Karen S. Cole talks about her book: THE RAINBOW HORIZON: A TALE OF GOOFY CHAOS to Agnishatdal (Sharmishtha Basu)

Karen talks about her book: THE RAINBOW HORIZON: A TALE OF GOOFY CHAOS

This 1980s’ satirical tale of the able-disabled Pacific Northwest features friendship favorably. It stars 3 Mexican Americans, one Black middle-class heroine, one Jewish Holocaust and two Vietnam War white survivors. It also hugs a conflicted gay male character. But it’s about a love triangle of 22s to 45s – with a roaring drunk Montanan! Racism is lampooned, sexism is promoted…viva endlessly.

It’s a rare, uniquely multicultural (white inclusive) and fetchingly gay humor novel by an experienced, published ghostwriter with 35 years in freelance writing, editing, marketing, publishing and serving others through working in-home for the Disabled. Also via Ghost Writer, Inc.: affordable book, screenplay, script, lyrics, copy, website and music ghostwriting. I’m mainly oriented towards commercial success, being a lifelong book ghostwriter and author. But I really want more distribution of the inmost concepts than I’m looking for accumulated sales of the book.
The story? Well, it’s a humorous ramble, kind of a smile a minute, that I’m still working on. I wanted to make sure there is a copy stored somewhere on the Internet, so you folks could review it. I also think this my universe is now evidently run by machines, not live personages. But the book is about dozens of People of Color, gay and transvestite and also white folks who congregate as extremely close friends, enemies and hot-minded lovers. They all live in the little town of Rama, WA — as in State of Washington, not the District of Columbia.

I have stayed in the Seattle area for decades, deciding to write a book about how everyone here technically lives within “the boonies” of Washington State, among plenty of giant, sprawling evergreen forests around here. Even in the City of Seattle, on the outskirts of the city proper. Beautiful deep woods you can barely view out your car windows, veering off into the far distance of a fading green light’s blacker depths. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep…so far away you can only imagine touching them, or see the low-hanging silver clouds as mountains in your wildest dreams.

My book is strictly fiction, a lifetime of compiled stories about imaginary people, based on real life folks I hobnobbed with, while delicately generating its material. Everything is pretty much duly tongue in cheek, without pointing the fickle index finger at your face. It salutes and taunts those who are pretentious enough to use names instead of labels, who wrote many books before me as clams who never could get that the audience does indeed have a sense of humor, whatever their “ritual politics” are (or might not be).

As I sketched out the lengthy contents of this book, which after much experience will be markedly different upon a major rewrite, I found myself dreaming a dream. It involves somehow selling the book for cheap, spreading it around through word of mouth, and many lonesome readers getting a major kick out of my book’s non-racist, atypical stereo-funny contents. In Mexico, the United States, Canada and many other such places. I’m a feminist, I’ll admit it, and also a sexist who rides the line. Read this book if you like such a blend!

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