Author John Rachel Wakes Up Black!

 

Apparently my voter registration card has been nullified. The letter I got said that to reinstate my voting privileges, I would have to provide a birth certificate, proof of U.S. citizenship, blood and urine samples, DNA from my natural parents and at least four aunts and uncles, a copy of a recent utility bill, a notarized letter of commendation from my high school counselor, two color photos taken within the last twenty minutes, a clean bill of health from my doctor showing I'm not lactose intolerant, and a list ten references five of which must be active members of my local Kiwanis Club. I also have to pay two outstanding parking tickets for a car I never owned __ I'm disputing this by offering proof that I was in Kenya with President Obama at the time of the parking violation citations.

I guess I understand. It's important to maintain the integrity of the right to vote in a system where the voice of the people weighs in so heavily in shaping public policy.

[ This originated at the author's personal website . . . http://jdrachel.com ]

What’s in a name?

  This is my First Holy Communion picture, taken one year after I was officially adopted.

I've had three legal names in my lifetime.

That's not unusual for a female divorcee but I think it's an anomaly for most men.

I was born John Carl Shreiber but taken away at birth from my mother. We were in a mental institution at the time and she was deemed unfit.

After a year in the St. Vincent de Paul Society orphanage, two folks in their early 40s who were unable to have their own children, took me home. They were uneducated and very poor, so it took them five years to convince Judge Joseph Trombley, Probate Court judge in Mt. Clemens, Michigan, that they were worthy.

But the adoption finally went through and I became John Richard Laug. I was six and the photo here is me one year later.

My adopted parents, Richard and Florence, died when I was 14. They died three-and-a-half months apart, my father of brain cancer, my mother from the flu. But she had been sick all her life with high blood pressure and heart trouble, so the flu just did in her already weakened body.

Tough times followed. Most all of the relatives disappeared on me. My smart mouth and precocious arrogance never made me popular. I loved books. They loved sports and beer.

Anyway, Laug was always a problematic name. No one ever got it right. Laugh, lang, land, log, law, you name some mutilation of Laug and I've heard it a hundred times. It's actually a German name, pronounced (with lots of spit) L-OW-K. Like 'ow', as in you're standing on my foot, with an L on the front, and a big wet mucousy K on the end. Germany was not exactly popular after WWII, so my parents made the G silent, really complicating things.

I always hated Laug. "Hey, it's Johnny Law!" or "Hey gang! Let's beat the fuck out of Johnny Lang!"

So when I was 27 years old, I legally changed it to John D Rachel. (The D is just a D, not an initial. It stands for nothing specific, though I tell people my middle name is Dork or Demented or Divine or Disturbed, Delightful, Delicious, depending on my mood.)

When you're a male and you legally change your name, most people think you're up to no good. In fact, the court makes your declare that indeed, you are not changing it for any fraudulent purposes or to attempt to wrangle out of any legal obligations.

I wasn't. I just hated my name and changed it to something I liked.

So here I am. For most of my life, I've been John Rachel.

The irony is that I'm a writer.

Shreiber is German for ... writer.


[ This originated at the author's personal website ... http://jdrachel.com ]

Blinders Keepers

 

In this dark comedy, a young fellow who escapes his hopelessly hayseed home town in Missouri is mistakenly labeled a terrorist and must survive a fierce manhunt by government security agencies, while the President of an America in chaos and collapse takes desperate measures, attempting to reclaim control and get himself re-elected.

Blinders Keepers is social-political satire in the tradition of Jonathan Swift, Kurt Vonnegut and Joseph Heller, but revved up and spit-shined to take on the historic new levels of absurdity and dysfunction of the 21st Century. It is one young man's struggle to survive the epic disintegration of the American Dream.

Published June 1 of this year, this semi-frivolous, quasi-serious, mini-epic in a major key is available in every popular format for literature lovers across the English-speaking world.

As a Kindle ebook from Amazon (US) . . . http://amzn.to/122cnyF
As a paperback from Amazon (US) . . . http://amzn.to/11zaEjm
As a Nook Book from Barnes & Noble . . . http://bit.ly/17MtgjE
As an iBook from the Apple Store . . . http://bit.ly/11WqJiv
As an ebook from Kobo . . . http://bit.ly/18wHki2
As an EPUB ebook from Sony . . . http://bit.ly/11GNrLz
Every popular ebook format at Smashwords . . . http://bit.ly/190zmgs
As a paperback from the printer . . . http://bit.ly/10SPPyS
Direct from the publisher . . . http://bit.ly/14j2VGy

But let's face it. There are so many books out there!

Overwhelmed? Don't feel alone. You might want to check out the first video trailer . . .

. . . or listen to what the vitamin-deficient author himself has to say in this interview. 
Okaaaaaay!

The truth is, against all odds, oohs and aahs are pouring in from all corners of the globe. Following are some carefully edited excerpts from unsolicited reader comments posted at Amazon (it is the opinion of the administrators of this website that expletives and death threats serve no constructive role vis-a-vis the literary merits of the novel):

"Blinders Keepers" is an example of how to successfully mix political observations, humor, and creativity . . . This is a great book to unwind with at the end of the day. Just sit back and let the insanity unfold. The prose is well written with a fresh voice and will have you grinning whether you like it or not. –  Nicole Disney 

"Blinders Keepers" is the latest star of my "show this to the next person who says indie novels suck" list. Here's your novel by an unknown writer, from a press so indie it amounts to "self-publishing by proxy", with an oddball, non directive title and a vague cover. What's to like? Well... THE BOOK! It's WAY cool. –  Linton Robinson

This book is interesting, fun, and witty, with a wry, sardonic sense of humor__a Vonnegut meets Christopher Moore drive-it-like-you-stole-it joyride! –  T. Rood

Blinders Keepers is a fugitive quest set in the near future in an America none of us would want. In its futurist setting, it aligns with 1984, Brave New World, and The Handmaid's Tale, all cautionary stories about how bad things might get if we don't wake up and smell the decaf. –  Gerald Everett Jones

Comparisons to Kotzwinkle, Tom Robbins and Ishmael Reed are not that far off the mark . . . Rachel is very, very good. He has a lively style and is very gifted at original, catchy similes and metaphors. His insights are interesting and he lays them in with finesse. His style and voice don't suffer from comparison to the writers mentioned above. Much more enjoyable than Palahniuk, to single out one. He's a fun writer, but also a solid, focused one who knows what he's doing. –  Linton Robinson

I AM ONLY 2% into the book and it has blown away every other good book I've read. . . . Being a fan of John Rachel I know him to give offbeat stories that are almost beyond description. – Grandma Snyder

But don't take their word for it. Make up your own mind!

As the essence of good literature is allegory and allegory is like giving LSD to a toddler raised on a porch in Appalachia, here is the second video trailer for Blinders Keepers.

Now! Time to pull out all the stops. Here's the opening sub-chapter of Blinders Keepers, based on a verifiable historical event but modified at the discretion of the author to align with the instructions given by a voice in his head __ a dreary character who without any irony claims to be the orthopedic surgeon for St. Ignatius of Loyola. It takes all kinds.

CHAPTER ONE
State of the Union

It was that time of year again. Last week of January.

The President was making his much anticipated State of the Union Address.

After the usual greetings and initial courtesies — thanking everyone for coming, acknowledging the important players in all branches of the government, and offering gracious regards for a few special invited guests — the President delivered the type of crowd-pleasing line which has been the linchpin of State of the Union addresses for as long as anyone cared to remember.

“As I stand before this great body and look out at the faces of those who have dedicated themselves to this great nation, I can say with absolute confidence that America is on strong and certain footing.”

Then abruptly his expression changed, he shook his head and stopped speaking. Hands grasping the edges of the podium, he looked down at his feet and appeared to be lost in thought.

What followed was both unexpected and certainly unprecedented. He looked back up. Gone was the confident smile, the twinkle in his eye, the arched optimistic brow. He appeared somber, a touch sad, apologetic.

“Who am I trying to fool here? You, my respected Congressmen? Some of the finest legislators to ever hold public office? The excellent justices of the Supreme Court who preside over the greatest legal institution in history? Myself? No, I’m not here to try to fool anyone. These are times unlike any this nation has ever seen. So I’ll tell you exactly what the state of our union is. It’s a fucking mess!”

A deathly silence filled the entire congressional chamber. If a pin had dropped, it would have been possible to know its exact size and just how many times it bounced. What wasn’t entirely clear was if they had somehow missed what he just said, or if they had heard it, but it hadn’t actually registered. Blank faces and unfocused eyes filled the chamber.

Then, as if being directed by some invisible conductor, or moved by an invisible resonant force field, everyone immediately stood up and began with thunderous applause, cheering, and raucous acclamation, to give him a huge standing ovation. This went on and on, for several minutes at least, never in the least waning in intensity. The President smiled and waved, basking in the adulation. Finally, he had enough and made it clear he had more that he wanted to say. Using a palm’s down gesturing with his hands, he eventually got them to sit back down.

“So here’s what we’re gonna do. I want you all to look down at the floor. Now pull your pant legs up over your calves. What do you see? For those senators and congressman from Texas, this will be easy. You won’t have to imagine. The rest of you, just look and see what I’m seeing. See those loops. Those are bootstraps. Yes, bootstraps. Okay. Now look back up at me.”

Dramatically the President held up high in front of him his two index fingers.

“See these? What we’re gonna do is take these and insert them right in those bootstraps. Then all together, we’re gonna lift. We’re gonna lift like no one has ever lifted before. And we’re gonna pick ourselves up. We’re gonna pick ourselves up and we’re gonna stay up. Do you know why? I’ll tell you why. Because this is America. This is the greatest country that ever was or ever will be. And as we have demonstrated time and time again, as we have shown the naysayers and skeptics over and over, this is one country that can do it. We will do it! Yes! By God we will do it! Ladies and gentlemen, thanks to each and every one of you for your unselfish dedication, your unwavering patriotism, your honorable service to this great country. God bless America!”

Everyone in the chamber, congressman, jurists, ushers, guards, special guests, select members of the press, again leaped to their feet. The response this time was totally over the top. It made the first ovation look like they had been standing graveside at a wake.

Suddenly and without warning, over the explosive din of the hysterical whooping and yelling, could be heard blasting from P.A. speakers hidden behind the long drapes at the rear of the gallery, the U.S. Army band playing Happy Days Are Here Again. This theatrical touch just added to the ongoing chain reaction, notching the hysteria up another two levels.

With climactic flair which rivaled the best Superbowl half-time shows, red, white and blue balloons then dropped from the ceiling. Like crazed, frenetic school children, the congressman start batting them around.

Maybe the country was going to hell in a hand basket. But darn it all, there was no reason to get all down in the mouth about it.


[ This originated at the author's personal web site . . . http://jdrachel.com ]