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"...

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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...