All right, I confess. When I was writing the novel that became Fifty-One, the cover was not front of my mind.
Big issues bothered me, like whether the time travel paradoxes in the story might sink it under the weight of mind-bending puzzlement (they don’t, honest!). And so did small issues, like what had the weather been like on a specific day in July 1944.
In my idler moments, I even indulged fantasies of which actors might play Jake and Amy, my time-tossed, star-crossed lovers, if ever there was a movie version of the book.
I didn’t think about the cover. Maybe I’m just not a visual thinker.