Something momentous happened to me this past Wednesday. No, Ed McMahon’s Prize Patrol didn’t make a stop at my house. No, I didn’t fit into my jeans from college. No, my children didn’t make it through the day without tattling, taunting or fisticuffs.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t THAT momentous. But it sure was exciting.

My publisher sent me the cover flat to my book.

Realizing what it was, I held my breath and tore open the envelope. As the author, I’d supplied descriptions of the characters but otherwise had no say about what went on the cover. Publishers have art departments for that. I’d had no idea what to expect—would it be a photo of models? Graphics? Or maybe not people at all. A flower?

And then—there it was. For one stunned moment, as I stared at it, I didn’t know what to do. These characters—Dara, Mike and Sean—had for four years been solely MY creation. No one else’s. And now, suddenly, here I was staring at someone else’s rendering of what they looked like.

I couldn’t think. I’d heard all kinds of horror stories about authors crying over their covers. About covers where the (insert one here) hero/heroine’s hair color/body type/clothing was all wrong. Was this one of those covers? Did I love it or hate it? For one stupefied moment, I couldn’t decide.

And then … I loved it.

The (insert one here) hero/heroine’s hair, eye color, eye brows, clothing, earrings, even Sean’s shadowy presence in the background was all perfect–I loved all of it.

Naturally I e-mailed copies to everyone I could think of. My sister-in-law said I’m officially an author now that I have a cover and a bar code. Some people say it’s official when you have a signed contract, receive your first advance check or get your ISBN number. Others say it’s the first time you go to a bookstore and see your work on the shelf.

Is it official now? I don’t know. But … whatever “official” is, I feel closer to it now that I have a cover.