Newsflash— “Cookies: Sluts of the Snack World” flashed her chocolate chips distracting everyone and made a fast dash out of the gate. “Last Ditch” wasn’t to be fooled(they have the same trainer and Ditch knows the tricks).
Cookies has the lead but Ditch is coming on strong. This reporter is predicting by the weekend it will be a photo finish.
Follow his writing career at www.kenlasalle.com
And, on YouTube
SALT LAKE CITY, UT March 5, 2014
Good relationships take a certain kind of magic to succeed. Even if it’s just a metaphor, sometimes you need magic. But what if all you’ve got is the wrong magic? Alex and Stephanie split up after years without magic and, when Alex finds a box of stories Stephanie never finished, he decides to finish them for her to try and win her back. Suddenly, the stories begin to come true in the worst possible ways. Mind-numbing fogs roll in, killer forests appear, everything begins to fall apart! When the wrong magic is all you’ve got, can it be enough?
When WiDo submissions editor, Allie Maldonado, read Ken LaSalle’s ”The Wrong Magic” she knew she had found the right kind of magic. She loved the idea, the writing style, and the marketing potential of such a book.
“It’s got romance, humor, sweetness and a touch of fantasy and whimsy. I thoroughly enjoyed Ken’s manuscript and didn’t stop reading until I finished. We are so glad he chose to sign with us,” Maldonado says.
Ken LaSalle is a prolific writer of many genres, an author and playwright whose play After You Fall recently had a staged reading at Wild Rumpus Productions in NY and is scheduled for another with Stripped Scripts in Santa Barbara. He writes prodigiously, with work out in ebook format, paperback, and audiobook, including narrating and producing his own audiobooks.
LaSalle has this to say about his work: “I tend to self-publish a lot because of the freedom it affords. The downside to self-publishing, however, is that it limits the audience you can reach as a writer. So, I was looking for a small publisher with a wide reach. After looking at some of the books released by WiDo, such asDrinking from a Bitter Cup, I was pleased to see the size of an audience The Wrong Magic might enjoy. Then, too, WiDo Publishing made an effort to work with me, which really counts for something in my book.”
“Our contracts are fairly standard but we will always try to work with a writer if we can,” Maldonado states. “Ken and I are both happy with the results, and we at WiDo ™are excited to get his new book ready to go and on bookstore shelves hopefully by the end of the year.”
Author and playwright, Ken La Salle’s passion is intense humor, meaningful drama, and finding answers to the questions that define our lives. Ken La Salle grew up in Santa Ana, California and has remained in the surrounding area his entire life. He was raised with strong, blue collar roots, which have given him a progressive and environmentalist view. As a result, you’ll find many of his stories touching those areas both geographically and philosophically. His plays have been seen in theaters across the country and you can find a growing number of books available online. Find out more about Ken on his website at www.kenlasalle.com.
Today I’d like to welcome Laurie Boris. Aside from Laurie’s many talents, she is one of those individuals who makes you comfortable right at the get go. Laurie is a true pleasure.
A lot of writers talk about the moment they “knew” of their calling to the page. Not just the time they decided to refer to themselves as writers, perhaps a little shyly testing the waters at a gathering of friends and hoping nobody would laugh or start in with the maddening questions we are all asked: Are you published? Do you make any money at that? Do you know Oprah? No, I’m talking about that crystalline instant when it comes together in our little hearts that yes, this is what we are and this is what we do, and that we might as well give in or go crazy fighting it. Maybe for some it was winning a contest, getting a piece published, or catching the first glimpse of a debut novel in the carton that hopefully hadn’t been slashed with a boxcutter in a heated attempt to get it open.
Clues smacked me around for years before I finally admitted it to myself. Normally focused and detail-oriented, I’d missed a familiar turn on the road because I’d been daydreaming about characters and stories. Twice, I nearly burned the house down because I’d been so deep into writing that I hadn’t heard the smoke alarm. On several occasions, I’d lost sleep because the protagonist HAD to tell me something in the middle of the night. Some mornings, I’d wake up with the perfect chapter opening in my head and rush to an input device before I lost the words. And I turned into a sullen crank when I couldn’t get to the computer to play with my fictional people.
Really, I should have seen it coming.
My moment of truth came during an argument with my husband. I was sitting on the bed and he stood over me. A vein bulged in his forehead. I don’t even remember what the fight was about anymore. Just that words we would later regret spun out like Chinese throwing stars. At one point I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Some piece of me had floated to the ceiling and was watching us argue, noting our gestures, the body language, counting the beats of that still-throbbing vein. Our speech crafted itself into word balloons complete with the proper punctuation. I wasn’t even in the argument anymore; I was an outsider, watching and listening to two characters having it out.
A bit stunned by this, I think, I zoomed back into my body, but my responses still had end quotes and dialogue tags. Even as they came out of my mouth, a piece of my imagination was thinking, How would she look when she said that? And how would he respond to…this? Another part of my mind was editing. No. Strike the dialogue tag. Furrow the brow, clench the jaw…show, don’t tell.
Eventually we wound down and he stalked off to recoup. “That’s it,” I muttered to myself. “I’m doomed. I might as well admit my problem and research twelve-step programs.”
At that point in my journey toward writerhood, I’d won a couple of contests and had published nothing but a personal essay in a newsletter, a short story on a website, and a passel of random blog entries. The big Kahuna, however, sat in my closet: manuscripts for five novels and the hundreds of rejection slips I’d received from literary agents and publishers. Part of me didn’t want to admit that they existed: it felt like a mountain of failure.
But following that argument, I felt a sea change in how I regarded myself. Writing wasn’t a hobby. It wasn’t a creative pursuit to fill my spare time. I knew the income potential for the average writer, so I wouldn’t let myself call it a career. No. This was a calling. Okay, it wasn’t like the priesthood or anything. Charlton Heston hadn’t descended from the mountain with tablets for me, bushes weren’t burning, and Oprah wasn’t returning my calls. It felt like a quieter calling. A purpose, let’s call it.
The rejections didn’t weigh as heavily then. Some were even amusing. I stopped looking at those sneering pieces of paper as barometers of my worth and called them out for what they were: a subjective evaluation of my ability to make money for whomever I’d sent the query to. If I could learn something from an individual note, I took note. Otherwise, I decided to move on and succumb to my fate, to admit that I was powerless to control this compulsion.
Hi. I’m Laurie, and I’m a writer.
Visit Laurie’s promo page for her current works, website, and links.
Each week I hope to share a guest post with you from an author. This will not be a Q & A, so the writer will have carte blanche.
I’d like to thank Ken La Salle for stopping by today. Ken, as each author, will have a standing page on my blog. This designated page will offer links to his sales pages, podcasts, upcoming signings and any other related matters. Check back often for updates and I anticipate my readers may find some wonderful work to add to their collections. So without further adieu…
So, I thought I would introduce myself today by talking about what brought me to writing in the first place. You see, before I committed to being a writer I was, I had been, I had craved to become an actor.
And when I use the word “crave,” I ain’t kidding. I took every crappy part I could get at first and when some of that crappy part got cut I would fight for everything I could convince the director to leave in. Like every young actor, I counted my lines. I dreamed of the day when I would run a show, by which I mean when I would be on the stage at all times.
Now, here’s a secret. Ready? I can share this secret with you now because I’m no longer an actor. I couldn’t remain an actor because, and here’s the secret, I wasn’t that good. I say it’s a secret because I know plenty of actors who thought I was fairly good. A few people thought I had real talent and wondered why I left the stage. Not a lot. But a few.
You see the key to acting, what few people really acknowledge, is that real acting isn’t. The best acting is never acted. It’s real. And the best actors can make their moments on stage real or they can experience them as real, somehow. I wasn’t ever too good at that, really. Oh sure, I had my moments. For the most part, though, I never really surrendered to the moment.
I remained aloof to the moment, floating just above the moment, observing it, gauging it – and I would try to make all of my expectations about a scene fit just the way I wanted. The problem with this approach, of course, is that I never had control over the other actors on stage. Sure, I could persuade them now and again but, mostly, I would finish my shows feeling a twinge of disappointment. And sometimes that twinge was enough to snap my neck.
But that’s the wonderful thing about writing, isn’t it? Writers can take each moment apart and dissect it like an unfortunate frog. They can put things together in any order they wish until their frog is a transforming-meka-frog… or something.
Mind you, there’s a problem with that as well. And I bring this up because I’m beginning to understand that I am leaving that point in my career, the point where striving for control is revealed to be just as inauthentic as my mistakes on the stage.
True, writers can take apart every moment, dissect it, clean it, expunge it, chop, seal, and press it… but should they? It’s a question that has been haunting me of late.
Mind you, I don’t consider myself to be a slouch. Not at all. I have some work I know I can take a great deal of pride in. My trilogy of memoirs, for instance: A Grand Canyon, Climbing Maya, and The Day We Said Goodbye. My novels, from Daughter of a One-Armed Man to Vampire Society to those books I am actively marketing today and even up into the books I am just finishing. I know I’ve represented myself well.
In addition to those books, there are also my books on following your dreams, collecting my essays from Recovering the Self. There’s my podcast,So Dream Something. My YouTube series: My Side, Radio de’Olde, and 5 Brief Minutes. I’ve seen my work released in ebook, audiobook, and paperback. I’ve seen my plays on stages around the country. And I see no end in sight.
And yet, I begin to feel as though I’ve been stopping myself from surrendering to the moment, from relishing in it, burying myself in it waist high. Because there are some similarities between acting and writing and one truth persists: There’s a magic in the moment. Dissecting is great but there is a magic in the moment.
And so, as I move forward, my goal has become to find outlets that put me in the moment, so that I might experience that magic with my readers. I have a few experiments lined up in the coming future that I hope will throw me into the moment and help me grow as an artist.
There are things I can do as a writer that I could never do as an actor. That’s why I walked away from acting and into writing, where I’ve committed myself. Some of these things are probably obvious to anyone who has heard a writer speak, things like making that connection with the reader, finding meaning, etc. etc. etc. But I’m talking about something very different.
One of the things I can do as a writer is to experience that moment, to reach out from this side of the page and maybe touch that side of the page, maybe touch the air above the page. That, you see, is the goal of being a writer. (This is aside from having a best-seller and making a million dollars, of course. Everyone knows that is the real goal of being a writer: Not starving and having a roof over our heads!) Our goal is not to fill a page, it is to leap from it.
And that, I suppose, is my introduction. I hope you take some time to look into my work and, if you do, I will consider myself a very lucky guy. You know, writers come about an actor a dozen – and if you do the conversion:
Actors = $.10/dozen
Writers = Actors/dozen
The numbers ain’t good. This is why I feel so very fortunate to have the chance to share my stories, my moments, with you.
All the best,
Ken La Salle
Visit Ken’s page on my blog for works, signings, updates and media.
I have been privileged to meet some fine authors along my journey and Ken La Salle is one of them. He has walked through fire and come out the other side. Below you will find a link to my original interview with Ken, do yourself a favor and read about an outstanding human being.
Today I would like to announce Ken’s release of “Daughter of a One-Armed Man” on AudioBooks. I just love the title. Following is a snippet from the book.
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 for the reader: 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.
The audiobook version, read by the author, is lush with impossible discoveries and words of hope for the future, beautifully scored with the Josh Woodward song, Don’t Close Your Eyes. (www.joshwoodward.com)
You can find Daughter of a One-Armed Man on Amazon, Smashwords, and wherever ebooks are sold. The audiobook is available on Audible, iTunes, and all audiobook etailers.
You can find Daughter of a One-Armed Man on Audible and wherever fine audiobooks are sold online.
Here are two trailers for Daughter of a One-Armed Man:
Follow Ken’s writing career at www.kenlasalle.com
And, on YouTube
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