We're halfway through the year!

This is shaping up to be a crazy year, as you’ll see, and be sure to check out my website, my Facebook page, or just drop me a line for updates as they occur!

For now, here’s this…

 

You Just Missed…

A slew of new releases! It’s going to be a big year for book releases and here are just a few from this quarter:

Cookies: Sluts of the Snack World (Book1 in the “Fun To Grow On” series) (Fiction/humorous)

Now available for the Kindle and in audiobook format.

(Look for it in paperback coming soon!)

Last Ditch (Fiction/thriller)

Now available exclusively for the Kindle

(Look for the paperback coming soon!)

Dreaming With Open Eyes (Non-fiction/motivation)

Now available for the Kindle, in paperback, and in audiobook format.

But that’s not all! Have you caught my new podcast: The Monday Morning Show? Each week, I talk about the news of the day and the news in my head for 10-15 minutes. It’s provocative, entertaining, and I also respect your intelligence. Imagine!

You can download The Monday Morning Show from PodcastMachine at present and look for it soon on iTunes!

 

Coming Up…

As most of you know, July is the month I put aside for the sole purpose of claiming that I’m taking a vacation… (I’m working on it!)

I’m also working on a new series on my YouTube channel, which I call “So, you want to be a writer.” Join me each week as I take on tech writing, copy writing, playwriting, and novel writing… And I can assure you, each episode is assembled without a hint of sarcasm…

You can also look forward to a few new titles in the next few months. Such as:

Indian Paintbrush (Fiction/literary)

To a Dreamer (Non-fiction/motivation)

And, Puppies: Best in Stew (Book 2 in the “Fun To Grow On” series)

Each book will be available for ebooks, in paperback, and in audiobook formats.

But that’s not all…

 On The Horizon…

Look for The Wrong Magic (Fiction/fantasy) coming from WiDo Publishing around Christmastime. I’ve also signed a contract with Vagabondage Press to release my zombie horror novel, Wormfood Island, in 2015.

The fun has just begun.

Stay tuned!

Until next time, I wish you nothing but the best.

Ken La Salle

Follow my writing career at www.kenlasalle.com

On Twitter

On Facebook

And, on YouTube

It's a choice...

Just a few happy statistics. These are conservative estimates...
The seas will be dead within 30 years.
We will have killed all the coral reefs in 20 years.
We are living in the time of peak oil.
Global warming is now.
... This was all man-made. Our responsibility is to ameliorate the devastating consequences. Or, we can keep making things worse for your children...
It's a choice.

The Monday Morning Show...

My new podcast, called The Monday Morning Show, begins this Monday!

For a few words on how that came about, check out the most recent episode of my other podcast, So Dream Something...

The best 1st date of my life…

On this day, ten years ago, I had the best first date of my life.

I can tell you it was the best first date of my life because, ever since that day, I have wanted nothing more than to be with that woman.

The date lasted seven hours. Seven hours! We met at 4pm and did not go home until 11pm.

The date ended with the best “first date kiss” I had ever experienced. I don’t know if the kiss was made superior by her or me but I can still remember it. (Yes, I’m a romantic that way.) I can still remember how beautiful she was. And she just keeps getting more beautiful.

I know that’s a lot to ask of you, the reader, to believe that she just keeps getting more beautiful. But it’s true. Oh, sure. She’s not perfect. She has her moments when she’s human. But there’s so much more to her than that. She’s really funny and very kind. She’s smarter than I am sometimes – actually, she’s smarter than I am far too often. It’s really kind of annoying, actually…

It was the best first date of my life because I want it to be the last first date of my life.

The date I’m not really describing is my first date with Vicky. You can find a complete description in my book, A Grand Canyon. It wasn’t really Love at first sight but it was certainly Like plus a lot of Lust at first sight. When the love came, the like and lust stuck around as well.

Vicky is downstairs right now, coughing her lungs out.

You see, we were supposed to go out on our first date again tonight, reliving it in as much detail as manageable. But then, our dog Suki got sick. And then, Vicky got sick. And I guess our first date it not to be… again… We’ll just have to leave it in the history book.

But I suppose our disappointment is a sign as well. We both wanted to do this because we both have a connection with that night ten years ago.

As for myself, I’m just happy I’ve had these ten years. Vicky quite literally rocked my world.

Happy Anniversary, my love. Let’s do another ten.

Kristallnacht down the street

I saw something this morning while I was out on my jog, something that will take me some time to shake off.

You see, under a local overpass a small community of homeless people recently sprang up. They spring up just about every few months or so but they don’t leave voluntarily.

This morning, I saw why they leave. I saw two dump trucks and four police cars pull up. The police moved the homeless over to one side. And the garbage men took all of the belongings – the few belongings these homeless people had – and threw all of their things into the garbage trucks. The homeless weren’t arrested. They were just shoed away like dogs.

It brought to mind something from a long time ago. It brought to mind Kristallnacht.

Now, I understand that some people might get offended by this, by my comparing our local police to nazi thugs.

But what happened on Kristallnacht? On that night, so long ago, police came around and destroyed the property of a group of people they didn’t want to have around anymore.

That was exactly what happened this morning.

And it troubles me that we can do this and not feel at all ashamed or in any way bothered by what we do. We’ve given up on finding a solution to the problem of homelessness. We just shoe them away like dogs and throw away their stuff.

Leaving them to start again.

Leaving them worse off than before.

Leaving us… appeased. Out of sight. Out of mind.

We should hang our heads.

I’m probably going to talk about this next month, in my final episode of 5 Brief Minutes but, for now, I just had to say something.

Because it makes me sick.

In 5 Brief Minutes... Is Gun Ownership UnAmerican?...

Why have rules for life?...

As I continue to analyze the rules for life, I ask an appropriate staring question, "Why should we even have rules for life?"

You can read all about it by giving this link a click!

Something you usually only see on TV…

So, I was out on the river trail this morning for my morning jog when I saw something I could have sworn I would only see on TV.

Passing me on the trail, two beach cruiser bicycles came along my right side.

I could see the two riders very clearly in the cool, morning sunlight, a fat, bald, white guy and a beautiful woman with grey to white hair. The man wore beige trousers, a short-sleeved shirt, and a blue/green vest of some kind. The woman wore a long, white dress and a white hat with a wide brim. Neither wore helmets. Both looked incredibly out of place and terribly overdressed to be on the trail.

But then, as they pulled ahead, I realized nobody else was anywhere nearby. And I could watch them ride off through the dappling shade.

I stopped.

And I said, because this had to be said out loud. “Oh, my God. I just got passed by a Viagra commercial.”

Jackemoff Forest returns once again with "Republic Annie"...

So Dream Something gets a little fishy...

This month's episode of So Dream Something is a little fishy.
I talk to James Krause, co-founder of Rivers to Reef, about aquaculture and The American Dream.
I hope you enjoy it.

5 Brief Minutes on Income Disparity and why people keep trying to sell me shit...

Two for the sofa…

This was a week I saw coming a mile away.

You ever have one of those weeks? The kind that you’ve been predicting for some time, saying things like, “One of these days, we’re going to have to…” and then you do?

That was this week.

For months now, I’ve been saying to Vicky, “We’re going to have to start keeping Suki downstairs at night. She just can’t take the stairs the way she used to.” Suki is our Shiba Inu. She’s about 14. (This is the point where Vicky will correct me. I’m terrible with these things.) Where she used to be able to trot up and down our stairs several times each day, recently, she’s been slipping and sliding. Her back legs have been going out on her. She stumbles.

It’s just not pretty.

So, this was the week. Suki moved downstairs.

And though I hadn’t been mentioning this next bit to Vicky, I knew what would go right alongside that – right alongside Suki, I mean. Me. That’s what would go alongside of her. Me.

I had to move downstairs, too.

Because Suki did not like moving downstairs at all. Not one bit. She would begin crying and the only thing that put her at ease was another person with her. And Vicky needed the bed. Vicky works a real job.

So, downstairs I moved. Suki took her dog bed. I took the sofa.

And, let me tell you, my back is not built of solid steel, the way it once was. Nope. Now, when I sleep on the sofa, my back kind of conforms to its horrible curves. I wake up feeling like a dingbat font.

But this is what you do. You know? If we had kids, I’d be up with them. If we had an elderly parent living with us, I’d be… you know what, I don’t want to think about that. Anyway, Suki is like an elderly parent. And she needs me.

She’s stinky and she sheds. She’s standoffish and never listens. But she needs me.

This is what you do.

Jackemoff Forest? The strangest new web series from Ken La Salle begins... NOW!

Heroes of the PCT…

As much as that title sounds like it belongs in the old west, I’m actually writing today because the big kickoff for this year’s Pacific Crest Trail expeditions (north to south) begins in less than a week!

You may ask yourself, “Why are you excited about this?” And you’d have every right. After all, I’m not hiking the PCT this year. Hell, I haven’t even gone on a hike this year.

(I suck!)

But, see, the thing is I really want to do the PCT. And my goal is to do it within the next five years or so. To do that, I’m learning what I can, getting my body into shape, and most importantly I’m getting my career off the ground so I can afford to do the hike. (Pacific Crest Trail thru-hiking ain’t cheap!)

In the meantime, I watch and learn from those who go before me. I read blogs. I watch YouTube videos and I am intensely envious of those who are doing it. You gotta admire someone who makes that kind of commitment and puts in that much effort.

So, bravo heroes of the PCT! You’re all doing something majorly kick-ass! And I’ll be watching and hoping for the best.

Maybe I’ll be out there very soon…

5 Brief MInutes returns with Signs...

A Tale of Two iPods…

A few years back, I cancelled my gym membership because I realized I could do everything I did at the gym much closer to home. Actually, at home! I could jog and I could cycle and I could exercise and all without the stink and sweat of horrible people all around me. I could do all of this without having to watch Fox News, which 24 Hour Fitness seemed to love putting in front of me. And I could do it all to the beat of my own drum… er, iPod.

I didn’t have to listen to the same crappy music they played at the gym over and over and over and over again.

And that’s what I did. I started jogging and cycling and exercising, all to the tunes I had on my iPod Nano, which clipped right onto my shirt. I was saving money and getting a better workout as well!

… all until the day when I lost my iPod.

That’s the problem with the Nano, you see. It’s small enough to clip to my shirt – well, the Gen 6 version I had – but also small enough to MISPLACE! And that’s exactly what I did about a week ago.

And lengthy, intense search commenced… and I found nothing.

Damn!

Worse still, Apple has discontinued the good Nano (Gen 6) and replaced it with some oversized, overweighted, big, fat, stupid looking… Gen 7. The dummies… Seriously. Have you seen these things? They’re hardly small enough to be considered “nano” at all!

What to do?

Well, as it turned out, Vicky had picked up a Gen 6 Nano at about the same time as me – lo, those many years ago. She’d never loaded hers up with music. It was fresh. It was (dare I say) virginal!

And it was mine! (Once Vicky generously offered to let me “borrow” it.)

And I learned something interesting about iPods. It was something I hadn’t really suspected.

You see, I had loaded up my previously Nano a little at a time. Whenever I purchased some new music, I would throw some of it on the iPod.

Now, faced with a fresh iPod, I had to load it all up from scratch.

This took me two days! In the end, I had – nay, have – 1.7 days of music, over 700 songs!

… some may consider this overkill.

But I like having plenty of music to choose from, as I set the Nano to shuffle every single time… That sounds positively boring. But I promise you, it’s not.

In fact, I’m electrified, dying for a chance to take it out for a jog or a bike ride!

… tomorrow. First thing tomorrow.

Vicky bought donuts.

(Not the ending you were expecting, was it?)

Had a great morning on the Indie Books Show...

This morning, I had a lot of fun speaking with Will Willson on the Indie Books Show. I'm including it here and I hope you enjoy it!

Popular Books Internet Radio with Indie Books on BlogTalkRadio

This month, My Side talks about Amber Alerts...

Radio de'Olde presents "Pandering"...

)

Rainy Days and Mondays…

So, I couldn’t sleep last night… I know. Old news.

But I couldn’t sleep last night and got to thinking about how it was going to be Monday and about how it has been raining and… no, it doesn’t take much to keep me awake at night.

Anyway, this reminded me of the old song: Rainy Days and Mondays. And I thought about what a random list of things that is. Rainy days and Mondays always get you down? Really? How more random can you get?

 

“Gusty evenings with late night and early morning low clouds and the third Saturday of each month gets me down.”

“Slightly overcast days – not cloudy or smoggy but just slightly overcast days and hard boiled eggs that aren’t actually hard but only slightly approaching hard – I mean like just about thirty or so seconds underdone always get me down.”

“Red and black get me down. Red and black. You have any idea how much red and black there is in the world? I wanna blow my fucking head off whenever I see an apple… at night!”

 

I’m just saying… it gets you thinking.

Keeping all these balls in the air…

Hello and welcome to the Ken La Salle blog…

Oh. Wait. Sorry. Wrong blog.

But I thought I’d talk about my writing a bit over here just in case the people in this neighborhood didn’t want to go all the way across town.

With the end of 2013, I had hoped that 2014 might be a bit busier. That more things might be going on. Because 2013 was like a tomb – by which I mean it was quiet and not that I was living with dead people.

Well, here we are in 2014 and I recall the words of the person who said, “Be careful what you wish for.” Now, I have two staged readings going on – one this weekend at Wild Rumpus in NY, if you’re in the area. I’ve been offered a couple of contracts. I have new work pouring out of me. I’m so busy, in fact, that I’ve been forced to put some projects aside. My YouTube videos, for instance, are going to be off for about a month.

I feel like an amateur juggler, wondering how I’m going to keep all those balls in the air.

But please don’t think this is a complaint. Heavens, no!

This is exactly where I wanted to be and, while it’s not the fulfillment of all of my dreams, it certainly goes a long way towards putting my neuroses at ease.

Not all of my neuroses, of course.

This might sound strange but – it looks like I’m becoming a writer. That’s so cool!

(I will never get used to this.)

An allegory for modern life?...

I was out on my morning jog this morning when something happened that got me thinking.

I was only jogging two little miles thanks to my bum foot but I’m hoping I’ll soon be jogging more. Anyway, I was on my way back, nearly halfway through the second mile, when I caught the eye of an woman walking up the street the other way. Keep in mind, she was on the sidewalk and I was in the street.

I don’t know if this woman was homeless but she certainly looked like she was facing some troubles. Everything about her was dirty. She carried several plastic bags that looked like a mess. And the way she walked was a kind of shamble.

She was about 15-20 yards away from me and, as soon as I caught her eye, she charged up to me out into the street. She puffed up her body like an ape might do to establish dominance. She even took on the same kind of stance and stride as an ape. Mostly, though, she looked bumfuck crazy. She looked like she was about to attack me or something. If she was trying to look threatening, she nailed it.

So, she charges us to me, looking very threatening, and then stopped right in front of me. I mean, she was inches away. She brought up both of her arms, with bags in tow, and thrust herself forward just the slightest bit.

I didn’t know what to do.

I mean, she startled me. I had no idea what was going on. But I also knew something was very wrong – this isn’t the kind of thing that’s supposed to happen.

So, I said, “Excuse me.”

At that moment, her eyes shifted. Before, she had been staring at my chest. Now, she looked up into my eyes and I could see the slightest spark of humanity there.

And I went on my way.

And I couldn’t help but think that’s how so many of us interact, especially online: ready to prove our dominance, ready to attack, and with no recognition for the humanity in the other person. But when we treat the other person with humanity, it can go a long way.

Certainly, it’s a better option.

Some book news! Daughter of a One-Armed Man...

... is now available in paperback!

Just click here to pick up your copy of Daughter of a One-Armed Man over at Amazon.com!

I used to play video games…

So, figure this one out.

I used to play video games. I played them quite a bit. I played World of Warcraft and I played the Elder Scrolls games. I played Civilization in all of its carnations and I played all the GTAs they released for PC. I played a lot of video games back when I had a full time job and I would think about how much more I would play if I had the opportunity.

Fast forward to now and… where the hell are the video games?

Here’s the thing. These days, I work out of my home pursuing my career as a writer. What do I do? Generally, I work on pursuing my career as a writer… all the time!

When I worked for other people, I couldn’t wait to stop so I could go do something I wanted to do. Now that I do what I want, that’s all I do.

This may sound like pointless whining but the fact remains: I played more video games when I didn’t have the time to play them than now, when I should have more time to play them. Why is that?

I guess I’ve reached the point in my life when I get to do what I want and I don’t need to escape from the reality of a life in which I don’t. I am thankful for this, very much so, but it strikes me as strange how my life has become about that one thing, about writing.

I don’t know how much time I have, after all. I have to make it count.

The video games are just going to have to wait.

Here are 5 Brief Minutes on ASMR...

Pitch just about Perfect…

Admission time: I love Pitch Perfect. Yes. The movie about a cappella singing.

No, it is not a Glee clone or a High School Musical rip-off.

No. It’s not. Seriously.

You see, that’s what I thought it was when Vicky first recorded it. She wanted to see it and I said, “You go right ahead but don’t think I’m going to watch that nonsense.”

Vicky is very tolerant about my dislike for some of her stuff. I think that comes from her dislike of much of my stuff: music, movies, books, sometimes my skin – you name it! So, she was perfectly fine with my need to avoid the flick. I stayed upstairs and played video games while, downstairs, she enjoyed the film.

At one point, I had to come downstairs to refill my drink or something and caught about two or three minutes of the… and you know what? It wasn’t half bad. I mean, I didn’t think it was great but it wasn’t half bad.

So, I agreed to watch it with Vicky on the provision that I could bad mouth it all I wanted.

The only problem was… I couldn’t. My face was stuck in a permanent grin.

You see, I thought this was going to be another one of those “we’re such cool, young movie stars that we can make whatever shitty musical crapfest we want and you will love it” kinds of shows, such as the aforementioned Glee and High School Musical.

Sure, Pitch Perfect is derivative of what came before but only in so far as it recognizes the mixture of performance/sports movie tropes. Then, it shreds them. Rather than being a movie about cool kids who do things perfectly, it’s a movie about nerds who screw up. But it is so infused with joy – and the hipster in me can’t believe I’m saying this – that you can’t help but be on their side.

On top of that, the movie is flat-out funny. It looks for every joke and it finds them. Sometimes, it even goes too far… but I can look past what is probably an overly ardent dedication to a puke joke.

Anyway, there you go. Vicky and I watched Pitch Perfect about five or six times now. I’ve even bought the fucking soundtrack.

It’s not like me to enjoy something so populist, so downright appealing to the masses… but I can’t help it.

Pitch Perfect, you’re just about pitch perfect.

It's time for some Bible Stories, care of Radio de'Olde...

“Writer” does not equal “Child Molester”…

 

So, I’m at a local tire shop this morning getting new tires put on my car when the guy asks me what I do for a living. I hate that question because, to be honest, I don’t really do anything.

I mean, I write. I can’t avoid that. Look at all my books, audiobooks, etc. etc. etc. Yes, I write. But I hate admitting it.

Even when I said it, I mumbled it a little, as if I was on the fucking sex offender list or something! “I’m a (pause) writer.”

What the fuck is that?

I don’t really like talking about being a writer because, honestly, I don’t make a whole lot of money doing it. Right now, my career is still in its infancy in a way. I’m building an audience. I’m not a big-time writer.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not a writer… right? (Sure - easy to say after I just wrote an entire paragraph of qualifiers...)

I try to remind myself of that but then I am hit by all the years of having people tell me I shouldn’t think too highly of myself. From childhood until early adulthood – you know, the formative years – I had people tell me I wasn’t that great, from my best friends in high school (or so I thought) all the way on up to my own mother. And, yes, this had an effect. Vicky gets so irritated about how I shy away from any kind of attention – it’s a pain in the ass!

I should be soaking it up. Reveling in it. But every time I come face to face with who I am, I am positively embarrassed. Hell, even if I was a big-time writer, I'd still be embarrassed because of what the above-mentioned folks used to refer to as being "full of myself." There's just no winning!

I know that’s the wrong way to live.

I’m working on it. Honestly.

Furniture, Networking, and where I went wrong…

A lifetime ago, in the city of Irvine, California, I used to work for a company called Linksys.

This was long ago, mind you, before Linksys was owned by Cisco, before Linksys was owned by Belkin, before Linksys was owned by… who’s buying it next?

I worked with a guy named Mike who was our Marketing Manager. I worked as a Technical Writer but had started as a Marketing Writer and still wrote marketing pieces when our Marketing Writer who wasn’t very good with marketing and could only write technical information needed a little help. Frankly, I always found myself on the short end of demotion after demotion and disciplinary action after disciplinary action.

I always wondered why things didn’t work out with Linksys when clearly – and I am not bragging here – I was a valuable asset to the company. I could write better than anyone else on staff. I came up with catchier taglines. I was a catch!

Mike didn’t think so. He would tell me how he intended to keep me in technical writing as a kind of marketing purgatory. He wanted me to suffer. He would say, “You’re going to keep churning out widgets for as long as I tell you to churn out widgets.”

It was a fun place.

And I always wondered where things went wrong. And then, recently, I found myself at a Staples store with Vicky. She was off taking care of her business stuff – Vicky is a fucking mogul, make no mistake – so I wandered over to the networking gear. Sometimes, I like to see how much progress has been made in my old line of work so I’ll go check out the networking gear and… Nothing. Same old shit. Frankly, the networking business has been pumping out the same old shit, with just an incremental improvement here or there, for nearly a decade.

Back when I was at Linksys, Mike would bring in the entire marketing department for these round-table discussions about where networking was going. He would talk about how your refrigerator would be networked so it could tell you when you were out of milk. Your TV would be networked so it could tell you when a show was on that you wanted to watch. Your sofa would be networked. Your catbox would be networked.

And then, Mike would make the mistake of asking us what we thought. What were our opinions on his prognostication about the future of networking? Everyone would speak up loudly, telling Mike what a genius he was. Of course, catboxes would be networked. It made perfect sense! Milk had to be restocked! Shows had to be watched!

… except for me. I would sit there with a red face, holding everything back, and Mike would see me and he was ask, “Ken? What do you think?”

And I would take that as an invitation. “You’re crazy,” I would tell him. “People can just check their refrigerators. They can look at their TV listings. Sofas? Catboxes? You are out of your fucking mind!”

And for some reason I just couldn’t fathom… I never got ahead.

The fact is, I never fit well in a place like Linksys. I was a round peg and all they had were square holes. I wanted to be an artist. I didn’t want to blow smoke up someone’s ass. I thought people wanted honesty… they don’t.

I can see now why I never made a lot of friends in business. I thought people wanted honesty. Sadly, that isn’t quite the case most of the time. Vicky has found herself in business opportunities where honesty is valued. In marketing, you better take that shit somewhere else.

That was a long time ago, of course. And now, I’m pursuing the “writer” thing. I’ve learned to temper my honesty with a little bit of tact. After all, Mike was right about the TVs, just not exactly on how they would be networked. All the same, I still hate people who are just looking to have smoke blown up their assholes. And to think, I’m in the arts now.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

My Side: Kids Today...

This month, My Side looks at Kids Today... and the people who endlessly complain about them...

This is the best thing about the New Year…

You made it! You survived another year! I mean, if you’re reading this that means you are still alive, which is reason to celebrate! So many people didn’t make it and we remember them as we move forward – but we move forward. We are the ones who live in the new world of 2014, providing you don’t die before midnight. (Here’s a tip: Don’t die before midnight.)

But there’s more. There’s so much more. There’s a whole year, laid out in front of us like an endless cake. It’s frosted. It’s decorated. And it’s all for us to enjoy.

Sure, it might suck. It might be the worst cake ever. It might taste quite literally like shit.

But it’s ours. It’s life. You don’t need a resolution. You don’t even need change. All you need to do is recognize this incredible opportunity – this incredible gift – that is another minute, another hour, another day, month, and if you are lucky an entire year. Maybe more!

That’s the best thing about the New Year. You’re still here. Congratulations.

Now, appreciate it.

A Matching Pair…

Sometimes, I get a reminder of just how well Vicky and I fit together – and sometimes that reminder isn’t necessarily necessary.

Take our Christmas, for instance. (One is tempted to say “Please” at this point, though I wouldn’t trade it for anything.)

Two days before Christmas, Vicky took a tumble in a Starbucks and sprained her ankle pretty badly. We spent pretty much the entire day in an (misnomer alert!) Urgent Care Center, where they determined that she didn’t break any bones. You could have fooled us with all the swelling, but we were glad she was still in one piece.

They gave her some crutches and little else and sent us on our way. And I spent Christmas Eve taking care of Vicky.

… well, I spent most of Christmas Eve taking care of Vicky. I spent the rest of Christmas Eve becoming deathly ill.

The worst part about this is I know it was my fault. I’m a pretty fair cook – have never killed anyone – but I know I got sick from either:

• My fried egg sandwich
• My coffee
• Or the dinner I made…

One way or the other, I was sick on the night before Christmas, choking back rivers of Christmas Spirit in the form of vomit.

The next day, Christmas morning, we had to drive out to see Vicky’s family. It’s about a 90 minute drive and Vicky’s ankle wouldn’t let her drive. More importantly, I wouldn’t let her drive. I was supposed to be taking care of her, don’t forget. So, I offered to drive, not realizing what the constant motion of the car would do to my nausea… it would turn it into HULK NAUSEA! (Don’t make me vomit. You wouldn’t like it when I vomit.)

With Vicky’s family on Christmas morning, my wife limped around and I laid perfectly still.

Oh yes, we were quite the pair. But, you know what they say: “In sickness and in health”…

5 Brief Minutes on Swearing on the Bible...

Radio de'Olde presents "Wither Capitalism"...

Why we have a Muslim President…

Got into a conversation with an old lady at the doctor’s office today. Basically, I said “Hello” and then let her talk.

I like doing this because it gives me an insight into what people are thinking out there in the real world.

This woman went from “I was a teacher of painting” to talking about a painting she saw of a girl being stoned in Iran to how the Muslims took over Iran to how they’re taking over Europe and all the way to…

“That’s how we ended up with a Muslim president, you know? Nobody wants to say anything because he’s black. They don’t want to offend anyone. But he’s a Muslim. That’s how they take over, you know? They get elected and you can’t say anything because they’re black.”

Her statement was so filled with racism, hatred, and intolerance, I nearly converted to Islam on the spot. I mean… first of all, it’s not illegal to be Muslim, last I checked. And, on top of that, how many Christian churches does President Obama have to go to before people stop thinking he’s a Muslim?

Mostly, though, I realized how easy it is for otherwise sane people (and I admit that’s an assumption but let’s let her have that) to get so twisted by hate. She probably didn’t start out hating Barack Obama but once some political operative put the label MUSLIM on him – after all, just look at his name! – there was probably no going back.

I felt sorry for the old woman.

I feel sorry for racists and people who live out of fear and hate. It’s not just that they’re fucking idiots. It’s that they’re pathetic. They’re sad.

And they’re fucking idiots.

The Day We Said Goodbye, Trailer #1...

The Day We Said Goodbye is out today, exclusively for the Kindle!...

I'm pleased to announce the release of my third memoir, The Day We Said Goodbye. The initial launch is exclusively for the Kindle - but keep an eye out for other formats and an audiobook, coming soon!

What do you do when your father is losing his life just as you are losing your mind? Run like hell.

At the close of A Grand Canyon, Ken La Salle and his beloved Vicky drive off into the sunset. It’s a fairy tale ending, providing your idea of a fairy tale includes suicide attempts, hallucinations, and crippling self-doubt.

Now, in The Day We Said Goodbye, it’s time to live the dream. Vicky and Ken get married, travel the world, and embrace the warm light of love. Or so Ken wanted to believe. But he never really dealt with the impulses that drove him to the edge of the Grand Canyon, now manifesting in schizophrenic episodes, like when his ex-wife shows up at his wedding.

And it doesn’t help that his father is dying and Ken has to find a way to say Goodbye.

The Day We Said Goodbye is Ken La Salle’s third memoir, following A Grand Canyon and Climbing Maya. It combines razor-sharp observations with revealing wisdom and the story of how goodbyes are often all we’re left with when everything you know, and everything you think you know, fades away with time. It is a book for anyone who has lost someone, anyone losing themselves… and anyone who is lost.

The audiobook version (coming soon!), read by the author, is beautifully scored with the Josh Woodward song, History Repeats. (www.joshwoodward.com)

Now in audio - Daughter of a One-Armed Man...

I'm happy to announce the Daughter of a One-Armed Man audiobook is now available from Audible, iTunes, and wherever fine audiobooks are sold!

 

Jackson is just a Wal-Mart worker from Los Angeles, far too caught up in the apathy of modern life to believe in anything. After spending one night with the daughter of a wood nymph and the man who surrendered his arm for the woman he loved, the lithesome beauty named Mari, Jackson knows he believes. And he knows he'll do anything to find her again.  

He follows her up the coast of California and a polar bear drives the taxi. Into the forest and through frozen mountains, he talks to God and creatures of faerie alike but the final confrontation is with the mother whose people have been wiped out by mankind.
They were wiped out the same way humanity is wiping itself out, with greed and disregard.  

Daughter is more than just a simple love story because it also poses this question to the listener: Is love really possible? Can human beings really love each other? How is it possible for parents who pollute the world they're leaving behind to say they love their children? How can we say we look out for each other, even as we divert our eyes to the homeless we see every day?  

For, if love isn't possible, how can Jackson really say he loves Mari? Faced with proof after proof that it doesn't exist, Jackson's only hope is to somehow prove otherwise. Daughter of a One-Armed Man is lush with impossible discoveries and words of hope for the future, beautifully scored with the Josh Woodward song, Don't Close Your Eyes.

Head, you say? Try 5 Brief Minutes...

Daughter of a One-Armed Man: Trailer #2...

ASMR not... ASMR too...

Here, then, is Radio de'Olde, Episode -4(3): "ASMR not. ASMR too."

This, of course, is my way of taking the recent artform of ASMR (Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response)... and adding absolutely nothing to it.

Preparation is 2/3 hair...

Vicky: You've got a tuft of hair growing on the back of your neck.
Ken: I know. That's for cold weather, in case I get trapped in a snow bank.

It's mostly in the eyes...

So, after injuring my foot about a month ago, I've taken what you might call a breather from any running or jogging... or walking... until I'm just about climbing the walls. And I'm flat out tired of "resting my foot" and waiting for the dang appendage to heal.

And then, this morning, I got the idea in my head that I could take just a short walk, just a little one.

"Has your foot hurt in the last week?" Vicky asked me.

"Yes," I replied.

"In the last five days?"

"Yes."

I should have seen where Vicky's line of questioning was going. She's sneaky like this. "In the last two days," asked little miss know it all...

"Yes," I said. "But only yesterday morning."

I tell you all this because, while I do not believe in psychics, I have somehow gained the knack of being able to tell my wife is thinking I'm an idiot without her needing to say a word...

The abbreviated, first trailer for Daughter of a One-Armed Man: Dear Friend...

My Side talks about A Lack of Evidence...

5 Brief Minutes on The 10 Commandments...

A 5 Brief Minutes preview...

This weekend will see the start of my new YouTube series, 5 Brief Minutes. And I've decided to share the image below as just a brief preview...

So Dream Something, Season 1 closing episode...

In Our Selves... the Trailer...

Dreams make us better, happier, healthier people. They help us achieve our greatest potential. They help us become the person we want to be.

With In Our Selves, Ken La Salle brings another collection of essays from the pages of Recovering the Self. Not only does he share his journey but he also provides the reader with tips and clues and signposts to help them along the way.

Dreams are the best parts of all of us. We should never forget they lie not in the stars but In Our Selves…

Zombie guts…

So, Vicky and I were out walking the dogs the other day when the topic of zombies came up… again. (What can I say? We like to keep our conversations lively.)

Not only did we talk about zombies. We also talked about zombie… guts.

Here’s the thing: Imagine you’re a zombie (Republicans, this shouldn’t be too hard). You’ve eaten a side of person but you’re still a bit peckish, so you opt for some brain salad with a side of liver, spleen, and intestine.

Now that you’ve eaten all of that… where does it go?

Seriously, where does it all go?

Do zombies poop?

None of the standard zombie cannon shows any sign of zombie bathroom habits.

If zombies don’t poop, what happens to all that yummy people? Do they digest it? They can’t, obviously, because they are dead.

Take that to its logical conclusion and you find that zombies are bound to be… well, bound. I mean, zombies would keep a gastroenterologist pretty busy. Eventually, they’d just be these stick-thin walking corpses with huge, distended stomachs.

… and who the hell wants to talk about that?

Jogging by any other name…

The other day, I shared with Vicky the fact that I had jogged 10 miles that morning. Actually, I refer to it as “slogged”, not “jogged”. “Slogged” means “slow jogged”. And, believe me, I’m slow.

Vicky suggested that I was getting close to half a marathon and maybe I could think about getting into something like that.

… I thought she was kidding…

I told her, “I don’t think you understand just how slowly I jog. I jog really slow.”

“I’m sure plenty of people do marathons slowly,” she countered.

I just couldn’t get her to understand the depths to which my slowness plumbs.

And so, I have decided that I will share with you, my reading public – both of you – just how slowly I jog 10 miles…

 

Mile 1

I sit at the bus stop for 34 minutes. When the bus comes, I take it for .896 miles… and then I walk the rest.

 

Mile 2

I sit with my phone and watch a “Murder, She Wrote” marathon. After the 17th episode, I realize I’m thirsty and walk to the nearest 7-11 for a Big Gulp Slurpee.

 

Mile 3

Bathroom break. I hurry to the nearest bathroom, stopping only briefly to eat a gallon of ice cream, take a nap, and get a manicure.

 

Mile 4

Stop by to get a massage.

 

Mile 5

Stop to get another massage because I just learned about “Happy Endings”. Sadly, the masseuse has me thrown into jail for soliciting.

 

Mile 6

Several days later, I am released. Famished, I stop by Subway for a footlong tuna sandwich, a “Big & Beefy” sandwich, a “Chicken O’lay” sandwich, three meatball subs, four packs of chips, and a Diet Coke. I never eat more than seven sandwiches as I am watching my weight.

 

Mile 7-9

Hitchhike.

 

Mile 10

After a slow meander, I “binge watch” the last season of Newsroom. Then, I stop for some Never Ending Pasta at Olive Garden, get checked into the hospital to have my stomach pumped, and catch a ride home.

 

I guess what I’m saying is I’m slow.

Sleeping, are we?

Well... I'm not...

On a road in Eastern Washington…

One way I consider myself lucky is that, oftentimes, I have a very vivid memory. This doesn’t apply to everything and it sometimes pops up on its own but, when it does, it’s like a movie playing in my head. Scenes unroll and I almost feel like I was there (which, of course, I was).

That’s what happened this morning. I was sitting at my desk, editing a new audiobook, when I began to see a memory from just a few months ago.

Vicky and I were in a car, on a road in eastern Washington State. I was driving and we were navigating our way up and down along these green and winding hillsides. Traffic wasn’t too bad; the only cars we saw were some classics on their way to a car show somewhere.

We drove along – I think Cher was playing on Vicky’s iPod – and talked a little, here and there. When you’re on the road with someone for more than a week or so, you’d think you would run out of things to say but that’s not how it was with Vicky and me. We just talked and talked; I think it was because we knew that, all too soon, we’d be back home and knee deep in the minutiae of our lives once again.

So, I was sitting here, letting that scene unroll in my mind, and I just felt so lucky.

I know it’s not much – trapped in a car for more than two weeks, driving every day – but sharing that with Vicky, even that, just made it so much better. It made it the kind of memory I can reflect on, months later, and just feel good about, knowing my love was next to me, knowing that she’s mine. It’s powerful stuff.

Sure, we fought quite a few times on the road. That’s what happens. That’s so common, it’s not really worth remembering. Because the rest of the time was so good and so right that even the memory of the two of us on a road in eastern Washington can still appear in my mind and just… make me happy.

To the 9s…

I’m not going to write about dressing “to the 9s” today… mostly because nobody would know what the hell I was saying.

Actually, I’m going to talk about jogging nine miles. (Sorry, all you fashion nuts!)

Since the beginning of the year, my plan has been to go for longer jogs – 9, 10, 11, 12 miles – to help get me ready for longer hikes – once I have the time and money to go on longer hikes.

Once I start really hiking, distances will get crazy. Twenty miles won’t be unheard of. But I can’t just start off at twenty; I have to condition my feet to get used to that kind of distance.

… and it hurts!

I’m used to feeling pain after a jog, in my joints or muscles or massive protrusions of fat. (I have a self-image problem.) But I’m not used to my feet protesting so much. After going on three 9-mile jogs this week, the bottom of my right foot feels like it’s been through a meat grinder. That meat grinder is the rest of me, chewing up my foot for just a few more miles.

Fortunately, I can rest and get over it. But, once I jog again, I know the pain will return. It has become a part of my routine: sit-ups, push-ups, jog, and suffer.

Being nearly 48 surely isn’t helping. Being as fat as a small town – a small, INCORPORATED town – probably isn’t helping, either. But it has to be done.

I have to get used to this.

Because I want to do more. Much more.

And I’m running out of years in which this type of abuse is possible… without a great deal of frowning on behalf of my wife and my GP.

Flat feet…

I slogged nine miles yesterday.

… some explanation appears to be in order…

You see, I don’t jog… exactly. I “slog”, which is to say I “slow jog”. I have my music on my iPod and jog with the music. So, when a song is up-tempo, I jog faster. When a slower song comes on, I slow down. And so on.

This works for me because it gives me a chance to breathe now and then.

This is not to say I never push myself and yesterday I slogged nine miles.

But my feet insisted on having a say. By the time I got home, my dogs were – well, not exactly barking – they were crying out like they were being put to sleep! And, today, my feet are still hurting.

Vicky asked if, perhaps, my shoes were getting old and worn out.

This, right here, explains why I love Vicky so much. Once in a while… okay, once in a great while, she’ll give me the benefit of the doubt and, instead of saying “Your feet can’t carry your fat, obese, rotund, chunky monkey body,” she asks me if my shoes are getting old and worn out.

Sadly, my shoes are practically new. It’s my fat, obese, rotund, chunky monkey body that is the problem, flattening my feet like some kind of pancake press. (Those exist, right?)

But I have a “never say die” attitude. I’ll keep at it and never say die.

I think my feet have a “I’ll happily say die whenever you like” attitude, but we’re working on that.

John Ary from Ain't It Cool News is my guest on So Dream Something...

I sat down with John Ary from Ain't It Cool News recently and got to spend an hour talking about movies and following your dreams. Check it out in this month's episode of So Dream Something...

Radio de'Olde presents the missing adventures of Hango...

Yikes! Yelp…

I don’t know if you’re familiar with Yelp. I don’t even know if you use Yelp. For that matter, I don’t know who you are. Who are you people???

(start again)

Vicky and I have used Yelp on a number of occasions. On our recent trip around the west, we used it quite a bit. My personal impression used to be that it’s a fairly reliable source of opinion on many stores and services I haven’t tried, yet.

… I say “used to be” because I also use Craigslist. My books haven’t been selling very well and, so, I am looking for a part-time job to help generate some income. As I’ve searched on Craigslist, I have found not just one or two but hundreds – thousands! – of ads looking for writers to write Yelp ads.

These folk will pay a writer as much as $20 to write positive ads for whatever service they are told to write about. It doesn’t matter if the writer has the appropriate experience or even if the words are true; they are paying the writer to lie.

And, on top of that, it turns out most if not all don’t even pay the writer! Most are scams!

If you’re anything like me, your opinion of Yelp just fell through the floor. But I like to believe there are still honest people out there… You know, five or six. And I hope there are enough smart writers out there, like me, who don’t want to lie only to be robbed, in turn.

Sometimes, it goes beyond humoring me…

“Can we drive out to Warner Springs this weekend? Some of the new book is taking place there and I want to get some pictures.”

If you heard someone say this to you, chances are you’d give them an odd look, reach for a phone, and begin calling men in white coats. I mean, I said those words and even I can’t help but fear that the speaker was off his meds.

Vicky? She just said, “Okay. Let’s go in the morning before it gets too hot.”

Vicky has reached a point, I believe, where being married to a writer almost feels normal. I mean, let’s say she remarried. And this person was a lawyer or a mailman or a mechanic – something NORMAL! I don’t know if she could handle it. There wouldn’t be nearly enough randomness for her system!

I’m reminded of a trip she and I took many years ago, possibly 2006, to Arizona. We drove along Route 66 to Kingman, Oatman, and so on, taking pictures as we went, because I was writing a book that took place along that stretch of road. Vicky humored me but, clearly, this was outside of her spectrum of normality. She didn’t quite get it and didn’t really want to get it. But, we did it. I wrote the book. There you go.

This time? She didn’t bat an eyelash.

One day, she’ll mention it to someone – or some other excursion – and they’ll give her the same looks that she once gave me.

Vicky, you’re welcome.

Meet the new tooth…

A couple of weeks ago, I broke a tooth.

Actually, it probably happened long before that. But I noticed it on one Sunday morning, when Vicky and I were eating breakfast. I bit into some eggs… and I heard a crunch.

I thought it was an egg shell.

I swear, the eggs were not hard or anything. They were actually quite good, nice and fluffy.

Said crunch was not from an eggshell. When I pulled out the offending bit, I realized it must have been a tooth. And when I felt about in my mouth with my tongue, I found one of my bottom molars split like, well, anything in a Roland Emmerich film.

Vicky was certain that I’d cracked the tooth all the way down to the nub. “You’re going to need a crown. Probably a root canal. You’re going to need a root canal and a crown. It’ll probably be pretty severe. You may lose a tooth.”

I was almost expecting to hear her tell me that my jaw would have to go.

When I finally made it to the dentist a few days later, however… after days of paranoid worrying, my dentist said I’d be fine. She said she could fill it and repair it.

And sure enough, she did!

I mean, the procedure took several hours and it was all quite painful. (I’m still not sure how the hot poker on my feet helped.) In the end, my tooth was fine, perfectly repaired.

The Novocain wore off in time and I was back to chewing – if with a molar that felt much larger than before. I tried to ignore it.

… that is, I tried to ignore it until said tooth took a bite out of my cheek!

I heard a loud crunch, and screamed in agony as my mouth filled with blood. Soon, though, the bleeding stopped and the pain subsided.

A flap of skin hung loose in my mouth.

“You’ll have to bite it off,” Vicky said. “Just chew off the rest. Don’t be a wimp.”

… this is my life, folks. Kafka by way of "Now spit"...

Quotationals come to So Dream Something...

If you're a parent or interested in the state of education, you should take a listen to this month's So Dream Something. My guest, William Beshears, discusses Quotational Bees and the state of education.

Hope you enjoy it!

With just a pinch of perflusion...

It's Radio de'Olde!

Where’s Vicky?...

As some of you may know, I share my life with a particularly work-addicted woman. The only reason I don’t have a problem with this, I think, is because I am as addicted to my work as Vicky is to hers.

All the same, it does put some obvious stresses on our marriage. And when we do find time together, oftentimes it is spent running errands just to keep our lives moving forward.

I wish I could say I am mindful of this, but all too often I squander the little time we have. Listen, Vicky and I recently went on a nine-state tour around the western United States by car. We drove nearly every single day of the more than two week trip and I realize I should have had the foresight to avoid that. After all that driving – some days we drove 10-12 hours! – we found ourselves more anxious and exhausted than if we had been working that whole time. I realize now that we wasted a perfectly good vacation driving here, there, and everywhere.

And, of course, all that stress led to quite a bit of fighting.

It was a mess.

We got back and returned to our schedules, Vicky going off to her career and me staying here to pursue mine.

… and I miss her.

But I realize that’s just how our lives work right now. Maybe, one day, things will work more in our favors and I’ll remember to plan a bit more appropriately.

Until then, however, I am making do.

I’ve taken all of the photographs I used to put on my desk at work – one that Vicky gave to me shortly after the first time she told me that she loved me, another of our first trip to the Grand Canyon, one of us at our wedding, and another at Sand Rock Farm in Capitola – and I have set their frames where I can see them whenever I work. In addition, I’ve propped up a couple loose photographs Vicky gave me of when she was younger.

Photos are just the start. One of the best things about working here at home is that I feel constantly surrounded by Vicky, by the life that Vicky and I have built. I am held safely within US and there is something very soothing about that.

Mind you, if Vicky ever reads this she is bound to tell me that I don’t make any sense or call me a dork or something. She’s not too fond of sentimentality on the part of others, but I like to think she will understand.