over my front. One of my girls had gone rogue and had popped out of my loosened gown, playing peekaboob. Ack!

     My face was instantly as hot as the fire from a thousand suns, and I wondered if this was where the tall tales of spontaneous human combustion came from because I was positive that I would go up like a human torch of humiliation in three, two, one…I did not. Pity . 

     I yanked up my droopy bodice and quickly draped the fichu around my neck, trying to salvage what little dignity I could find. I’d have had better luck trying to hold water in my cupped hands. 

     Awkward silence filled every nook and cranny of the room as I had no idea what to say to this stranger who had seen my bare breast. Wait a minute. Yes, I did .

     “Who are you? And why are you hiding in here?” I cried. With my front now completely covered, I tossed my head, planted my hands on my hips, and assumed a rigid stance of furious indignation. I would have high-fived myself, but I didn’t want to risk another nip slip.

     “I’m…er…Albert George, you can call me Al,” he said. His Rs were as soft as butter and his smile revealed a slightly prominent canine tooth on the right side that gave his handsome face a roguish charm. Startlingly bright blue eyes met and held mine as he rose to his full height and a wave of thick dark hair flopped over his forehead in a disarmingly endearing way .

     I refused to be sidetracked by his attractiveness. The man was in my office, had seen my boob, and for all I knew was there to steal the rare books that were in my care. I glowered.

     “That tells me who you are, Al.” I over pronounced his name just to be annoying. “But why are you in my office?” I demanded.

How about you, Reds and Readers, what motivates you? And how do you handle it when you're told you "can't" do something?

Molly Graham doesn't believe in love at first sight or fairy tales. She's been burned too many times before. When her best friend, Brianna Cho, challenges her to aim high and go for men who are out of her league, Molly can't imagine a worse way to spend Valentine's Day. When she stumbles across a very handsome British professor, Albert George, seeking refuge in her office during the Museum of Literature's Valentine's Day gala for the opening of their Austen exhibit, Molly can't help but be drawn to the fellow introverted academic. Together they ghost out of the event and embark upon a month long love affair. Molly is rethinking her stance on happily ever afters and plans to tell Al how she feels, but he disappears. Afraid something bad has happened, Molly searches for him only to discover there is no Albert George affiliated with the university. She's been played for a fool!

Molly is devastated. As registrar for the Museum of Literature, she is tasked with a trip to England to return the Jane Austen exhibition materials on loan from the Whitmore Estate in Bath. It's the only thing she has to look forward to and even this dream trip is a struggle. When she and Brianna arrive at Whitmore Manor, they are introduced to Earl Whitmore and his grandson Lord Insley, or as Molly knows him Albert George. She is shocked and dismayed to discover she has fallen in love with a viscount in line to be an earl. James Albert George Insley Whitmore, called Jamie by his friends and family, arranged for Molly to bring the materials back. He had to leave her unexpectedly, but he hasn't been able to forget her and he wants to win her back. Molly isn't having it. She refuses to be taken in twice. Jamie will have to channel his inner Fitzwilliam Darcy to prove to her that love conquers all and win her heart for good. 

 

What We're Writing: Jenn and the dreaded copyedits.

JENN McKINLAY: I'm plugging away, cranking out ten pages a day on a brand new venture that I'm enjoying immensely  It's been sold and I'm quite thrilled by the enthusiasm of the publisher, but while the contracts are still being drawn up, I can't say anything about it as yet. Bummer, I know.

In the meantime, because writing four books per year is a juggling act, I'm also doing the dreaded copyedits for October's book, The Christmas Keeper. It's a rom-com that features cranky horses, romance writing divas, and ugly Christmas sweaters. What's not to love, right?

A popular phrase in publishing these days is "meet cute", which describes how a heroine and hero meet. This is not the case with these two characters: Joaquin (Quino) Solis and Savannah (Savy) Wilson. In fact, I believe "meet snark" would be more apt, which could be why I love them so. Here's the scene from the perspective of Joaquin's friend Ryder:

Savannah charged into the office, carrying two mugs of coffee. She saw Joaquin standing there but didn’t slow down. She just plowed past him into the room. Ryder caught Quino’s look of surprise and almost laughed.

    “Here you go,” Savannah said. She thrust the mug at Ryder. Then she scowled at him. “What did you say to Maisy?”

    “Nothing, why?” He took the mug and tried to ignore how his pulse jumped at the sound of her name.

    “Liar,” Savannah said. “She’s with her kitten right now and she’s—,”

    “Crying?” Ryder asked in alarm.

    “Singing.” Savannah gave him a dark look.

    Oh, singing was bad, very bad, for a variety of reasons. “Over the Rainbow?”

    “Worse, Tura Lura Lural,” she said.

    “The Irish lullaby?” Quino asked. “What’s wrong with that?”

    Savannah and Ryder shared a look and then Savy said, “I’m sorry, this is your business why?”

    “Because Ryder is my friend,” he said.

    “Well, Maisy is mine,” she countered.

    Ryder glanced between them. If ever there were two people who should not be in the same room together, it was these two. Both were fiercely independent, stubborn, and frankly, mouthy.

     “Here’s a thought, if you don’t want me knowing your friend’s business, maybe you shouldn’t talk about it in front of me,” Quino said. He crossed his arms over his chest, doing a fair imitation of a wall.

    “If you had any manners, you wouldn’t have listened in on what was obviously a private conversation,” Savy said. She ended it with a hair toss and Ryder saw his friend’s pupils dilate. Quino had always had a thing for gingers.

    “Steady, you two,” Ryder said. “We’re all friends here.” He cast a glance at Savy. “At least, I hope we are. Joaquin Solis, this is Savannah Wilson. There you’ve been introduced, now play nice.”

    Quino’s eyes moved over Savannah’s tall, curvy frame. She was dressed for success today in a skirt and blouse with spiky heels. Her long red curls were loose and framed her face becomingly while her green eyes blazed provocatively. Ryder would have felt sorry for his friend if he wasn’t all consumed by his own female based misery right now. 

    “You’re a city girl, aren’t you?” Quino asked.

    “Woman. I am a woman, not a girl,” Savannah said. “And, yes, I’m from Manhattan, or as we like to call it, civilization.”

     A slow smile spread across Quino’s lips. Ruh roh. Ryder knew that look. It practically shouted “challenge accepted”.

    “Well, woman, since we’ve established that I lack manners, I’m going to say exactly what I’m thinking,” he said.

     “That should be a short sentence,” she retorted.

    This time Quino laughed and it hit the room like a sonic boom of warmth. Ryder noticed that even Savannah responded to it by relaxing her posture a bit. She turned to face him and Quino moved forward until they were an arm’s length apart.

     “I think you should go on a date with me,” he said. Tall and muscular, with movie star good looks and a friendly personality, it had long been established that Quino could have any woman he wanted. In fact, in all the years Ryder had known him no woman had ever refused a date with him.

    “That is never going to happen,” Savannah said. “But thanks for the offer.”

    Ryder was pretty sure his jaw hit the ground. He tried to cover it up by taking a long sip of coffee, but seriously -- Holy Shit! – no one ever said no to Joaquin Solis. He thought his friend might be embarrassed to have crashed and burned in front of him. 

    Nope. Quite the opposite. Quino looked at him as if to say Her. I’ll take her. Ryder had the abrupt epiphany that his world had just gotten infinitely more complicated. This had to be nipped. Immediately!

October 2019

So, how about it, Reds and Readers, how do you prefer your meets between characters - cute, snarky, or other?

The Good Ones! Release Day for Jenn!

JENN McKINLAY: It's always so exciting when a new book is released! The Good Ones launches a brand new romantic comedy series for me, which is set (oh, my heart) in a romance bookstore  tucked away in the mountains of North Carolina. I've always wanted to own a bookstore - more in theory than reality - so this was perfect for me. It has everything I love in it, books, kittens, books, cowboys, books, comedy, books...well, you get the idea. I've been very fortunate to garner some amazing reviews and even a starred review from Booklist for which I am very grateful.

And now, just because I can, I thought I'd share an excerpt with you, because it's my book birthday and why the heck not?

Excerpt: The Good Ones

When Jake took off his cowboy hat and pulled her close, Claire wrapped her arms around him and the two became one. When they kissed she knew they were making each other a promise for today, tomorrow, and forever. Clare sighed. For the first time in her life, she knew that no matter what happened this man, who was her partner and her best friend, would be by her side. For all time.

     Maisy Kelly closed the book and pressed it to her chest and sighed. Jake Sinclair, the perfect man, why did he reside only in the pages of a book? It wasn’t fair. She was twenty-nine and none of the men she’d ever dated had been even remotely as caring or charming as Jake Sinclair.

     Knock knock knock.

     Maisy blinked. Someone was at the door. No, no, no. She had a book hangover and she didn’t want to deal with the world right now. 

     Knock knock knock. 

    They weren’t going away.Maisy rose from where she’d been seated on the bottom step of the stairs. In theory, she was supposed to be cleaning out her Great Aunt Eloise’s house, in reality she was binge reading Auntie El’s hoarder’s trove of romance novels. It wasn’t making the task, which was heartbreaking to begin with, any easier.

     Knock knock knock.

     “All right, all right,” Maisy grumbled. “I’m coming.”

     She strode to the door and yanked it open. Probably, if she had bothered to glance through the peep hole she would have been prepared, but she hadn’t and she wasn’t.

     Standing on her front step, looking impossibly handsome and imposing, was a cowboy. Maisy glanced down at her book. On the cover was the artist’s rendering of Jake Sinclair, in jeans and a white shirt, leaning against a split rail fence, with a brown cowboy hat tipped carelessly over his brow. Maisy could practically hear the cows mooing in the background. 

     She glanced back up. Jeans, white shirt, and a cowboy hat. This guy had it all going on, except where the artist had left Jake’s face in shadow and not clearly defined, this guy was a full on 3D HD of hotness, with full lips, faint stubble on his chin, and quite possibly the bluest eyes Maisy had ever seen this side of the sky. She had a sudden urge to poke him with her pointer finger to see if he was real.

     “Mornin’, Miss,” the man drawled, drawled!

    Miss? Huh, she hadn’t been called “Miss” since she’d started teaching at Fairdale University. Why would he…she glanced down.

     She was wearing her favorite floral Converse All-stars, ripped up denim shorts, and her old Fairdale University sweatshirt, the one with the sleeves that hung down past her hands, oh, and she had on no makeup and her hair was held back by an enormous pink headband. She probably looked like one of her college students, possibly a freshman.

     In that brief shining moment, she was certain if it was possible to die of embarrassment, she would expire in three…two…one. She gave it a second. Nope, still standing. Damn it.

     “Listen, I’m sorry, sir, but whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested—,” she began but he cut her off.

     “Oh, I’m not selling anything,” he said. He looked confused. “This is three-twenty-three Willow Lane, right?”

     “Yes, it is. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back--,” she let her voice trail off, hoping he’d get the hint. He didn’t.
     “I have an appointment with a Ms. Kelly about turning this place into a bookstore,” he said. “Or Mrs. Kelly, I’m not sure.”

     Maisy knew she didn’t have any appointments today. That was why she’d indulged herself in a good long reading sesh. This guy was probably a hustler, trying to con her to buy some property insurance or new windows. Ever since she’d inherited this monster of a house from Auntie El she’d had all sorts of scammers climbing out of the cracks in the sidewalk, trying to get her to refinance or buy a security system. It was exhausting.

     The man met her squinty stare with one of his own. He shrinkled up one eye and mimicked her look of disbelief right down to the small lip curl. The nerve! Then she saw the twinkle in his one open eye, and Maisy couldn’t hold it. She burst out laughing. 

     He grinned at her and her ire diminished as she noted the cowboy had a sense of humor. Okay, she decided to give him a break and at least take his name and number. 

     “I’m sorry,” she said. “What was your appointment with Ms. Kelly about?”

     “It’s about the house, actually,” he said. “My name’s Ryder Copeland. I’m a restoration architect, and you are?”

     “Ryder Copeland?” Maisy’s eyes went wide. “But our appointment isn’t until tomorrow, you know, Tuesday.”

     “Today is Tuesday,” he said. 

     “No, it isn’t,” she said. “It’s Monday.”

     “Sorry, it really is Tuesday. Wait,” he said. “Our appointment? You’re Maisy Kelly?”     

JENN: I have to say that one of the best parts about writing this series has been being able to share all of the authors and books in the romance game - yes, starting with Jane Austen - that I have loved over the years. 

                      

So, Reds and Readers, have you ever wanted to own a bookstore? If so, what type? 

EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY by Jenn McKinlay

Life. Art. For me, the line in between frequently gets blurry. Very blurry. 

A Top Pick from RT Magazine and with a Starred Review from Booklist! Don't miss out on the latest romantic comedy in the Bluff Point trilogy! Available TODAY!

When I wrote the book, EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY, I thought it would be fun to include a foster kitten named Chaos. He was a spunky little critter that enriched the story and the lives of my characters. Fast forward a couple of months and my family and I found ourselves rescuing a two week old kitten, who is now named King George, and is a solid (and spunky) member of our pack. Did writing about Chaos bring George into our life? Hmm.

Chaos

King George

Another plot point in today's release is that my characters are stuck in a blizzard in Maine for three days. Next door neighbors with kids and pets, surviving a brutally cold winter -- great set up for a romance, right? Yeah, sure, and now I'm visiting New England and it looks like they're about to break the record for coldest number of days in a row since 1917 - one hundred years, people! I'm not saying my book brought on the cold snap, but I'm not not saying it either.

A stream in the woods on New Year's Eve

So, if there is a life-art connection happening, I'm thinking in my next book my characters need to find a cupboard full of fresh baked pies or a trunk full of gold, you know, just to see if art really is imitating life. 

What about you, Reds? Have you ever written something and then had it happen to you? Coincidence or...?

For anyone who wants a looksee, here's an excerpt from 
EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY:

     The blizzard caused power outage continued through three board games, lunch, an arts and crafts project that was supposed to be making snowflakes out of printer paper but turned into an epic fail when Zachary Caine unfolded his and it looked like six knobby penises.

     “Oh, wow, I didn’t see that happening,” he said.

     Jessie Connolly about choked on her own spit from trying not to laugh as Zach tried to hide his pervy snowflake from her girls. He should have known better by now. When he hid it behind his back, they attacked. Five-year-old Maddie wrestled it from his hands while seven-year-old Gracie distracted him by saying she heard someone on the front porch.

     When Maddie unfolded it, she frowned.

     “Why don’t you like it, Zach? It looks like p—“

     “No—“ Zach tried to cut her off to no success.

     “—arrots.”

     “Huh?” He raised one eyebrow at her.

     Gracie glanced over her sister’s shoulder and nodded. “Yeah, parrots. See? Here’s the head—“

     “Got it!” Zach cried.

     Jessie turned away. The urge to laugh was becoming too much and she had to fake a coughing fit to try and contain it. Parrots! Bless her innocent little girls’ hearts.

     “Are you all right, Momma?” Gracie asked.

     “Fine, I’m fine,” Jessie answered. Her voice was strained and she was still facing away from them, because she knew if she looked at Zach or his snowflake, she was going to lose it completely.

     She felt him at her back before he spoke. One arm appeared in front of her, and he leaned close, speaking right into her ear, and said, “So, did you want to hang my bird-like snowflake on the window with the others? The girls seem to think it’s full of peckers.”

     The laugh when it came out of Jessie was something between and guffaw and a wheeze. As she looked at Zach’s phallic snowflake, she doubled-up with laughter. The more she tried to contain it, the worse the giggle fit became.

     “Momma, you shouldn’t laugh at Zach’s snowflake,” Gracie said. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”

     Jessie pressed her lips together and nodded, trying her best.    

     “She’s right,” Zach said. “My feelings will go positively limp.”

     A snort erupted and tears sprang from her eyes. Jessie gave Zach a warning look that was likely ruined by the smile that still curved her lips.

     “Here,” he said. He reached around her, brushing her side with his arm and ripped a piece of tape off of the dispenser. “Let’s hang it right here, shall we?”

     Jessie watched as he taped his snowflake along with the others they had made right in the center of the kitchen window.

     “Oh, that looks good there,” Maddie said. “Don’t you think so, Momma?”

     “It would be hard to find a better place for it,” Jessie said.

     This time it was Zach who hooted with laughter. He didn’t even try to contain it.

     As he walked past her on his way back to his seat, he leaned in close and said, “I feel compelled to say that the parrots on the snowflake are not the actual size.”

     His teasing gaze held hers and Jessie felt her face get hot.

     “Of course not,” Gracie said. “Everyone knows a real parrot is bigger than that.”

     Zach reclaimed his seat at the table and grinned. “Man, I love these kids.”

     Both of her daughters beamed up at him as he began to fold his next piece of paper, and Jessie felt something in her chest shift.