Lisa Rogak

One of the most prolific and popular authors in the world today, Stephen King’s writing has become part of pop culture history. But who is the man behind these tales of horror, grief, and the supernatural? Where do these ideas come from? And what drives him to keep writing at a breakneck pace after a thirty-year career? In this unauthorized biography, Lisa Rogak reveals the troubled background and lifelong fears that inspire one of the twentieth century’s most influential authors.

King’s origins were inauspicious at best. His impoverished childhood in rural Maine and early marriage hardly spelled out the likelihood of a blossoming literary career. But his unflagging work ethic and a ceaseless flow of ideas put him on the path to success. It came in a flash, and the side effects of sudden stardom and seemingly unlimited wealth soon threatened to destroy his work and, worse, his life. But he survived and has since continued to write at a level of originality few authors could ever hope to match.

Despite his dark and disturbing work, Stephen King has become revered by critics and his countless fans as an All-American voice more akin to Mark Twain than H.P. Lovecraft. Haunted Heart chronicles his story, revealing the character of a man who has created some of the most memorable—and frightening—stories found in literature today.

Few authors are as beloved as Shel Silverstein. His inimitable drawings and comic poems have become the bedtime staples of millions of children and their parents. But few readers know much about the man behind that wild-eyed, bearded face peering out from the backs of dust-jackets.

In A Boy Named Shel, Lisa Rogak tells the full story of a life as antic and adventurous as any of his creations. A man with an incurable case of wanderlust, Shel kept homes on both coasts and many in-between–-including regular stays in the Playboy Mansion.

His boundless creativity brought him fame and fortune—neither of which changed his down-to-earth way of life—and his children’s books sold millions of copies. But he was much more than a children’s writer. He collaborated with anyone who crossed his path and found success in a wider range of genres than most artists could ever hope to master. He wrote hit songs like “A Boy Named Sue” and “The Unicorn.” He drew cartoons for Stars & Stripes and got his big break with Playboy. He wrote experimental plays and collaborated on scripts with the David Mamet. With a seemingly unending stream of fresh ideas, he worked compulsively and enthusiastically on a wide array of projects up until his death in 1999.

Some review excerpts:

“Shel Silverstein…a genius in a dozen genres, the last of the real Renaissance men. He loved life and lived it more intensely than most of us dare to dream of. There’s a surprise on every page as Lisa Rogak tells the whole untold story of this truly fabulous character.”

— From Dr. Demento, syndicated radio personality

“I didn’t think any biography could do justice to one of the few honest-to-goodness geniuses of his time, a walking paradox who wore a cloak of complexity and elusiveness, but Lisa Rogak has done an exemplary job of it.”

— From Otto Penzler, The Mysterious Bookshop

Because I live in New Hampshire, the primary season essentially last for four years. I’ve served as editor for short quote books for past (and one potential) presidential candidates: Colin Powell, Howard Dean, and Barack Obama. I never met any of them until May 2007, when I was fortunate enough to attend a dinner where Obama was the keynote speaker. I planned to give him a copy of my book.

The receiving line to shake his hand moved relatively quickly. I had already signed a copy of my book for him that said “Thanks for letting me live inside your brain for a few weeks in order to write this.” I got up to him, shook his hand, and handed him the book. He immediately looked around for a pen.

I said, “No, I signed this for you, I wrote this book.” He looked at the book, then at my nametag, and said, “You don’t know how many times I’ve signed this book for people.”

Big laugh. I apologized for stealing some of his royalties, he laughed and said not to worry about it.

Here’s a picture someone snapped of me and Obama at the dinner. No, I didn’t slap him or pinch his cheeks.

I wrote this biography of Dan Brown a couple of years ago when it seemed like you couldn’t open a newspaper without reading a story about The Da Vinci Code. Once the book hit it big, the worldwide attention—and inevitably the criticism—was squarely aimed at Brown himself. Though it’s usually the norm whenever a controversial book or movie becomes popular, it bothered me that people were criticizing him a) when they hadn’t read the book, and b) they didn’t know anything about who he was. I live in New Hampshire—as does Brown—and so I started to dig a little deeper. I passed the idea of writing a biography by my agent, Scott Mendel, who told me to go ahead with it and together we put together a proposal for a book that first sold to Andrews McMeel and eventually in twenty-five more countries and territories.

I really admire all facets of the man—none of which I knew anything about before starting my research—but the one that impressed me the most was his persistence in the face of adversity. He kept plugging away—first at school, then with music, finally with books—and gave himself time to provide a real chance at making it in a particular field. Despite constant discouragement, he kept at it. And when it comes to my own writing, he’s inspired me to keep pushing beyond what is comfortable.

What surprised me is how good his music is—yes, Dan Brown was an aspiring singer/songwriter before he became a world-famous author. He made two CDs before he switched to writing. You can hear clips of him singing.

I have a thing for all things funereal. Back in the late 90s, I took a break from writing to sell stuff on eBay full-time. This was a natural for me, since I grew up spending every Saturday morning in summer wandering from one yard sale to another.

I specialized in selling old funeral equipment when I happened to stumble upon a pair of electric funeral candles in a local antique store. They were so beautiful and unusual that I bought them and put them on eBay. The buyer was a funeral director in Tacoma who promptly paid and then asked, “What else do you have?”

With that one question, I was off and running. You mean there are people out there who buy this stuff? Thus began a two-year journey into buying and selling old funeral stuff and meeting all kinds of interesting folks—both buyers and sellers—and a real education into the funeral industry. It also spawned two books— Death Warmed Over and Stones & Bones—with the promise of at least two more to come.

And it’s why I’m now on my seventh hearse, albeit not all at the same time.

Ah, cemeteries. When I first moved to New England twenty years ago, one of my favorite methods to while away a sultry summer day was to head for the nearest old cemetery (where the newest arrival was at least several decades in the past, usually a century or more) with books, pads, pencils, and water in tow, find a nice comfy headstone to lean against, and lose myself for a few hours.

Today, I’m older, a lot less wiser, and my bones can’t deal with the cold stone and damp ground. Besides, back then I didn’t have a hearse out in the backyard with a nice comfy futon where I can open all the doors for some lilac-scented cross-ventilation, lean against one side of the “passenger section,” put my feet up against the other side, and have a couple of the neighbor cats and dogs join me. And be able to hear the phone if it rings.

Stones and Bones is crammed with strange little stories of cemeteries and gravestones throughout New England that are worth a trip.

This was my first novel, published back in 1999. Some felt I should have written it as a straightforward memoir, since the book was about a woman who discovered her husband was gay and the often-surprising aftermath, and that pretty much described my life a few years earlier.

But I decided to filter it through fiction instead—and a lot of warped humor—and I think that the result was better for it.