DUGO's Book Cover Shop [CLOSED]

COMING SOON!!!

First of all, I want to say thank you to all my supporters. I started this cover shop as a way to pass time, but y'all are actually taking me seriously. I love y'all.
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So I'm not just a graphic designer, I'm a writer as well, and I'm set to publish my first book on wattpad —but not the first book I've written— on January 10 2023.
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Here's the cover and blurb

Blurb:
Marty says
    'No matter the dumb things you do, never get yourself expelled. Supposing it does happen, you might end up like me -shipped to live with your Uncle Gerald and his family in Maile because your parents decided they can't handle your "criminal tendencies". Things might get complicated. You may find out everyone from your mother's side, including your mother, is a sorcerer; and Maile, your maternal hometown, is the international center of magic, but you're a muggle with the Curse of Sight (meaning you can see the mystic world hidden from ordinary people, but have no magic of your own).

Next, you will probably decide to expose the dirty secrets of Maile, just for the fun of it, and end up meddling with ancient legends and dangerous magic. A boy might pop up, and he will be handsome, strong, and charismatic. You may not know how to handle what you feel for him, but everything will turn out okay. Maybe... Okay, it won't.

Assuming you make it up to this point, then things will definitely get very out of hand. Not only will the people you love be in grave danger, the decisions you make might just be the difference between life and death for millions of persons.

If you're still alive to this point... that's some crazy amount of luck you have there.'
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Also, I've added a snippet of the first chapter.
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Chapter One

M

arty says, ‘Life is like an acorn growing on a pineapple tree with purple leaves... That doesn't make sense does it?’

The story of how a 16 years old gets stuck in the middle of the woods, with no food and a switched off phone, might have many variations, but mine is by far the dumbest. It goes like this...

Once upon a time, in the magical city of New York, I attended a party, which my parents strictly ordered me not to. They did that because they knew I had exams the day after, but if they'd known who the organizers of the party were,  they'd have strapped me to a chair and locked me in the basement. The hosts were... How do I put it?... a shady lot.

My parents didn't lock me in the basement, so off I went. Why? Simply because I couldn't resist, especially not when it was rumored that the party would be the best this semester. True to the talk, it was a thrilling event, with plenty alcohol and very loud music. At first I felt out of place, but soon I was drunk as a barfly. I got myself into a game of truth or dare, and saw things that I'd only seen in the Game of Thrones. Not that anybody dared me to do anything, I wasn't exactly one of the attractive girls in the circle. 

I did get a crazy dare though. I'm not proud to say it, but I'm quite notorious for breaking school rules, so when the bottle pointed at me, one girl, who was just as drunk as I was, thought to dare me to steal the question paper for the mathematics exams tomorrow. At first I was taken aback, but the girl snorted and I was given another dare.

It was after the party that I started thinking, 

    'Won't it be so cool if I could break into the Mr Brandon's office?'

At first it was a fleeting thought —barely even there. However, as a walked on, it became all I could think about. The 'what if's' twirled around me and became so vivid, I could almost touch it.

So, instead of heading straight home, I made a detour to my high school. Getting in was no problem, since my school didn't have a gate and never locked the front doors. Swaying from side to side, I made my way to the door of the math's teacher's office. I turned the doorknob, and was disappointed that it was locked, even though I should have expected it. For all the life in me, I wouldn't have been able to remember the correct order of my surname, Rowekk-Chester or Chester-Rowekk, but I somehow recalled I had a hairpin in my pocket, and that I could use it to pick the door lock.

Thanks to my ample experience in picking locks, getting into the office came along swiftly. The door swung open on its own, revealing a dark room barely bigger than a cubicle, with chairs at the back and front of a single desk, and a short book shelf at the side. I'd never been in it, except for the rare occasions Mr Brandon called me in to advice me on  how to get better grades, but here I was now. Phase one of Operation Break In was complete, and I was proud of myself; I practically waltzed to the teacher's desk. I had to pick the lock to the desk too, but that took less than a minute.

Next I reached in and pulled out the first papers I layed my hands on. It was dark, and I couldn't see a word written on them. However, the questions of the maths examination wasn't important to me; it was the conquest I was after, and I'd gotten that. I could actually say I snuck into the school at night, and laid my hands on an unreleased exam paper. Wow. 

That shouldn't excite me, but it did. Things were going so well, you'd have to expect something to go wrong —not that I did—  but it happened anyway.

Little kids(!), when you're mama tells you to stay away from alcohol till your 21, listen to them, because then you wouldn't do the things I do. Okay there's a slight chance I might still have broken into the math's teacher's office even if I was sober, but I'd never had done what I did next.

Finding the papers useless thanks to the lack of proper lightening, I let it fall to the ground, and dipped my hand back into the desk. It came out with an mp3 player, likely something Mr Brandon seized from a student who'd preferred to listen to music rather than his teachings. I fumbled with the device, and mistakenly pushed a button that caused a song I recognized as We're Not Gonna Take It by Twisted Sister to begin playing. I liked that song, so I danced to it.

I don't even want to imagine what I looked like dancing while drunk, not that I was a better dancer without the alcohol. I don't get embarrassed often, but being caught dancing like flamingo with a broken leg would have certainly done the trick. I put my hand in the desk again, and this time I brought out a can of spray paint.

That was when I got a magnificent idea (at least at the time it felt like it).

To the beat of music, I staggered to the nearest wall, shook the can, and released the paint. I did it all while dancing, kicked my legs when I sprayed a stroke, and wiggled my shoulders when I painted a dash. Once done I stepped back and admired my artwork. The words 'MARTY WAS HERE" was spelled out in a very ugly handwriting, but I was still satisfied with the outcome.

I threw the can aside and clapped imaginary dust off my palms. My work here was done. I waltzed out the door with a goofy grin on my face.

Needles to say, this was a very bad idea.
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I will be making an announcement when I publish my book, so please follow my account so you can see it. When my book does come out, please give it a chance. Thank you for even bothering to read this chapter.
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