Timothy Parsel's Blog

In a last-ditch effort to regain the affection of the woman of his dreams, Timothy Parsel swung his leg over the saddle, grabbed the reins, and followed her down the trail, oblivious to where the path of marital devotion would take him: ultimately his skinny ass would suffer the most and next, his ribs, which became the target of many horses' hooves. How many times can one man be kicked by half-ton equines, how many miles of fencing can one man install, how many bales of hay can one man haul—and live to talk about it—let alone find it humorous enough to write about? Find out by reading Parsel's memoir, Broken Rib Ranch.

After learning my books had been delivered, I was in a rush to get home from work that evening. My wife, Diana, met me on the steps of our front porch. "Have you seen them yet?" I asked.
"No," she said. "I thought you should be the first one to see them. After all, you are the author."
I needed to hold a copy of my memoir in my hands—to make sure Broken Rib Ranch wasn't just a dream. That it was real. I walked past Diana and into the garage, where several dozen boxes were stacked in the middle of the floor. I tore open a carton and my eyes fell on the cover. It was more than I had hoped for! I picked up a book and inhaled its brand-new, fresh-off-the-press aroma as I thumbed through the pages that contained my writing. My words. My memories.
As I returned to the house, I cherished the weight of the book in my hand.
"Take a few into work with you tomorrow and show your coworkers,” Diana said.
I froze at the thought. You see, I am not an optimistic person, so the mere suggestion of sharing my book with others caused a gnawing in the pit of my stomach, brought on by the fear of rejection. It was that same gut-wrenching sensation I felt back in high school whenever I thought about asking a girl to dance. (I rarely gathered enough courage to actually do so.)
I looked at Diana. "Maybe next week," I said.
"Either you take some of those books into work with you tomorrow or I'll shred them and use them to bed the horse stalls."
I believed she would.
The following morning, I grabbed a dozen copies on my way out the door. When I arrived at work, Chris, the office manager, greeted me with a smile. "What you got there, Tim?" she asked.
I cleared my throat and began my practiced response. "I wrote a book," I mumbled.
"You wrote a book!" she gasped excitedly. "I can't wait to read it! I'll buy one." She then told me to leave several with her because she wanted to help me sell the books. By the end of the day, Chris had sold every copy!
It was just like my coworkers to support a fellow entrepreneur—but I still didn't think complete strangers would buy Broken Rib Ranch. Especially because beyond my circle of friends, coworkers, neighbors, and relatives, I had no idea how anyone would find out about it.
I should never have doubted Diana’s determination. The next day, she visited all of the local bookstores, feed stores, and farmer's markets to see if they would stock my book—every one of them said yes. This brought about some success, but Diana knew there was more she could do to promote my memoir. And that's when she remembered the chapter titled “Auctions,” in which I discuss her purchase of an old covered wagon. In that chapter, I surmised that the covered wagon had probably been used for promotional purposes—since it had no other use—except to gather dust like most collectibles Diana felt the need to purchase at auction (it was just larger than most).
Diana was excited by the prospect and decided we’d enter the annual Charlevoix Venetian Parade in July. The next thing I knew, she had ordered custom-made banners with the cover of Broken Rib Ranch printed on them, which she planned to sew on the canvas of the wagon. We would hitch a team of Belgians to the wagon and walk the parade route—a mile long on a hot Saturday afternoon. I had my doubts whether or not we could pull off such a feat, since every time I'm around horses, a dark cloud seems to hover. But, Diana pointed out all the wonderful benefits, such as how it would be a great way to spark interest for my memoir. Since I wanted to sell books, I reluctantly agreed.
Fast forward to the night before the parade, when I learned the brakes on the wagon didn’t work. So, while all the residents of Charlevoix, plus the hundreds of summer tourists, were gathering at a local beach to watch fireworks, I was making sparks fly trying to get the brakes operational. Finally, after midnight, I finished grinding metal and dropped into bed around one a.m.
The next morning was early as we had to haul the wagon and the team of horses to the staging area in Charlevoix three hours prior to the big event. This meant a lot of standing around. And waiting.
Within the first half hour, the horses became restless and had to be walked around a nearby field to calm down. Soon, my nerves began to unravel as I thought about all of our past mishaps and how it never ended well for me. But, Diana insisted that our hard work was going to pay off.
Finally, we took our position in line with the rest of the parade participants, across from the open field where we had just spent the last three hours trying to calm horses by commanding them to stand. Now, not only was there the noise of several bands to contend with, the horses would have to also walk past thousands of onlookers seated three rows deep on both sides of the parade street without flinching.
As we rounded the corner onto Bridge Street, Charlevoix’s main thoroughfare and the chosen parade route, I heard the roar of the crowd. Everyone was awed by the sight of our horse-drawn covered wagon. As I walked alongside the team of Belgians, people waved at me and shouted, "Congratulations on your book, Tim!" Some even jumped up from their lawn chairs and blankets to run up and shake my hand.
I smiled. The support and encouragement felt tremendous. Diana’s idea was a huge success and did, indeed, get everyone talking about Broken Rib Ranch. A few days later, when I learned that all of the stores had sold out and wanted more copies, I knew never to question any of my wife's promotional ideas again.


Broken Rib Ranch (ISBN 978-0-9898116-0-6) is available online at Amazon and www.timothyparsel.com and at bookstores and other locales throughout Northern Michigan. You may contact the author or his publicist at parseltim@yahoo.com.

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 After learning my books had been delivered, I was in a rush to get home from work that evening. My wife, Diana, met me on the steps of our front porch. "Have you seen them yet?" I asked. "No." she said. "I thought you should be the first one to see them. After all, you are the author." I needed to hold a copy of my memoir in my hands—to make sure Broken Rib Ranch wasn't a dream. That it was real. I walked past Diana and into the garage, were several dozen boxes were stacked in the middle of the floor. I tore open a carton and my eyes fell on the cover. It was more than I had hoped for! I picked up a book and inhaled its brand-new, fresh-off-the-press aroma as I thumbed through the pages that contained my writing. My words. My memories.  As I returned to the house, I cherished the weight of the book in my hand. "Take a few into work with you tomorrow and show your coworkers," Diana said. I froze at the thought. You see, I am not an optimistic person, so the mere suggestion of sharing my book with others caused a gnawing in the pit of my stomach, brought on by the fear of rejection. It was that same gut-wrenching sensation I felt back in high school whenever I thought about asking a girl to dance. (I rarely gathered enough courage to actually do so.) I looked at Diana. "Maybe next week," I said. "Either you take some of those books into work with you tomorrow or I'll shred them and use them to bed the horse stalls." I believed she would. The following morning, I grabbed a dozen copies on my way out the door. When I arrived at work, Chris, the office manager, greeted me with a smile. "What you got there, Tim?" she asked. I cleared my throat and began my practiced response. "I wrote a book," I mumbled.  "You wrote a book!" she gasped excitedly. "I can't wait to read it! I'll buy one." She then told me to leave several with her because she wanted to help me sell the books. By the end of the day, Chris had sold every copy! It was just like my coworkers to support a fellow entrepreneur—but I still didn't think complete strangers would buy Broken Rib Ranch. Especially because beyond my circle of friends, coworkers, neighbors and relatives, I had no idea how anyone would find out about it. I should never have doubted Diana's determination. The next day, she visited all of the local bookstores, feed stores, and farmer's markets to see if they would stock my book—every one of them said yes. This brought about some success, but Diana knew there was more she could do to promote my memoir. And that's when she remembered the chapter titled "Auctions," in which I discuss her purchase of an old covered wagon. In that chapter, I surmised that the covered wagon had probably been used for promotional purposes—since it had no other use—except to gather dust like most collectibles Diana felt the need to purchase at auction (it was just larger than most). Diana was excited by the prospect and decided we'd enter the annual Charlevoix Venetian Parade in July. The next thing I knew, she had ordered custom-made banners with the cover of Broken Rib Ranch printed on them, which she planned to sew on the canvas of the wagon. We would hitch a team of Belgians to the wagon and walk the parade route—a mile long on a hot Saturday afternoon. I had my doubts whether or not we could pull off such a feat, since every time I'm around horses, a dark cloud seems to hover. But, Diana pointed out all the wonderful benefits, such as how it would be a great way to spark interest for my memoir. Since I wanted to sell books, I reluctantly agreed. Fast forward to the night before the parade, when I learned the brakes on the wagon didn't work. So, while all the residents of Charlevoix, plus the hundreds of summer tourists, were gathering at a local beach to watch fireworks, I was making sparks fly trying to get the brakes operational. Finally, after midnight, I finished grinding metal and dropped into bed around one a.m. The next morning was early as we had to haul the wagon and the team of horses to the staging area in Charlevoix three hours prior to the big event. This meant a lot of standing around. And waiting. Within the first half hour, the horses became restless and had to be walked around a nearby field to calm down. Soon, my nerves began to unravel as I thought about all of our past mishaps and how it never ended well for me. But, Diana insisted that our hard work was going to pay off. Finally, we took our position in line with the rest of the parade participants, across from the open field where we had just spent the last three hours trying to calm horses by commanding them to stand. Now, not only was there the noise of several bands to contend with, the horses would have to also walk past thousands of onlookers seated three rows deep on both side of the parade street without flinching. As we rounded the corner onto Bridge Street, Charlevoix's main thoroughfare and the chosen parade route, I heard the roar of the crowd. Everyone was awed by the sight of our horse-drawn covered wagon. As I walked alongside the team of Belgians, people waved and shouted, "Congratulations on your book, Tim!" Some even jumped up from their lawn chairs and blankets to run up and shake my hand. I smiled. The support and encouragement felt tremendous. Diana's idea was a huge success and did, indeed, get everyone talking about Broken Rib Ranch. A few days later, when I learned that all of the stores had sold out and wanted more copies, I knew never to question any of my wife's promotional ideas again.   

 Broken Rib Ranch (ISBN 978-0-9898116-0-6) is available online at Amazon and www.timothyparsel.com and at bookstores and other locales throughout Northern Michigan. You may contact the author or his publicist at parseltim@yahoo.com.

Enter to win one of four autographed copies of Broken Rib Ranch. Giveaway dates: Oct 22 - Nov 06, 2014  Countries available: France, Ireland, Netherlands, New Zealand, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland and United State's Minor Outlying Islands. Good luck to all who enter!

You can enter a giveaway from Goodreads to win a copy of Broken Rib Ranch, and it ends July 16th. There will be 25 winners, so good luck!

If you've ever wondered about the amount of time and effort it takes to get published. I'll be the first one to tell you. A LOT! Writing a book well, and publishing one that is of quality, is more difficult that it looks. Ask any successful author.

I spent years on the first draft of Broken Rib Ranch and hours revising it—okay, months—but I wanted to be sure my words expressed the story I had to tell. Even though there were times when I thought I couldn't bear to look at the manuscript again, I did.

What was my motivation? My readers. I wanted to immerse them in my story. I wanted them to laugh and cry with me. I wanted them to feel my despair while also realizing the devotion I have for my wife.

While working fulltime, I spent hours fact-checking, jotting down my thoughts in the middle of the night so they weren't forgotten in the morning; meeting deadlines; getting feedback from family and friends; and most dreadful of all, working with my editor. Although we sometimes disagreed, I know her expertise helped make it a better read. When she moved or cut something, I had to be creative in working it back in where I wanted (I usually succeeded).

Compelling storytelling, in effect, requires that you draw a reader in. Get their hearts pounding and their pulse racing. "Challenge them to a horse race that ends with someone picking gravel out of their torn skin." (Broken Rib Ranch, 41) Generate suspense. "Diana was terrified she had led Ryder into an impassible trap. He couldn't move. She contemplated going for help, but..." (Broken Rib Ranch, 113) And once readers are hooked, they'll keep turning the pages until the climatic end.

Some of the biggest rewards I receive are when readers take the time to write a letter to tell me how much they enjoyed reading Broken Rib Ranch; especially when they ask me if they'll ever see my characters again. That's when I know I've done my job well.

The bottom line is readers reciprocate in kind when your writing reads effortlessly. They tell their friends to "Read This Book" 

(Petoskey News Review, Saturday, May 31, 2014, review by Jan Mooradian, Petoskey Library Assistant)
                                                              
 Read This Book:                                'Broken Rib Ranch'
   
    In the memoir "Broken Rib Ranch," set right here in Northern Michigan, truck driver turned author Timothy Parsel conjures up 30 years' worth of stories of his marriage to Diana, who is living out her childhood passion for horses.
     The horses are more than minor characters. Written as a series of anecdotes from the author's remarkable memory, the book has a sit-around-the-fire-and-crack-open-a-beer-storytelling quality. 
     You'll meet runaway Ebony, Cody the rescued stallion and Trouble, who lives up to his name.  Every close-call situation is given a comic twist. Included are many photos of the expanding equine family.
     Even though the author clearly states he would rather be boating, he is in it for the long haul. His love and devotion for Diana, and eventually even for the horses, comes through.
     Anyone who has ever been obsessed with horses, local lore or just wants to share in an adventure of living out your dreams will enjoy this book.  You'll be in for miles of trail rides and plenty of giddy-ups and yee haws! This book is brought to us by Parsel Publishing and is available at www.timothyparsel.com

     A couple of weeks ago, I attended the Michigan Horse Expo in East Lansing, to promote and sell my memoir. I wasn't sure what to expect, having never been to such an event before.
     What I discovered was what I call the "Harley Effect"—the wide range of people, from farmers to lawyers and every profession in between, who act perfectly normal until they buy a Harley Davidson motorcycle. At that point, they become weekend bad asses who don dew rags and leather chaps with long, shiny strips that flap in the wind.
     Like Clark Kent, emerging from the phone booth transformed into Superman, once these everyday businesspeople put on their black leather jackets adorned with Harley logos to match their square-toed boots with large buckles wrapped around the ankles, they become weekend Hog riders that travel from bar to bar in large packs.
     I prefer not to dress in a way to draw attention to myself. My usual attire consists of denim jeans, a button shirt with minimal flamboyancy, no cap or jewelry, and shoes or boots that are comfortable. Prior to leaving for East Lansing, my wife and a friend who attended the trade show with me warned me that I should wear a cowboy hat, or at the very least, a vest.
     Keep in mind, Michigan has had a long-lasting and brutally cold winter, so I wore a pair of insulated tan pants instead of blue jeans and a long-sleeved undershirt for warmth. I was comfortable in my choice of clothing.
     But when thousands of people began showing up dressed like good ole" Western cowboys and cowgirls, scuffing their freshly shined boots in the dirt—I soon felt out of place. Underdressed for the occasion.
     I was afraid I wouldn't have anything in common with them, but  they turned out to be some of the nicest people I have ever met. Many stopped by the booth just to say hi. Many laughed at the title of my book, Broken Rib Ranch. Some shared their own stories about when they'd broken a rib (or two).
     Overall, I had a great time, and have decided to attend the 19th Annual Equine Affaire in Columbus, Ohio, which is coming up in April. As a reminder, I have already written myself a note: "Need to buy a cowboy hat, get my boots shined, and find a leather vest."
     Hope to see y'all there!
     Tim Parsel   

When Timothy Parsel was in grade school, his English teacher tried to convince him to pursue a career in writing. And it's easy to see why, Parsel—whose day job is that of a professional truck driver—has a clear, confident writing style that is by turns humorous and sincere. He also never fails to entertain.


Broken Rib Ranch is a touching and informative memoir of his life married to a woman whose obsessive love of horses causes the couple's lives to increasingly revolve around the care and keeping of an ever growing herd on their eighty acre spread near the rural Michigan town of Charlevoix.


Experienced horse people and horse novice alike will recognize and revel in the many ups and downs of horse ownership and the trials of maintaining a large farm in a harsh climate. Who knew horses had personalities as varied and intricate as our own? Probably all "horse people," but it will be news to many others.


In many ways, however, Parsel's story is as much about his marriage as it is about raising horses. He details their courtship, which began at a local car dealership where he and his future wife were employed in their younger years. Parsel is a one-woman man, and it is always clear that, despite the good-natured ribbing his wife receives in the story's telling, he is devoted to her above all else, even when her herd of horses reaches unmanageable proportions. Another man might have called a divorce attorney as the amount of work involved in keeping seventeen horses gets out of hand, pushing him to the edge, but not Parsel. He is in for the long-haul, and it is enlightening to watch the dynamics of the couple's marriage in gear as they slowly bring the headcount down.


In the end, Broken Rib Ranch is an engaging portrait of two people in love. Stretched to the limits of their capabilities by the realities and day-to-day drudgery of raising horses, the couple's resilient bond is a testament to their powerful love, for each other and for their horses.



Review by John Casey
Published Freelance Writer, New York

A stray cat keeps showing up at our farm. He's black and as wild as a panther—at least around me. With my wife, Diana, he's as sweet as a kitten. He poses for pictures for her.

One day, our dog Char chased it up a tree. Soft-hearted me, I felt bad for the cat and decided to rescue it. When it saw me approaching the tree with a ladder, it quickly and determinedly got down on its own.

The closest I've ever been able to get to the stray, was the day he got a paw stuck in the tines of a rake. I slowly walked near him, knelt down, and reached out to help—until he bit me. Diana watched sympathetically as I cleaned my wound; then she asked if I thought her precious kitty was hurt. So much for sympathy!

Needless to say, I now keep my distance.

                                   Back and forth across the path,
                                   Pounding hoof beats aftermath,
                                Left for dead, face down in the dirt,
                          Tim struggles to stand, but everything hurts,
                                  Laid up for weeks, his ribs so sore,
                               On the bright side, he got out of chores.