Whats goin' on?! Well, I'll tell ya....oh, need a cover!

Hell, I'm Excited...and Yes! There is Medication for That!

This is worse than writing your own resume...honestly.  See, all books require 'descriptors,' which are wonderful exercises in self-validation, a pompous kind of celebratory self-delusion and like dark chocolate, designed to seduce a potential reader out of their hard-earned cash.  So, here we go!

But!!!! My kingdom for a cover!!!  Let's see, we have:  Thanks to Sandra Mesrine......we got one.

 

 

 

 

 

The Plot:

 

 

Small matter of an apocalyptic nuclear kind of...misunderstanding.

 A
Caused by these fellows:






Which in turn led to many mothers taking their children to underground macaroni and cheese hide-outs: 


Of course, since I wrote the damn thing, there must be a horse involved.  No, not this one. That's Rocinante.  He's...well, he has issues.

Instead, we have a horse that is born with certain political problems.  No, not the legs....but there must be a rags to riches element or at least some reason for hope...Hope?  From a notorious cynic?  Well, why not. If you take cynicism all the way around the barn it becomes...delusional?  Hmm.

But horse grows up and since nobody explained to him his limitations, he ignores them.  Typical horse.

 Okay...we also have a plane crash...no, the Russians weren't involved.  And...






A new fashion innovation that changes women forever...well, ten days, two weeks max.  And sorry, about as close to farriery as this book gets.  However, I have included at least 127 seperate citations concerning hogs, Bourbon and the advent of indoor plumbing in the Commonwealth of Kentucky.  And hams. 





Has to be a young girl involved and I added a young man just for balance and an overall sense of doom over what happens shortly after puberty.  He is a smart ass and based the author's own experiences shortly after puberty which sadly, have continued for decades.

 Oh, not the girl pictured. She looks almost suicidal about the whole thing. But girl discovers horse shows as a hedge against the drama of the whole world ending on a Thursday.  That almost leads to a bankruptcy of hope, except that fashion turns out to be more profitable than corn, tobacco, pigs...horses.  Remember that if your oldest son gets a notion about growing cabbages for a living.

Then, everybody goes to the races.  It's okay, we all know the world didn't end on the last week of October, 1962, because it is now November of 2013.  We didn't do the Mayan thing either. 



And as I promised my editor....no fruitcake in this book.  Or Hostess products.  We're heavily into Velveeta on this one though.  Sorry.

Release date issues:

Ha, ha....Notice the date.  How about Derby week 2013, hopefully.  Which means more like Preakness time. Off to publisher in 10 days.  Then I obsess over the "what if's."  Geez.  Okay, that didn't work out either which meant it was finally released in October of 2013.  Homeland Security didn't like the part about a Russian admiral...

 

 

About the book -- short

 Late October, 1962.  The US and the Soviet Union stand toe to toe, poised to unleash their nuclear arsenals over the deployment of offensive missiles in Cuba – a mere 90 miles off the coast of Florida.  This is the Cold War, suddenly too hot to touch.  Apprehension flows relentlessly down the irrational corridors of chaos and panic – personal choices driven by the political realities of a world gone mad.  A pair of kids, suddenly cast adrift by the week’s escalating events, find themselves forced on a journey not of their making.  To Paris, Kentucky and the farm of one Bobby Lee Hancock – just possibly the most cantankerous horseman in the whole state.  And waiting there, a young Thoroughbred colt…doomed by the peculiarities of his birth.  Or so the old customs had always dictated.  Surprisingly, the world didn’t end that turbulent week after all.  But the dreams, ambitions – the road the heart travels, did.  Forever.

 

Add for long:

 “That damn Kennedy’s gonna get us killed maybe…or worse!” as Bobby liked to spout.  But the young President had already moved beyond the brink of a final apocalypse – opening a second, perhaps more volatile door by questioning the very core of American values.  Civil rights, the desires and ambitions of the country’s largest minority – women; and the wider responsibilities inherent to leading the world’s greatest democracy through an era restless for change.  The 1950’s were the calm between very different storms – one engulfing the world, the second threatening the nation.  But often, that ‘change’ was personal and highly private as well, especially for children caught in a sudden and seemingly unrelenting tempest.  And just as often, the salvation, perhaps life’s balance itself has four legs and a tail.  Just a horse?  Maybe not.

 

 

About the author – short and long:  Well, actually who cares?  Suffice to say that he is unemployable under most circumstances.

 

A. Allan Juell has been writing about horses and the people they own for over 35 years.  His work has appeared in periodicals such as Washington Thoroughbred, EQUUS, Chronicle of the Horse, Western Horsemen, Anvil Magazine and many others, both regional and international.  He picked up a few obscure literary awards along the way, as well as copious amounts of…well, ‘enlightened’ criticism.  This is his second book.  He published “Mares, Foals & Ferraris” (Dog Ear Publishing), in 2011.  That book was a serialization of columns first penned for the Washington Thoroughbred in the 1980’s.  He holds a degree in history/international affairs, and currently resides in Port Orford, Oregon.  Originally from Seattle, Washington, he has traveled extensively about the planet, from New Zealand to Mongolia and many of the odder stops in between.  He continues to abuse the English language at Horsetrionics.blogspot.com and Histryonics.blogspot.com.  Rumor has it that another obscure adventure is in the works – mostly likely sooner than later and may involve....

And yes...will probably change this at least ten eleven twelve times!  (I did actually.)

So, get a copy (or 10) for Xmas and prove to your friends that you have incredibly bad taste in literature.  It's for a good cause.  Going to France to get a hew hip joint.  Have heard fascinating things about French nurses...not good, just fascinating.