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14.08.2015
Preface Adaline Pates Potter, known to all as Pates (pate eze) came to Mount Holyoke College from western Pennsylvania with the firm, if romantic, intention of majoring in French and joining the US Consular Service on graduation. She blamed her inability to discipline her love of telling tales on her Kentucky father and on her mother and four siblings, all of whom were passionate readers and indulgent listeners.
So I shall start with a brief outline of the Mount Holyoke College community of which we were only a part. A returning alumna trying to find the Mount Holyoke she knew in the late a€?twenties, would see much to reassure her if she drove along College Street. Yet, back of the faA§ade, the college has changed not only structurally but essentially, and one of those most essential changes is the student body. Most of us were Protestant: Congregationalist, Presbyterian, or Methodist, although there was a sprinkling of Episcopalians and Quakers.
If all that lack of variety -- social, religious, and class -- made us parochial in outlook, it was also the basis for what I find the most distinguishing and influential characteristic of the college I knew: we were classless. It all happened between September 1928 and June 1929; that was a very far-off time -- sixty-seven or sixty-eight years ago, to be specific. If Sycamores has ghosts today, I think they are not of the students I knew there, but Margaret, Nellie, and Dunk, assuming still their roles as guardians of the house. Later came the daffodils, narcissus, and hyacinths in clumps at the bases of the big trees, filling the borders, escaping somehow into the wilderness beyond the grape arbor.
Naturally, being girls still, we did not confine our reaction to the garden to aesthetic raptures. Having chosen Sycamores for its eighteenth-century charm, we tried to furnish our rooms in the spirit of the house, at least in so far as our not very knowledgeable taste, our pocketbooks, and our comfort allowed. We had the southwest room at the top of the stairs on the second floor, the one with its own dogleg staircase leading to a locked door on the third floor. We tried to make the double desk, again college-issue, as inconspicuous as possibly by setting it to the left of the door; at least, it didna€™t strike the eye as one entered.
In the fall of 1971 or a€?72, the Dean of Students office, faced with a shortage of rooms for an unexpectedly large freshman classand having on its hands an empty Sycamores -- if a really old house so full of memories can ever be called a€?emptya€? -- decided to move foreign students from Dickinson, where most of those on the graduate level had been housed for at least twenty years, to Sycamores; that is, from the extreme south end of campus to the even more extreme north. As foreign student adviserI was worried about the change, but since I had been presented with a fait accompli, I had no opportunity to raise the questions that troubled me.
I must confess that it worked out fairly well, though the difficulties Ia€™d predicted did arise.
Despite their initial disappointment, they began to accept the situation, and gave in gracefully, or at least, not too plaintively, as they fell into the rhythms of their adopted life. Second semester had begun, everyone had returned, somewhat gratefully, to the safety of campus after the confusing scramble of Christmas vacation, and everyone had settled in nicely, I thought. So she went off with the key and it was so effective that Miss Lyon returned to wherever she had walked in my day, and never turned up at Sycamores again. Our relationship with our Head of Hall was fairly close, but our meetings usually took place at meals, in the halls, or in our own rooms, though Evelyn Ladd, as House President, probably saw more of her than I was aware of. We knew, of the room itself, that one whole wall was white-painted paneling with a fireplace, and that it was fitted up like a sitting room, with chairs and a cot, of the sort we students had, with a serviceable dark green couch-cover. This juxtaposition of bathroom and Miss Dunklee was at the heart of one of our more dramatic experiences that winter. My memory may be wrong: it couldna€™t have been more than a healthy trickle, though a reprehensible one, after all. Still there were, there had to be, lapses; further disappointments for Miss Dunklee, though none so serious as the bath episode. Whatever the reason for our unease, an evening came when we feared that the sheer numbers of our small infractions had accomplished what one serious carelessness had failed to do: discouraged Dunk irrevocably. She smiled benignly, went into her room, and shut the door, leaving us to trail upstairs feeling, if truth must be told, a little flat. The name a€?Sycamoresa€? brings up memories of one of the happiest years of my College life. I wish I could recall when we first had Sycamoresa€™ Delight, and I wish I could say that it was something Escoffier would have risked his life for. Since ordinary dates were usually confined to weekends, a week day was chosen for this occasion, in order to highlight the glory. Meanwhile, the two young lady dates, having got themselves dressed for an evening out, were lurking on the second floor at the top of the stairs.
About the other, I can be more sure and detailed, though the 1931 Llamarada, placing that wintera€™s Llamie Dance in late October, shakes my certainty about the background. There was much good-natured chaffing as each date boasted of his prowess as a trencherman and vowed to add his name to the list.
Feminine modesty required observance of two conflicting dicta: one did not interfere with the innocent pleasures of onea€™s date, and one did not allow notoriety, especially if there was any danger that it might be accompanied by public ridicule. Friday nights, Saturdays, and Sundays differed somewhat from class days, and greatly and crucially from the present weekends. Within that routine, there were, naturally, variations, sometimes worthy to my nostalgic mind of treatment in some detail, sometimes very minor but insisting on a brief notice. Some of our elders, and some of the more conventional of us, must have thought there were other, more dangerous flames that year, for 1929 was an election year and, though the Republican Herbert Hoover became president that fall, despite my own staunch adherence to the Democratic party, radical criticism, even some talk of listening to the demands of a€?those unionsa€?, was in the air. For the most part, though, our interests and activities were confined to college and, more specifically, the dorm. Such long walks were common for us in spite of the skirts we still wore everywhere, but they tended to be informal.
Some of our walking was less healthy that sophomore year than Outing Club hiking; the fall of 1928 saw the Administrationa€™s capitulation to the Campus cigarette lobby.


In those days, one of the entertainment glories of the Connecticut Valley was the Court Square Theater in Springfield.
One incident that really had nothing to do with Sycamores but certainly lent flavor to our lives there, took place during the winter.
A function of Jeanette Marksa€™s Play Shop was to lend its expertise to the foreign language departments when they put on their annual plays. More connected to Sycamores was one more of these passing events, small in itself but important to the participants; in this case, to me.
Sophomore year, as Ia€™ve said, was the year a class began to define itself as a part of the college community. Each class inherited its color -- red or blue, green or yellow -- and its heraldic emblem -- lion or Pegasus, griffin or Sphinx -- but the song had to be original. End of an extraordinarily satisfying year for seventeen sophomores and for one -- yes, I really do believe it -- often distraught head-resident. The only explanation I can advance for such an uncharacteristic omission is that this was a a€?middlea€? college year, merely the end of a dormitory, not the end of college. Nevertheless -- here the story-teller gives a shout of triumph -- I do remember most fondly and with a little hindsight embarrassment one event that might be described as a climax of sorts: Dunka€™s final attempt to give pleasure to a€?her housea€?. I cana€™t say whether I had an exam that morning, but I do recall the late May flowers and fragrance and our great pleasure when Dunk told us as we assembled for lunch that we were to have a picnic in the garden.
The cup was not quite full, however: no food had appeared and Evelyn Ladd, the designated hostess, was missing. Miss Dunklee, mindful of the passing time and Miss Greena€™s inexorable schedule, reluctantly took care of the first problem, giving away the second part of her secret: the food was to be hunted for. The food was laid out on the tables, our plates were piled very high; Miss Dunklee and Mr.
Someone else was sent, like Sister Anne in the Bluebeard story, to see whether a laggard Evelyn was even so belatedly wandering down the road from the college. At about five oa€™clock that afternoon Evelyn turned up, exhausted but jubilant that the questions on the exam she had just taken had called forth her best. I find it hard to accept that the sophomores I have been writing about and whom I can see so clearly are now in their mid-eighties, elderly women by anyonea€™s standards. PrefaceA  Adaline Pates Potter, known to all as Pates (pate eze) came to Mount Holyoke College from western Pennsylvania with the firm, if romantic, intention of majoring in French and joining the US Consular Service on graduation.
A A A  She blamed her inability to discipline her love of telling tales on her Kentucky father and on her mother and four siblings, all of whom were passionate readers and indulgent listeners. We were an astonishingly homogenous group.A  Almost all of us were middle-class and Protestant and came from east of the Rockies, and most of those, from the Atlantic coastal states north of the Mason-Dixon line. Yet, back of the faA§ade, the college has changed not only structurally but essentially, and one of those most essential changes is the student body.A  As Ia€™ve said, the student body was almost ridiculously homogeneous.
Award winners and Gold-Starred covers also win the right to display our badges on their websites, so don’t forget to get your badge to get a little more attention for the work you’ve put into your book. Also please note that we are now linking winning covers to their sales page on Amazon or Smashwords. Now, without any further ado, here are the winners of this month’s e-Book Cover Design Awards. JF: A clever cover somewhat undone by disjointed typography and harder-to-read-than-necessary light blue type on a white background. JF: Great sci-fi illustration, it would be interesting to see it with more pulp-inspired typography.
Christina Tarabochia submitted Broken Wings designed by Nicole Miller of Miller Media Solutions.
Christina Tarabochia submitted The Journey of Eleven Moons designed by Nicole Miller of Miller Media Solutions.
Conzpiracy Digital Arts submitted The Whitechapel Demon designed by Conzpiracy Digital Arts. Ebony McKenna submitted The Summer of Shambles (Ondine Book #1) designed by The Masked Maven.
Hillel Cooperman submitted The Madrona Heroes Register: Echoes of the Past designed by Caroline Hadilaksono. JF: Right on target with this strong design, although there might be another solution for that subtitle.
Jan Hurst-Nicholson submitted With the Headmaster’s Approval designed by Vanessa Burger. Janet Hurst-Nicholson submitted The Race (an inspiring story for left-handers) designed by Vanessa Burger.
JF: Nice drama in this attractive cover that uses the idiosyncrasies of the title lettering to great effect. June Pace submitted Benjamin McTish and the Door Through The Grandfather Tree designed by June Pace. JF: Why burden this conceptually strong, well designed, beautifully executed cover with a title that can’t be read? JF: Similar images have played a central role in other covers submitted to this competition, and this cover makes great use of it here.
JF: I like the idea, but in practice all the elements have become so small as to be indecipherable. JF: Classic typography that the designer uses to focus us on the central point of the cover.
JF: A very accomplished thriller cover that uses story elements and graphic type treatments to make just the right impression.


Eldon Sarte submitted Wordpreneur Peeps: 107 Successful Indie Publishers designed by eldon Sarte. JF: Another great cover from an author who really understands graphics, and has a playful side, too. JF: Sideways or vertical titles rarely work well for nonfiction books, and I think this cover shows why.
Ford Baker submitted Time Out for a Better Marriage: The Husband Guide Volume I designed by Ford and Kandy Baker. Joseph D’Agnese submitted The Scientist and the Sociopath designed by Jeroen ten Berge.
JF: Love the composition and concept on this cover, and the clever illustration, but why does it have to be hard to read? Kirsty McGregor submitted Go Hard or Go Home: The Little Book of Overlanding designed by Adam Togni. Laura Roberts submitted Montreal from A to Z: An Alphabetical Guide designed by John Moore Williams. JF: With all the great visuals of Montreal, it might have been nice to use one on this cover. JF: Simple but effective, showing that even with some carefully chosen elements, non-designers can create workable ebook covers. Use the share buttons below to Tweet it, Share it on Facebook, Plus-1 it on Google+, Link to it!
She hastily switched to an English major when she learned that Consuls are expected to have at least a rudimentary knowledge of economics, however, she did take as many courses in government and political science as the college then offered. Dedicated smokers now snatched a fugitive drag in dormitory rooms, with all the consequent flurry of suddenly flung-open windows and frantic waving of towels if someone in authority approached. Lovell freely, to take us to the Court Square, and to Springfield at the beginning of vacations. Woolley Hall, the Rockies, Skinner, the Mary Lyon gates, Mary Lyon itself, the libe, and Dwight have altered their front elevations so little, or so subtly, that she might even overlook the new link between the libe and what she knew as the a€?art buildinga€?. Remember that the aim of these posts is educational, and by submitting you are inviting comments, commendations, and constructive criticism. Economical with a strong graphic sense, a design that stands out boldly, yet at the same time contains just enough story to create a powerful allure. But the pattern in the background seems a bit strong to my eye, and I keep thinking it’s some kind of moire effect. You have a terrific illustration just begging for better typography to establish a strong brand. This is a nice cover from a strong concept, but the title ought to be much stronger and drop the fussy features. Keeping a simple palette and focusing on one main graphic element really helps, but you’ll need much better typography to get to the next level. I hope you found it interesting, and that you’ll share with other people interested in self-publishing. After graduation at the height of the a€?Great Depressiona€?, she spent four years in Northampton, Massachusetts, as a governess, finishing that period with an M.A. This wartime work led her to return to the Mount Holyoke English department, as a teacher of English as a foreign language and of composition. Please leave a comment to let me know which are your favorites or, if you disagree, let me know why. Playing off of the traditional wedding cake with a bride and groom on top, this cover uses a humor to convey the story of three jilted women getting their revenge.
Each character is one of the authors, with an element of a story incorporated into the design. This detective thriller throws together Tarot cards with my firsthand knowledge of Hong Kong.
Though unseen, darkness is everywhere, enveloping everything in a cocoon of nurturing care. I had already published this in paperback and wanted to maintain a continuity in the design for the ebook cover. In 1960 the position of foreign student advisor was added.A  She retired as Associate Professor of English and died in 2006.
At Northfield she was given permission to marry Gordon Potter; her employment was terminated two years later, on the grounds that, as a married woman, she would be unlikely to stay in the school into an old age.
Yet here it was, our home for some nine months, and a home we had chosen for ourselves when low room-choosing numbers allowed the choice. At Northfield she was given permission to marryA  Gordon Potter; her employment was terminated two years later, on the grounds that, as a married woman, she would be unlikely to stay in the school into an old age. Next the cigarette layer was added in screen mode allowing the numbered keys to show through.
Beta reader Lehsa Griebel came up with the puzzle element, and David Leek and I worked closely together on the overall design.



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