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New Journeys

About 4 years ago I started down a journey. I self-published my first book. I was extremely excited that I did this. I actually can’t describe the exact emotion, but there were many. I’m five books into my journey- all self-published and doing well. Not amazing, but well. What followed were two more books, The House of Balestrom and Time of the Season.


I was looking back today because August will be 3 years for my second self-published novel, The House of Balestrom. I am excited about this book, because it represents so much for me. My thoughts on life and death. My mother, who passed away just shy of her 50th birthday (if you read the book you know that the men of the Balestrom family never live to see 50 years old). My fascination with religion and the paranormal. But my overall my extreme realist point of view that everything has an explanation behind it, and it is only a matter of time for that mystery to be solved. 


I found an interested agent about a year and a half ago. She really liked House of Balestrom, but wanted me to work on it a bit more. I immediately started to do this. Then like a curve ball, life threw a harsh one at me. I became sick and it over took my determination to get the job done. Believe me I would have worked my body to death to finish (and to think back on it, I was probably close to death.) I’m not being dramatic, just telling the truth.

I had to get myself back together and that is no easy task. My life flipped upside down and I had to rethink how I did things. How I lived and how I saw myself. My body and mind changed. I was in a very dark place. Though you wouldn’t know it, because I learned a long time ago how to hide things. I still struggle with a lot of new things–hitting me all at once. 

But I took the steps I needed. I took it slow and worked on my writing when I could. I wrote another book, Nine to Dine. I finished another one, Sirens. All while I did new edits for House of Balestrom. Now I am almost done with those edits. I feel so much better and I am trying to take care of myself along the way.


I learned that it isn’t when you finish, but going back to complete it. I might have five books self-published, two books not published (Sirens and Return to the House of Balestrom) and one day traditionally published books in the future. I just have to keep working on it.

In the light of seeing how I needed to change myself, I revamped my writing. I pulled back some of my old ways of presenting a situation in my work and taught myself how to say it differently. I found it effective. I read a lot, during my recuperation and wondered what set these other authors apart from me. I figured that it wasn’t much, it was just their time.

I can’t say I’m not a published author or novelist, because I am. I’ve been published since 2010. I write all the time. I created a product and bravely presented it to the world. I like what I write and see that others like it too. I don’t worry about criticism, because well, it’s going to happen and so what. 

But I am happy that I never stopped. I slowed down, but never stopped–no matter how thick the cloud got around my head and I couldn’t focus on what was in front of me. I feel now–more than ever–that I have moved through it. I am on top of my game and I can’t wait to see where it takes me. 


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Cul-de-Sac #onceisenough #catherinewallace the true path to liberating yourself from the past is to know your limits and open yourself up to new experiences. But be careful–with new experiences come new toxins. Be right. Be open. Be thoughtful. #wisdom #amwriting #fiction #literaryfiction


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Empty By William Butler

Another one:


By William Butler

I can’t seem to sleep at night when you lay empty on your bedside.

My hand can only trace your figure through my memory/and my emotions bend to the lingering echo of your voice.

I try to fight you/but all along I desire to invite you back into my life.
I soon become angry with myself for entertaining this fake heart felt moment between mirror and soul.

It’s painful to choose to change or remain empty of your love.

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Jazz Music By William Butler

Another poem I wrote in 2000.

Jazz Music

By William Butler

I watch you from a distance.
Triggered by my heartache song
And you have to remember me.
And you have to remember when…

When being the key word in this game.
Trace back/back/deeper into a memory long past.
Where cave men wrote jazz songs with coal rocks on stone tablets.
When voices were grunts and love was a pain delivered by a blow to the head.

Do you remember me now?

I can tell/see it in the trembling of your strong hands.
My eyes take a snap shot of the way you wear your hair/casually loose with a part down one side.
Your eyes look away/searching for an excuse to leave.
To avoid the sound my jazz music makes.

Don’t worry I’m not here to lure you back.
I’m not here to gloat or attack.
I want to look at you/see how you’re doing.
I want to know if, after everything, it was worth the time we shared.

I see it’s time to part ways.
We can move on/because closure is a prize earned by lovers.
No bitter kiss good-bye.
No jazz song to sing of the pain we held onto for so long.
Because pain is poison and memory is the heated rush of death.

You remember me. Now I can let you go.

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A Poem I Wrote

I wrote this when I lived in NY. Going through the past brings up painful memories.

Will You Look at Me

Hey, will you look at me
I called to you and you looked away
That was a mistake
What are you–ashamed?
Am I moving up/out/around in circles?
I need to know.

Don’t stare too long in the dark
Your eyes may adjust but
You’re still blind
I have light inside me
I watched as you tried to put me out
I’m rising now
I’m standing on my two feet
I’m marching out

Look at me/See my face
You want to know me
But you can’t reach far enough to care
I took my place by your side
– Your smile was deception
I placed my warm hands to calm your demons
-Your words were never right
I stored your secrets away like treasures lost at sea
– You lied-lied-lied
And all I got from you was shame

Don’t get me wrong
I don’t need your heart
I don’t need your approval
I just want your truth
But this bullshit is an obstacle
It pulls you down roads and scares you with lies

Hello, will you look at me

By William Butler

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NFL- Drop lawsuit against Social Rapper M.I.A.


The NFL is suing social rapper M.I.A. for 1.5 million dollars for sticking the middle finger up during the 2012 Super Bowl Half-Time performance where it was flashed on screen for no longer than 2-seconds. M.I.A. didn’t get even 2 minutes of screen time because the show was being performed by pop superstar, Madonna. According to a ESPN article, 222 viewers complained of the 111.3 million people who watched the 2012 Super Bowl. This is compared to the 500,000 thousand people who complain about Janet Jackson’s “nip slip” in 2004. Not only are the NFL asking her to pay 1.5 million dollars they are now demanding she pay 15.1 million dollars. This is unfair treatment to an artist. During the time the half time show started, Madonna, M.I.A. and Nicki Minaj brought 3 million more in viewership, making it the most watch television event in history until 2014’s half time show brough in 115 million people. The use of the middle finger can’t be compared to some of the sexual commercials we see on television today or the violence seen in most mainstream television shows. There are commercials airing on television for liquid drainer that has a pair of men telling a female that they are their to “drain her pipes.” If we are going to attack one person over an act that doesn’t do as much damage to a child’s psyche as “Rich Kids of LA” or Janet Jackson’s nipple then where do our morals exist?

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Google Prepares For A Future Where We See Ourselves In Every Computing Interaction

Very interesting.

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Nine to Dine online blog tour

I’m getting ready to start up a Nine to Dine online book tour. If there are any interested parties please let me know. I will send out review copies of my book and do an interview on your blogs. Please in box me for more details.

Nine to Dine

Nine to Dine by William Butler on Amazon Kindle for $0.99

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The Visit

It’s that time again to share a short story I wrote a few years back. It’s been tweaked a little since I last put it out in the universe. I was going through a hard time when I wrote this. My mother had passed away. She had Cancer. I knew the only way I could put a resolution to my pain was to write a fictional story about it. I wanted to see her again. To hear her voice. It’s hard not having your parents with you. Both of mine died young–within years of each other.
The context of this short is probably not explainable to an extend, because I mention a fight. It is something I am still coming to terms with and it really wasn’t a fight–more of a denial that the truth was sitting on the edge of the bed between us.
But strength and moving forward were the last few things she said to me that night we got the news she would not be around much longer. My mother has pushed me ever since and even before then, with my writing. She saw my future and I haven’t stopped.
This is open, like my heart, to share with you. Don’t let my words block your criticisms of this short. You are entitled to your own feelings. My goal is for you to relate to something in the story. To be present with what is happening around you. To know that even when you desire to be around the ones you love, and loneliness has filled the spaces in-between, they are there. You have to look for them. Much love and please share and even comment.

It was a warm bright day outside. A few joggers ran by and a man with his two dogs moved past my right. The park was active with all sorts of people that day. The bench I sat on looked out at the river, where I could see a few boats move around. The water in the river was a beautiful blue color as the sun reflected off its surface making the water sparkle as if there were diamonds floating around in its current. I was close enough to hear the water splash up against the stone walkway that separated me from the river. A small breeze moved off the river, brushing across me and cooled things. It was as if it was all a dream.
I took out my journal to write a few things down so I could remember the details a little better. I wanted the experience to stay with me forever, I suppose. I pulled my phone out to check the time, as I stopped writing. It was still early and soon I would be hungry for lunch. I wanted to wait a little longer for her to get here. I hadn’t seen her for a very long time and the thought of her coming all this way to see me made me anxious.
I searched my memory for the last time we actually talked and it had been a few years ago. It was sad how things ended between us, but it was good that we still communicated and she wanted to see me. Those were difficult times though and she understood. I memory came to me—our fight. I was angry. It was terrible what two people would say to each other in order to avoid the truth. But you learn to accept what happened. I understood why she had to leave, but I was glad she came back and wanted to see me.
I took another glance at my phone for the time and then looked back out over the river, as a tourist boat sailed by with people looking out over at the monuments that were behind me. A hand reached out to me and touched my shoulder. I glanced at it and saw its red painted fingernails, her signature color. Instantly I smiled with excitement that she had arrived. I looked up at her with a huge smile on my face, as she was smiling back at me. Her hair was still curled and she wore a light purple flowered dress, with a long necklace that only had a couple of beads at the end. She looked beautiful in the sunlight. Her face was glowing. I stood up, walking around the bench to give her a hug.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” she said. We walked around the bench and took a seat. She leaned back and rocked her legs back and forth, like you would do if you were on a swing. She gazed out toward the river, watching it move in ripples. Her eyes moved around looking at everything, as if she hadn’t seen any of it before. She then settled into the bench and saw that I had my journal with me. “Are you still writing?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think I write in my journal more than anything.”
“There is nothing wrong with that,” she said. “You will make something of it eventually. Just stick with it, you’ll see.” She picked up the journal from my lap. She opened it and thumbed through it. I could see her eyes moving across the pages as she absorbed my words into her mind. She would make an expression here or there when she read something interesting. “I can tell you’ve come a long way.”
“Thank you,” I said. Her opinion was important to me. She encouraged me from day one to be myself. To work hard and do what I love. I sat there in silence watching her. I wanted to remember how she looked. The sound of her voice was soft spoken and happy. I could remember she smiled a lot and it was a relief that she still did. Nothing had damaged her from my memory and that was great. It was nice to see that time had been good to her.
I felt guilty as a memory of her flashed through my head. It was the fight we had years ago. It was the last time I actually saw her before she left me. I pushed back the memory, because I didn’t want to drag it out. I didn’t want to remember that time. Today was a better memory than then. I took a deep breath as she sat my journal down between us. She turned to me searching my face and then she realized what I had been thinking.
“It’s okay, you know,” she said.
“It’s okay for you to talk about it,” she said. It was strange how she knew but I felt compelled to let it all out.
“I’m sorry for that day,” I apologized. She smirked waving at me as if it was nothing.
“I’m not worried about it,” she said. “You were scared for me and didn’t want to hear what I had to say.”
“That’s true, but I should have listened,” I said. “In some ways I feel like I let you down.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “You didn’t let me down at all. We both knew that day was coming and when it did; neither of us was prepared for it.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said, looking out over the river. “I still feel bad, because I know you felt alone and what I said didn’t help you.”
“We were both alone that night.” She reached over taking my hand bringing my attention back to her. “I was happy that you were there and that you decided to help. You sacrificed a lot for me. You gave back when no one else would,” she said.
“You’re just saying that to me to make me feel better,” I said. My eyes watered from what she was saying. I wiped my eyes. Now wasn’t a good time for crying. I wanted to have fun and enjoy myself. I didn’t want to feel sad or regretful.
“I’m not just saying that.” She smiled, touching her hand to my face. “You can forget that other nonsense and let’s focus on this visit.” I agreed with her and hugged her again. She felt warm in my embrace. She picked up my journal handing it to me. “There are some good stories in here and some good poems too. It’s nice to know you haven’t stopped writing,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said. I looked into her hazel brown eyes; a little bit of green gleamed from them as the sun caught them just right. We had the same eye color. “So tell me what you’ve been up to lately?”
“Nothing much,” she said. “I’ve mostly been relaxing.”
“Relaxing? I figured you would be dancing a lot.” She laughed. “Why is that funny?”
“Because you’re the only person I ever told that to,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to be a dancer. I was very good at it. I had talent. I was better than any of the other girls that I knew.” She smiled, feeling proud. 
“I believe that,” I said. “I guess I got the talent from you.” We both laughed. She squeezed my hand in hers.
“I want to walk around,” she said. “Can we walk for a little?”
“Of course,” I said. We both got up from the bench hand in hand. We walked up on the grass and made our way through the park to where the trees made shady spots so we could sit.
“I have missed this.”
“Me too,” I said. “Although you shouldn’t tire yourself out.” I pointed to a tree that sat on a hill. The grass was very green. It was a good spot to stop and rest.
“Nah, that’s not possible anymore,” she said. We took a seat under the tree. She took off her shoes so she could place her feet on the soft grass. She leaned back letting her hands glide across the grass blades, until she was on her back. I lay down beside her and we stared up at the sky. “This all feels so good.”
“It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?” She nodded her head in acknowledgment.
“I think I’m over dressed for today,” she said.
“Nah, you look great.”
“You always say that.”
“Well it’s true.”
“Well I guess I should be use to over dressing by now,” she said smiling. “I don’t want this day to end.”
“I don’t want it to end either.” I took her hand. We both looked up at the sky as a plane flew over us. We both were always amazed at how we as human beings could accomplish such feats. We defy human limits every day, yet we limit ourselves with trivial things. Then again, there are things that take us away, things we have no control over. We looked at each other.
“I have to go,” she said. I knew it was coming. I didn’t want it to come. I held her hand tighter. I wanted to keep her with me. I didn’t know how I would continue without her in my life. I didn’t want us never being able to see other again. “I’m glad I got to spend this time with you.”
“I’m glad too. I missed you a lot, mom.”
“I missed you too.”
She got up from the ground and I followed. I quickly hugged her. It had been too long. I stared into her eyes and wished I could go with her. 
“I don’t want you to go.”
“I know you don’t and believe me, I don’t want to go either,” she said. “I will see you again.”
“Will you? It’s just that our time seems to be so limited.”
“I know, but that’s just how it is right now.”
“What can I do for you while you’re away?”
“Tell everyone I love them.”
“I will do that.”
“And most of all, don’t forget me,” she said.
“I will never forget you,” I said hugging her tight. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We continued to hug and then she was gone. Everything around me continued as usual, as if she were never there. I made my way back to the bench and sat back down looking out at the river. It’s water flowed unevenly across the breakers. I opened my journal and began to write down her visit. Today would never leave me. It was something I would share one day with others. I took a deep breath and sighed. For all those years, I felt lost and alone, yet she was still with me. I kept my promises to her and I knew she was with me, even at that moment I sat on the bench.
“This place is beautiful,” I said, as the wind blew past me. She agreed.


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THE FAR FLUNG STAR – official movie trailer www.DIKENGA.com