Larry Buttram's Blog
April 17, 2012
Five Books for Under $5!
For a limited time all five of my books are priced at $.99 (sorry, our children's book, Snatch That Cat is still at $2.99). False Witness is continually in the top 5% in Kindle sales. Just put in my name, Larry Buttram, on the Kindle or Nook store. Happy reading. www.newvirginiapublications.com
October 16, 2011
Adolf Hitler, John F. Kennedy, & Martin Luher King, Jr.
Adolf Hitler, John F. Kennedy, and Martin Luther King Jr.--three names that you normally don't see together. Most people would agree that Hitler was the embodiment of evil; John F. Kennedy was one of America's most popular and loved presidents; and Martin Luther King Jr. was a great humanitarian. Then what do these three individuals have in common?
When John F. Kennedy's name is mentioned what do you think of? Probably his famous inaugural speech--"ask not what your country can do for you--ask what you can do for your country". Similarly, Martin Luther King Jr. is most famous for his, "I have a dream" speech. And who hasn't seen movies of Adolf Hitler pounding his fist and exhorting his countrymen to rally around his cause. Yes, as different as these three men were in most aspects of their lives, the one commonality was their ability to motivate others through their oral presentation skills.
My eleven-year-old grandson recently asked me about the importance of a college education. While I explained that I believed a college education was an important element of a successful career, I didn't believe it was the most important. I told him that I thought the most important skills a young person should develop were the ability to manage their time properly, the ability to write clearly and concisely, and the ability to express themselves orally.
I recently saw a young collegiate athlete being interviewed after a football game. It was painful. His response to a question went something like this. "It was, like, you know, like a really great game, and I'm, you know, like really thankful for, you know, like, the opportunity to, you know, like, to have been able to, you know, like, have been a part of it."
It is said that talking in public is one of mankind's greatest fears. However it is also one of the greatest avenues to present your ideas and to motivate those around you. And, if you become good enough at it, perhaps you too can become famous--but hopefully more like Kennedy or King rather than Hitler.
When John F. Kennedy's name is mentioned what do you think of? Probably his famous inaugural speech--"ask not what your country can do for you--ask what you can do for your country". Similarly, Martin Luther King Jr. is most famous for his, "I have a dream" speech. And who hasn't seen movies of Adolf Hitler pounding his fist and exhorting his countrymen to rally around his cause. Yes, as different as these three men were in most aspects of their lives, the one commonality was their ability to motivate others through their oral presentation skills.
My eleven-year-old grandson recently asked me about the importance of a college education. While I explained that I believed a college education was an important element of a successful career, I didn't believe it was the most important. I told him that I thought the most important skills a young person should develop were the ability to manage their time properly, the ability to write clearly and concisely, and the ability to express themselves orally.
I recently saw a young collegiate athlete being interviewed after a football game. It was painful. His response to a question went something like this. "It was, like, you know, like a really great game, and I'm, you know, like really thankful for, you know, like, the opportunity to, you know, like, to have been able to, you know, like, have been a part of it."
It is said that talking in public is one of mankind's greatest fears. However it is also one of the greatest avenues to present your ideas and to motivate those around you. And, if you become good enough at it, perhaps you too can become famous--but hopefully more like Kennedy or King rather than Hitler.
October 4, 2011
For Want of a Nail
For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
All for the want of a nail.
This proverb has been around centuries. No one is sure who first wrote it, but it shows how a trivial occurrence can lead to disastrous results.
Joshua Chamberlain was born on September 28th, 1828 in Brewer, Maine. Chamberlain led a successful but mostly uneventful life until the outbreak of the Civil War in 1861. He joined the Union Army and advanced to the rank of Colonel. At the battle of Gettysburg he was given command of the 20th Maine Regiment. After initial Confederate victories, Col. Chamberlain was given orders to defend a hill called Little Round Top. Near defeat and almost out of ammunition, Col. Chamberlain understood the significance of the battle. As the Confederate soldiers began their assault, Chamberlain ordered his troops to attack with their bayonets. Shocking the Confederate troops his soldiers captured 101 of the enemy and protected the hill.
It is my opinion, and one shared by many Civil War historians (I think the movie Gettysburg was accurate in it's re-enactment of the battle), that if Col. Chamberlain's troops had not successfully defended Little Round Top, the Confederate Army would have won the battle of Gettysburg. They would have then marched into Washington and captured the city, thus winning the war. Slavery would have continued--for how long it is obviously unknown. Some have even speculated that, being a racist country, we would have not intervened in WWII, thereby allowing a Nazi Germany to dominate the world. That is wild speculation, but I think it is clear that it had not been for Col. Chamberlain's leadership this could be a different country.
The point of this? One never knows what small decision they make might,if not change the course of history, at least impact those around them.
One final note to the story. Chamberlain was later selected to oversee General Lee's surrender at Appomattox. He then went on to become Governor of Maine. A truly great American.
Larry Buttram
www.larrybuttram.com
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
All for the want of a nail.
This proverb has been around centuries. No one is sure who first wrote it, but it shows how a trivial occurrence can lead to disastrous results.
Joshua Chamberlain was born on September 28th, 1828 in Brewer, Maine. Chamberlain led a successful but mostly uneventful life until the outbreak of the Civil War in 1861. He joined the Union Army and advanced to the rank of Colonel. At the battle of Gettysburg he was given command of the 20th Maine Regiment. After initial Confederate victories, Col. Chamberlain was given orders to defend a hill called Little Round Top. Near defeat and almost out of ammunition, Col. Chamberlain understood the significance of the battle. As the Confederate soldiers began their assault, Chamberlain ordered his troops to attack with their bayonets. Shocking the Confederate troops his soldiers captured 101 of the enemy and protected the hill.
It is my opinion, and one shared by many Civil War historians (I think the movie Gettysburg was accurate in it's re-enactment of the battle), that if Col. Chamberlain's troops had not successfully defended Little Round Top, the Confederate Army would have won the battle of Gettysburg. They would have then marched into Washington and captured the city, thus winning the war. Slavery would have continued--for how long it is obviously unknown. Some have even speculated that, being a racist country, we would have not intervened in WWII, thereby allowing a Nazi Germany to dominate the world. That is wild speculation, but I think it is clear that it had not been for Col. Chamberlain's leadership this could be a different country.
The point of this? One never knows what small decision they make might,if not change the course of history, at least impact those around them.
One final note to the story. Chamberlain was later selected to oversee General Lee's surrender at Appomattox. He then went on to become Governor of Maine. A truly great American.
Larry Buttram
www.larrybuttram.com
July 26, 2011
Last Few Days to Get False Witness Trilogy for $.99 Each
Last few days to get False Witness trilogy for $.99 Each on Kindle and Nook. The greatest mystery/suspense novels ever? Well, some people like them.
Larry Buttram
Larry Buttram
July 17, 2011
Martin Luther KIng Jr. and I
Martin Luther King Jr. was born in 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. I was born in 1949 in Oneida, Tennessee. Martin Luther King Jr. was Black. I’m White. Mr. King lived a life where prejudiced and racism was a daily normal part of his existence. I had a conversation with my first Black person while visiting Detroit at the age of sixteen. Mr. King was a minister and a civil rights leader. I was an engineer, an insurance agent, and a writer. Mr. King frequently made the news. I watched the news. Mr. King was murdered on the balcony of his hotel. Hopefully, If Jesus doesn’t return first, I will die in my sleep at the age of 101. At first glance it would appear that Mr. King and I had nothing in common. That would be wrong.
As a youngster growing up in the late fifties and early sixties in an all-White town in east Tennessee, I frequently saw racial conflicts playing out in the streets on the evening news. I must admit, my first reaction was to ask myself, “What is the problem with all these Colored people? Why don’t they just get a job and do something to get rid of their anger?” And while it made me sad to see the fire hoses and dogs turned on unarmed and defenseless people, I figured they must have done something to deserve it. How distorted and narrow-minded my view was.
But then, in the mid-sixties, I began to notice a young Black man who made me reexamine my values. He spoke with a strength and compassion I had not heard. He carried himself with pride but showed no anger. And when he spoke—I’d never heard anyone, Black or White—talk like him. Not only in his words, which spoke of his dream of equality and respect for all—but also in his voice—that melodious, booming voice.
So slowly I began to follow this young man, and I noticed that perhaps he and I weren’t so different. He, like myself, was born in the south. He, like myself, was a Baptist. His father was a minister—my grandfather was a minister. He professed to know Jesus, Who I had accepted into my life a few years earlier. And he, like myself, had a vision of a better future for all mankind.
As I followed Mr. King more closely I began to have a wider view of what was going on in our country. I began to realize that my isolated upbringing had insulated me from the realities of life—that throughout history minorities have always been subjugated to whatever lowly life the group in power forced upon them. And while I still couldn’t justify the violence I saw on TV—perpetrated by either White or Black—I realized the frustration that minorities felt at their treatment in this country. However I didn’t understand the depth of that frustration until April 5th, 1968. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee on the evening of April 4th, 1968. The next day I went to my job at the FBI where I worked as a file clerk. Just before lunch I walked to a nearby bank. Upon leaving the bank I walked into the worst riot in the history of Washington, DC. After receiving direct threats from two rioters, I quickly made my way back to the Justice building and was escorted by two FBI agents, with guns drawn, into a waiting car, and driven home. As we passed the National Guard, the military trucks, and the machine guns on Memorial Bridge, I wondered what Martin Luther King Jr. would think? This was probably not what he envisioned in his dream.
As a youngster growing up in the late fifties and early sixties in an all-White town in east Tennessee, I frequently saw racial conflicts playing out in the streets on the evening news. I must admit, my first reaction was to ask myself, “What is the problem with all these Colored people? Why don’t they just get a job and do something to get rid of their anger?” And while it made me sad to see the fire hoses and dogs turned on unarmed and defenseless people, I figured they must have done something to deserve it. How distorted and narrow-minded my view was.
But then, in the mid-sixties, I began to notice a young Black man who made me reexamine my values. He spoke with a strength and compassion I had not heard. He carried himself with pride but showed no anger. And when he spoke—I’d never heard anyone, Black or White—talk like him. Not only in his words, which spoke of his dream of equality and respect for all—but also in his voice—that melodious, booming voice.
So slowly I began to follow this young man, and I noticed that perhaps he and I weren’t so different. He, like myself, was born in the south. He, like myself, was a Baptist. His father was a minister—my grandfather was a minister. He professed to know Jesus, Who I had accepted into my life a few years earlier. And he, like myself, had a vision of a better future for all mankind.
As I followed Mr. King more closely I began to have a wider view of what was going on in our country. I began to realize that my isolated upbringing had insulated me from the realities of life—that throughout history minorities have always been subjugated to whatever lowly life the group in power forced upon them. And while I still couldn’t justify the violence I saw on TV—perpetrated by either White or Black—I realized the frustration that minorities felt at their treatment in this country. However I didn’t understand the depth of that frustration until April 5th, 1968. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee on the evening of April 4th, 1968. The next day I went to my job at the FBI where I worked as a file clerk. Just before lunch I walked to a nearby bank. Upon leaving the bank I walked into the worst riot in the history of Washington, DC. After receiving direct threats from two rioters, I quickly made my way back to the Justice building and was escorted by two FBI agents, with guns drawn, into a waiting car, and driven home. As we passed the National Guard, the military trucks, and the machine guns on Memorial Bridge, I wondered what Martin Luther King Jr. would think? This was probably not what he envisioned in his dream.
July 5, 2011
My Favorite Writer
My Favorite Writer
Like most people, I too have a favorite writer. No, it’s not Mark Twain, although I greatly admire his ability to take the lives of two young boys and create adventures that have enthralled generations. And it’s not Shakespeare, one of the most eloquent bards of all time. Nor is it Jules Verne who created wondrous worlds of make-believe which we have since discovered are more science than fiction. As much as I love and admire these writers, none of them can move my soul—can touch my heart—as my mother.
Nettie Alma (Blevins)Buttram was born in 1911 in the rolling hills of East Tennessee. It was a different time and place, which only a few people today appreciate, and fewer can remember. It was a simple time, a slower paced time when people lived the examined life. Women were more dignified, and men were more courteous, and everyone was poor.
My mother was the fifth of eight children—five boys and three girls—born to Joseph and Barbara Blevins. She grew up with an appreciation of nature, a love for her family, and an awe and respect for God. She was not a well educated woman, but was knowledgeable on a variety of subjects and was never reticent about giving her opinion, no matter how outlandish or controversial (everywhere you look there’s either an illegal Mexican or a coffee table—her words, not mine).
My mother grew up in an era where women were suppressed and treated as second-class citizens—first by her father, then by mine. I’m sure, being an intelligent and competent woman, this made life extremely frustrating for her. I think that is one of the reasons she began to put down her ideas, sorrows, and dreams on paper.
My mother’s life was not an easy one. She survived the depression, World War II, and the everyday difficulties of life in the poverty-stricken hills of Tennessee. She also bore more than her shares of personal sorrow. Before passing away a few years ago at the age of ninety-five, she saw the death of all eight of her siblings. She also outlived her husband and five of her children, including her oldest child who was still-born. At each loss of a child I thought she would never recover, but she managed to continue, holding her sorrow deep inside. But my father and each of her children she remembered in poem.
It is difficult still for me to read my mother’s poems, because each one is a remembrance of a burden she carried. But, in this tribute, I forced myself to revisit her words. Here is her poem, The Cedar Tree, which portrays her life and attitude more than I ever could.
The Cedar Tree
By Nettie Buttram
I WANDERED TO THE OLD HOMEPLACE TODAY
AND GAZED AT THE SCENES WHERE I USED TO PLAY
THE HOUSE WAS OLD AND ROTTING DOWN
AND WEEDS WERE GROWING ALL AROUND.
THE HOUSE ONCE RUNG WITH LAUGHTER AND GLEE
AS WE CHILDREN ALL ROMPED AND SHOUTED SO FREE
I CAN STILL HEAR THEIR VOICES RINGING CLEAR
AND FEEL THE PRESENCE OF LOVED ONES NEAR.
THE BEAUTIFUL TREE HAD FALLEN DOWN
AND NOW LAY ROTTING ON THE GROUND
THIS OLD TREE ONCE HAD A SWING
WHICH TO MY HEART DID MUCH JOY BRING.
I GREW SAD AS I VIEWED THESE SCENES
WHERE I’D HAD SO MANY YOUTHFUL DREAMS
NOW MY DREAMS ARE GONE AND FADED AWAY
LIKE THE CEDAR TREE THAT ON THE GROUND LAY.
BUT LOOK, WHAT’S THAT I SEE BESIDE ME?
WHY, IT’S A SPROUT GROWING OUT OF THE TREE
A CEDAR SPROUT GROWING ONCE MORE
TO LOOK JUST LIKE THE CEDAR TREE OF YORE.
MAYBE SOME CHILDREN WILL COME SOME DAY
AND AGAIN UNDER ITS SHADOW WILL PLAY
HOPE SPRINGS ANEW IN THIS HEART OF MINE
LOOKING FORWARD TO WHAT TOMORROW WILL FIND
Thank you, Mom, for who you were and for passing on what little writing talent I possess.
Larry Buttram
Like most people, I too have a favorite writer. No, it’s not Mark Twain, although I greatly admire his ability to take the lives of two young boys and create adventures that have enthralled generations. And it’s not Shakespeare, one of the most eloquent bards of all time. Nor is it Jules Verne who created wondrous worlds of make-believe which we have since discovered are more science than fiction. As much as I love and admire these writers, none of them can move my soul—can touch my heart—as my mother.
Nettie Alma (Blevins)Buttram was born in 1911 in the rolling hills of East Tennessee. It was a different time and place, which only a few people today appreciate, and fewer can remember. It was a simple time, a slower paced time when people lived the examined life. Women were more dignified, and men were more courteous, and everyone was poor.
My mother was the fifth of eight children—five boys and three girls—born to Joseph and Barbara Blevins. She grew up with an appreciation of nature, a love for her family, and an awe and respect for God. She was not a well educated woman, but was knowledgeable on a variety of subjects and was never reticent about giving her opinion, no matter how outlandish or controversial (everywhere you look there’s either an illegal Mexican or a coffee table—her words, not mine).
My mother grew up in an era where women were suppressed and treated as second-class citizens—first by her father, then by mine. I’m sure, being an intelligent and competent woman, this made life extremely frustrating for her. I think that is one of the reasons she began to put down her ideas, sorrows, and dreams on paper.
My mother’s life was not an easy one. She survived the depression, World War II, and the everyday difficulties of life in the poverty-stricken hills of Tennessee. She also bore more than her shares of personal sorrow. Before passing away a few years ago at the age of ninety-five, she saw the death of all eight of her siblings. She also outlived her husband and five of her children, including her oldest child who was still-born. At each loss of a child I thought she would never recover, but she managed to continue, holding her sorrow deep inside. But my father and each of her children she remembered in poem.
It is difficult still for me to read my mother’s poems, because each one is a remembrance of a burden she carried. But, in this tribute, I forced myself to revisit her words. Here is her poem, The Cedar Tree, which portrays her life and attitude more than I ever could.
The Cedar Tree
By Nettie Buttram
I WANDERED TO THE OLD HOMEPLACE TODAY
AND GAZED AT THE SCENES WHERE I USED TO PLAY
THE HOUSE WAS OLD AND ROTTING DOWN
AND WEEDS WERE GROWING ALL AROUND.
THE HOUSE ONCE RUNG WITH LAUGHTER AND GLEE
AS WE CHILDREN ALL ROMPED AND SHOUTED SO FREE
I CAN STILL HEAR THEIR VOICES RINGING CLEAR
AND FEEL THE PRESENCE OF LOVED ONES NEAR.
THE BEAUTIFUL TREE HAD FALLEN DOWN
AND NOW LAY ROTTING ON THE GROUND
THIS OLD TREE ONCE HAD A SWING
WHICH TO MY HEART DID MUCH JOY BRING.
I GREW SAD AS I VIEWED THESE SCENES
WHERE I’D HAD SO MANY YOUTHFUL DREAMS
NOW MY DREAMS ARE GONE AND FADED AWAY
LIKE THE CEDAR TREE THAT ON THE GROUND LAY.
BUT LOOK, WHAT’S THAT I SEE BESIDE ME?
WHY, IT’S A SPROUT GROWING OUT OF THE TREE
A CEDAR SPROUT GROWING ONCE MORE
TO LOOK JUST LIKE THE CEDAR TREE OF YORE.
MAYBE SOME CHILDREN WILL COME SOME DAY
AND AGAIN UNDER ITS SHADOW WILL PLAY
HOPE SPRINGS ANEW IN THIS HEART OF MINE
LOOKING FORWARD TO WHAT TOMORROW WILL FIND
Thank you, Mom, for who you were and for passing on what little writing talent I possess.
Larry Buttram
June 29, 2011
Blog, blog, blog
Blog, blog, blog. Who wants to blog? Not me. I hate to admit this--and I know the blog police will soon be at my door, but I hate to Blog! I know, as a writer, I'm supposed to love the blog, cherish the blog, nourish the blog, but writing is a tough, brutal, bloodthirsty business which takes a lot of time, dedication, and creativity, and somedays (most days) I'm just not that creative.
A while back I was at a Border's store and a lady bought one of my books and asked me to sign it.
"Write something creative and funny," she said.
"Lady," I answered, "We have two options here. I can write something creative in a couple of hours, or I can say something like, 'best wishes' right now."
"Best wishes will be fine."
I mean, what happened to the good ole days when you could actually keep a thought to yourself? Today you're supposed to share every event, idea, and emotion with all of humanity. Did you know that a fellow writer yesterday wrote 10,000 words? And someone named Susie's daughter got an A in math? That's fascinating.
Does anyone even know what 'blog' means? It means we(b) log. (I figured this out on Monday). It's a clever word, but wouldn't clog or flog sound better? Blog almost sounds like a bad word, but I guess we're stuck with it. I'm sure, like any infection, it will grow on me.
And don't even get me started on twitter.
Oh, wait, my oatmeal looks like Elvis. Everyone will want to know about this.
A while back I was at a Border's store and a lady bought one of my books and asked me to sign it.
"Write something creative and funny," she said.
"Lady," I answered, "We have two options here. I can write something creative in a couple of hours, or I can say something like, 'best wishes' right now."
"Best wishes will be fine."
I mean, what happened to the good ole days when you could actually keep a thought to yourself? Today you're supposed to share every event, idea, and emotion with all of humanity. Did you know that a fellow writer yesterday wrote 10,000 words? And someone named Susie's daughter got an A in math? That's fascinating.
Does anyone even know what 'blog' means? It means we(b) log. (I figured this out on Monday). It's a clever word, but wouldn't clog or flog sound better? Blog almost sounds like a bad word, but I guess we're stuck with it. I'm sure, like any infection, it will grow on me.
And don't even get me started on twitter.
Oh, wait, my oatmeal looks like Elvis. Everyone will want to know about this.
June 27, 2011
New Lower Price
I just lowered the price on all of my ebooks to $.99 until the end of July. Check them out at Kindle and Nook. Go to www.larrybuttram.com for more information.
June 24, 2011
A New Kindle
After selling my books as ebooks for a couple of months, I figured it was time I purchased an ebook reader, so I went out yesterday and bought a Kindle. It's great. I had no idea it would actually read the stories to you. If you haven't bought one yet, it's the way of the future.
June 23, 2011
Great Review
This is a review of False Witness from a reader in California.
"I downloaded this for my reader because it was so inexpensive. However, the quality of the book far exceeded my expectations. The characters are complex, and the book keeps you so interested you keep reading and reading. I like that the characters are not perfect, but grapple with the situations and tragedies of life. Each evening I found myself providing updates for my husband on what was happening in the story to the point I had read.
Within a week, I had downloaded and read everything I could find by Larry Buttram. I think False Witness would make a wonderful movie. I will be looking forward to more books by Mr. Buttram in the future."
"I downloaded this for my reader because it was so inexpensive. However, the quality of the book far exceeded my expectations. The characters are complex, and the book keeps you so interested you keep reading and reading. I like that the characters are not perfect, but grapple with the situations and tragedies of life. Each evening I found myself providing updates for my husband on what was happening in the story to the point I had read.
Within a week, I had downloaded and read everything I could find by Larry Buttram. I think False Witness would make a wonderful movie. I will be looking forward to more books by Mr. Buttram in the future."
