Donald and Thurma – Part 3

200bp88

If you haven’t read part 1, start here.

If you haven’t read part 2, start here.

“Waddup bitches, see you’ve met my friend. Huge cock, case you were wondering.  Name’s Freddy,” said Freddy, as he extended his hand out for the girls to shake.

Donald took Freddy’s hand, then yanked him along with him, away from the two girls. “Time to leave.”

“Strip club?” said Freddy.

The pair passed through the doorway, hurried by the smoke crowds, and headed toward the parking lot.

“She’s not feeling it. I don’t want to be here, this isn’t me,” said Donald.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Freddy. He stopped on the sidewalk. “If you want to leave to go somewhere else, that’s one thing, but if you wanna book it ’cause of some chick-”

“I know, I get it, that makes me a pussy.”

“Jeeze, Donald,” said Freddy. He looked his buddy in the eye. “I wasn’t gonna call you that, you know.”

“Ok.”

“Super pussy. That was it.” Freddy’s eyes bulged, and he pointed back toward the bar. “Look!”

Donald whirled around. The two girls were approaching, only Thurma walked stilted, like Amanda may have had a gun to her back.

“Bye I guess,” Thurma said to Donald, as they passed.

Donald waved back. “Nice meeting you,” he muttered after they were out of earshot.

“Is your dick for sale cause that shits in demand these days,” said Freddy.

“What are you talking about?”

“You leave. She leaves. She comes your way, wishes you a goodnight, checks out your package. What do you do? You rotate your hand like the slow-mix setting of a god-damned cake mixer.”

“She checked out my package?”

“Winked at it.”

Donald gulped, lightly patted his hair, then slid his hand along his button-down to smooth out the creases. He then shook his head and turned to Freddy.

“I’m only going over there if you’re one-hundred percent sure she’s interested.”

“Bro,” started Freddy. “Interests is for loaners. Girl is invested. You know who invests?”

“Stock-brokers?”

“Heart breakers.”

“What?”

“Shit rhymes, bro,” said Freddy. “Called a metaphorical simile.”

“Huh?”

Freddy kicked Donald in the ass, leading him to stumble off in the direction of Amanda and Thurma.

“Go get her heart-breaker,” said Freddy.

Donald caught himself then continued to follow his feet.”I think I can,” He said to himself. A new flurry of visuals played through his mind, the type he wasn’t accustomed to – confident images. He stopped thinking of himself as an inconvenience to the world around him, and began to entertain the possibility that he actually could make a girl happy, and maybe Thurma would be the one for him.

“I think I can,” he said to himself, chugging along the sidewalk tracks. “I think I can.”

To be continued…

  • Thomas M. Watt

Donald and Thurma – Part 2

200bp88

If you haven’t read part 1, start here.

Donald and Freddy sat at a back table, a beer to each of them.

“Who you keep staring at?” said Freddy.

Donald shook his head. “Nobody, forget it.”

“Don’t be a pussy. Who is it?”

“The girl I ran into at the door. She seemed nice.”

“We want bad bitches, not basic bitches. Where she at?”

Freddy poked his head up like an ostrich, prompting Amanda and Thurma to stop looking in Donald’s direction.

“The blonde or brunette?” said Freddy.

“God, you have to be so obvious?”

Freddy smacked Donald on the forearm. “You have to be such a bitch? Blonde one’s hotter, go for her.”

“No. I like the brunette,” said Donald, glancing at Thurma after he said it.

“Makes sense, you don’t have enough confidence to take down a tiger like that blonde. Girl got a dumper.”

“Tiger? Dumper? What?”

“Are you gonna go over there or just sit here and talk about going over there?” said Freddy.

Donald scratched the back of his head, then crossed his arms and sunk into the table. He took a sip of his drink.

“Let me finish my beer first. That way I have a reason to-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Freddy knocked the glass mug off the table. It shattered and the blue moon washed away.

“What the hell?” said Donald.

“Oh shit, looks like you need another drink! Now get your ass over there and talk to her.”

Donald bit his lips, checked out Thurma again, then stood up.

“Fine.”

“And remember-”

“What?”

“Be an asshole. Else you’ll be stuck in the friend zone again.”

Donald sighed. “Got it,” he said, then started over to the bar.

  • * *

“Oh, he’s coming,” said Amanda, nudging her friend.

“Which one? The douche or the one who maybe lifeguards during rainy days in autumn?” said Thurma.

Amanda’s head bobbed back. “That was a pretty specific description.”

“Just tell me!”

“The tall one with the good-boy hair.”

“God no. Shit. I don’t want to do this. Come with me to the bathroom,” Thurma said, then stood up from her bar stool.

Amanda grabbed the bottom of her skirt and whipped it up.

“Stop!” Said Thurma, snapping back into her seat.

“Haha. You’re going through with this. Remember – demand respect.”

“By being a bitch?”

“Yep.”

“Oh shit. God dammit. Got it.”

The two went quiet, and Donald took the seat beside Thurma.

  • * *

Donald turned to Thurma, and the two met eyes. Neither smiled, and both instantly looked straight ahead.

“Waddup,” said Donald.

“Who are you talking to?”

Donald looked at her. “Oh. Didn’t notice you there. You’re so short.”

Thurma raised her eyebrows, then turned to Amanda. Amanda pushed her so hard Thurma’s barstool rocked and sent her colliding into Donald.

Donald caught her in his arms. “Be careful! You okay…  idiot?”

“Yeah, I – What?”

“What.”

Thurma pursed her lips together. “You’re not good enough for me. Bye.”

“Oh. Ok,” said Donald. He began looking around for Freddy, but his friend had disappeared from their table.

“Who are you looking for?” said Thurma, hands to her hips. “And why are you still here?” She brushed one of her curly brown locks back behind her ear, then stood with her hands at her hips.

“More… bitches,” said Donald.

“You’re looking for more bitches?”

“Yea. Badder ones. You’re a basic… be-yotch.”

“We prefer the to be called females.”

“Oh ok. I’m looking for more females.”

“You sound like a moron.”

“Ok,” said Donald. Both opened their mouths to speak at the same time, then stopped when they thought the other person would. Neither said anything, and both looked away.

“You’re kind of a b,” said Donald.

“A b?” said Thurma, before pressing her tongue into her teeth. “What’s that b stand for, eh?”

“I said ‘B’, not ‘A’.”

They both smiled and laughed.

Something gave Donald a sudden jolt forward, and his momentum sent him shoving Thurma into Amanda. Both girls spilled their drinks all over their dresses, then stared at Donald with shark jaws.

Wide-eyed, Donald slowly turned around to see who had shoved him.

“Waddup bitches, see you’ve met my friend. Huge cock, case you were wondering.  Name’s Freddy,” said Freddy, as he extended his hand out for the girls to shake.

To be continued…

– Thomas M. Watt

Social Media and #Pitmad Update

man lost

Let me start out by saying I’m grateful to be here.

No, seriously. I’ve spent the last few hours fumbling my way through twitter, goodreads, and a few cover design pages. My last post outlined five goals for promoting my book. I’m happy to say I can check off all of them.

The big #pitmad event was today. Much thanks to Zara Kramer with Pandamoon Publishing for favoriting my pitch for Master, I look forward to querying you shortly.

Anyway, contacting potential cover artists was a piece of cake. I’m not too particular – if the portfolio looks professional, I’m in.

After that I logged some hours on goodreads. God I’m lost there. I posted in three different discussion threads, then updated my page with a worthless post. If you like laughing at clueless people, scroll down and read the comment that begins with “waddup goodreaders.” I don’t even know how to link directly to the post, but here’s one for my profile page. I’m sure all 1 of my goodreads friends can’t wait to check it out.

One of the big highlights of my day was having a few of my tweets retweeted. By some mega-twitter accounts and highly established authors, mind you – Carole Gill, J. H. Moncrief, and Charity Parkerson. Apparently they liked what I had to say. Or maybe they just thought my hopeless twitter account would give their hordes of followers a good chuckle. I really want to thank them properly, but I’m not yet educated about twitter etiquette. Do I say: Thanks for retweeting! @twitternamehere(?)

Please answer if you know how to solve this dilemma. I signed up to follow these word-weaving powerhouses, but feel obliged to properly express my gratitude.

Happy #pitmad day everyone.

  • Thomas M. Watt

First 5 steps to book marketing & MASTER Update – 9/9

indiana jones

Contrary to amateur belief, it’s most beneficial for an author to market their work before it is published. This way, potential readers will have something to look forward to, much like the opening weekend of a new blockbuster movie. That’s why we see trailers for movies that aren’t going to appear in theaters until much later; to generate some hype and anticipation.

If you’re like me, promoting your work is alien to your nature and feels like an insult to art (I am trapped by this deep-seeded ideal that beauty should be recognized the moment it is seen, and is apparent enough in itself that it should never have to be pointed out to anyone. Then I remind myself that Van Gogh never sold a painting).

Fortunately, the world wide web holds an endless bounty of information, and enough google searches will get you off the sidewalk and onto the main road. I owe a lot to Benjamin Myatt, author of the High Moon Rising series for pointing me in the right direction. His books have been downloaded several hundred times over. He recommended I check out this link, which led me to a free, downloadable PDF file that includes a checklist of the most effective ways to promote my book.

Now that I have a plan for marketing Master, I feel much better about my future as an independent author. It’s hard for any artist to accept, but nobody is going to buzz your doorbell to ask if you’re the next big thing. You’ve got to bang knuckles door-to-door and say, “Here I am.”

Below is my list of things to do today in order to get the ball rolling in the marketing department. Follow along if you’re in the beginning stages of promoting your work.

1.) Contact three potential cover artists (whose portfolios include covers for psychological thrillers)

2.) Create a list of keywords that describe ‘Master’, seek out blogs that express interest in those keywords

3.) Involve myself in an online forum without being called an idiot, getting booted, or giving out my address to someone who wants to help me receive an assault and battery charge.

4.) Figure out how Goodreads works (What’s this place for? Am I supposed to log-in when I read a book, then log-out when I’m done?)

5.) Figure out how to get more twitter followers.

* One final note, tomorrow (9/10/15) there is a #pitmad event on twitter that allows you to pitch your story to tons of literary agents. (write your logline in 140 characters or less and use the hashtag #pitmad). I plan on entering Master, and suggest you enter whatever story you’re currently working on.

  • Thomas M. Watt

Donald and Thurma – Part 1

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Donald sat in the passenger seat of Freddy’s Escalade, still glaring at the same text:

I just think you and I are better off as friends.

He shook his head, then stared out the window.

“I’m telling you bro,” said Freddy. “You took too long to make your move. That’s where you messed up.”

“It shouldn’t be like that,” said Donald.

“Well it is like that! Girls like dudes who are aggressive. Stop pussy-footing around, I want you to be a man tonight.”

Donald scoffed.

“C’mon dude,” said Freddy. “This bar’s going to have a ton of hot chicks tonight. You’re gonna get yours, and you’re going to feel a lot better.”

“I could give two shits about getting laid,” said Donald.

“And that’s your problem.”

“Why?”

“She stuck you in the friend zone, didn’t she?”

“So?”

Freddy turned to Donald and raised his eyebrows. “What is the one thing that separates friends from lovers?”

Donald gazed at the text again, then sighed.

“You can’t be afraid to hurt their feelings. There’s a reason girls always fall for assholes.”

Donald stared out the passenger window for a bit.

“You hearin’ me bro?” said Freddy.

Donald stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Ok. Tonight we do it your way.”

  • * *

Thurma and her friend Amanda walked to the bar together. It was only a few blocks from their apartment.

“I’m telling you!” said Amanda. “Greg walked all over you because you let him. You have to stop being so nice to these assholes.”

“I never said he was an asshole,” said Thurma.

“All guys are assholes.”

Thurma laughed.

Amanda playfully smacked her arm. “You think I’m joking, but I’m not. At least, that’s the way you have to approach the game.”

“What game?”

“Love! It’s a game, and if you haven’t figured that out by now than I’m afraid even I can’t help you.”

“Why can’t I just be myself and find someone who likes me for who I am?”

“Because that doesn’t exist. Guys like bitches and hoes. Which one are you?”

Thurma cracked a chuckle. “Neither, jeeze!”

“Well I’m a bitch.

“Not to me,” said Thurma.

“To guys I am. And you know what?”

“What?” said Thurma.

Amanda’s phone beeped. She held it out for Thurma to see, then smiled at her. “Oh, what’s this? Another ‘I’m sorry’ text? God, I swear I must have ignored a hundred of these already.”

“That’s mean.”

“All is fair in love and war Thurma.”

“So what are you telling me? I should just start acting like a bitch to every guy I talk to?”

“If you want them to respect you, than yeah.”

Thurma shook her head.

“One night. Just try it out! See how it feels.”

They reached the bar, and Thurma took hold of the entry door when Amanda grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back.

“What?” said Thurma.

“I want you to promise me. One night.”

“Be a bitch?” said Thurma.

Amanda grinned. “Demand respect.”

“By being a bitch?”

Amanda looked off to the side, then shrugged.

Thurma rolled her eyes. “Alright. For one night.”

“That’s the spirit!”

She turned around and reached for the door handle again, but this time she met hands with Donald, who grabbed it at the exact same time.

“Oh,” said Donald. “Sorry.”

Thurma laughed. “It’s okay.”

“HEY! Let’s move it along here!” said Freddy, who came up quick behind Donald.

“Ya, please do,” said Amanda, before pulling Thurma away from them.

Donald entered the bar with Freddy, and shortly after Thurma and Amanda followed behind.

To be continued…

  • Thomas M. Watt

“Master” and Social Media – 9/6

PART_1441565706467_20150816_135846

Waddup, waddup.

I’ve been busy the last few days setting up a twitter and goodreads account. Well, not really. Setting up the accounts were easy – it’s figuring out what I’m supposed to do with them that has been giving me trouble.

My introduction to social media was myspace, but that was all about adding friends. I don’t even have a personal facebook account, and until two weeks ago ‘flippy’ was the only phone I felt comfortable using.

flip phone

  • That’s flippy.

Anyway, I’m in the midst of a social media push, tweeting like a madman about meaningful things… When you use a hashtag, are you supposed to press the pound sign (#), or is there a special hashtag button I’m unaware of?

Goodreads is another story. It looks like I can host a blog there, similar to wordpress. I tried taking one of their quizzes, thinking it would help me find friends or gain followers. Three hours into it, I noticed the quiz was titled “Never Ending Quiz.” I stopped taking it right then and there. I didn’t even get a good enough score for book worms to let me into their prestigious reading clubs.

I’ve got five beta readers working on ‘Master’ right now, and they’ve been overwhelmingly positive and excited about the material in their responses. That’s huge for me, because for the first time in my life I can honestly say I have a product that’s entertaining, thought-provoking, and ‘hard to put down’. It may not sound like much, but until you’ve put your own work under the spotlight, you have no idea how difficult writing entertaining fiction can be. #wordpressed

  • Thomas M. Watt

Craig and the BK Lounge – Part 2 – Finale!

bk lounge

If you missed Part 1, start here.

“Dear… God,” said Craig.

Buford and Marlon came sprinting from the Burger King across the street. They had decided to chase after Craig, who apparently had ‘desecrated’ the restaurant they worked at when he spilled the french fries he had ordered after passing through the drive thru. Still soaking wet from the coca-cola the two had poured on him, Craig had no choice but to rush inside the auditorium and begin the conference.

This was Craig’s last real shot to turn things around, and he knew it. The last few months had been difficult – one odd-job after another was no way to pay the bills. Not long ago Craig was one of Forbes top 10 motivational speakers, and now he found it difficult just to get himself out of bed every morning. With an imminent foreclosure in the works, everything was riding on this conference – after all, fifteen of the country’s richest CEOs had come to hear him speak.

Craig entered the auditorium, where he estimated five to ten thousand business professionals sat waiting for his talk.

“Where have you been?” said Darcy, his assistant. “You’re late!” She reached out to straighten his tie, then noticed the coca-cola drenching his suit. “Oh my God-”

“Just work with me, okay? Where’s my mic?”

“You look like shit.”

Craig stared back at her.

“Here,” said Darcy. She held out the microphone, and he grabbed it from her.

Craig turned it on, then secretly wished he could somehow fast-forward the next five hours. He opened while walking up the center aisle toward the stage.

“The key to success,” he began. There must have been at least a thousand murmurs about the dark soft drink dripping from his suit. He climbed on stage, then walked toward the podium. Every step he took was accompanied by a rubbery ‘squeak.’ Craig adjusted his collar.

“You see the key  to success is-” A sharp ringing from the microphone interrupted Craig and caused many in the audience to cover their ears. Craig lowered his head and sighed, then began to turn and twist his ear, a nervous habit he hadn’t been able to break since he was a child.

The hushed voices surrounding him quickly turned to full-blown conversations, and Craig didn’t have to be telepathic to know they were talking about him. This was it for Craig – his career as a motivational speaker was finished. He’d be lucky to ever work a decent-paying job again.

The doors to the auditorium flew open. The two Burger King employees, who were now wearing the plastic ‘King’ crowns the fast-food chain is notorious for, stormed in.

“Oh shit,” Craig said, into the microphone.

“Oh shit is right!” Shouted Buford, before flipping his mullet.

The audience turned around to face the men when they stood at the back. It was not uncommon for motivational speakers to use guest speakers as gimmicks to keep their audience engaged – unfortunately for Craig, this was not part of his act.

“Tell these fools why you better than us!” Said Marlon, who was Asian.

The audience laughed.

“Yeah!” Said Buford. “Tell ’em all about how crappy the BK lounge is these days.”

“Or how you hate black people,” added Marlon.

The audience gasped, then turned to Craig.

“Or!” said Buford. The audience returned their attention to him. “You can tell them the same thing you told us.”

“Yeah!” said Marlon. “Tell ’em Buford!”

Buford did:

“Tell him about how you went out of your way, came over to our place of work, and told us how to do our jobs better!”

“Yeah!” said Marlon.

Buford went on. “Tell ’em how, when I asked if I could take your order, you tried to get me to do my job better. Crappy service! That’s what this man said to me!”

Buford shook his mop at Craig. The audience started laughing. “This guy comes to me, wearing his freshly pressed suit, driving his Mercedez Benz, and tries telling me how I can be more like him!”

The audience cheered Buford on. He broke into a run, then climbed on stage. Marlon followed after him, but tripped and fell his first eight attempts. Buford paced around the stage as he continued. “Just cause I work at Burger King, that don’t mean you can come here and tell me how to do my job! That don’t give you no right to insult my service, say you’re gonna eat somewhere else if I don’t pull it together!’ He pointed at Craig. “But this man did.”

The audience cheered.

“Only rich dude I ever known in my whole life, who feels compelled to come to the BK Lounge, demand I wait on his order, then create a huge mess, just to make sure I would actually clean it up!”

Craig took a good view of the audience – they were grinning, nodding even.

“And it’s because of this man, ladies gentlemen, that I am here today.”

Everybody stood up – a standing ovation!

“Thank you,” said Craig, reaching out to Buford’s shoulder.

“I’m not finished!” he said, then swatted his hand away. “You think I’m finished talking about you, let me tell ya! I’m just getting started. Earlier today, he comes and says…”

For the next five hours, Buford repeatedly rallied the audience to their feet and convinced several of the country’s most powerful figures that even a Burger King drive-thru worker could learn to be as motivated as someone like Craig. After the seminar, all anyone could talk about was how remarkable Craig was for having such a tremendous influence on Buford’s life. Craig left the auditorium hanging his head, however, for he knew as soon as he got home he’d be back to dealing with the foreclosure of his home.

“Craig!” Yelled one of the country’s elite CEOs.

He turned around. “Yes?”

“That was some impact you had on that young man who spoke today!”

Craig scratched his neck, then turn to look at Buford and Marlon as they crossed the street. The men were at least ten years older than Craig. He returned to the CEO. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome! How would you like to come work for me?”

Craig tried to smile, then walked closer and let out a breath. “To be honest with you sir, I’m dealing with piles of unpaid bills and a soon-to-be auctioned home.”

“Then I assume you’ll take it?”

“I don’t mean to be frank, but unless the starting figure is six figures and starts tomorrow, I’m going to have to busy myself with lawyers and bank meetings for the next few months.”

The CEO looked both ways, then began walking toward a white van and waved for Craig to follow. Craig did, but stayed a few paces back out off caution.

“My company doesn’t believe in the green,” said the CEO, as he unlocked the door to his white van.

“The green? Sorry sir, I don’t follow.”

He opened the door, and outpoured gold coins, diamonds, and jewlery. It was as if the CEO had just driven from robbing a pharoahs tomb in Egypt.

“Dear God!” shouted Craig. “Where did you get all this?” he stopped, checked over his shoulder, then whispered to the CEO again. “I must be staring at a hundred million dollars right now.”

The CEO picked up a gold coin, rubbed it with his fingers, then flipped it over to Craig. “You’ll take the job then?”

“Absolutely!” said Craig.

The CEO smiled again, then reached inside the van. This time he retrieved a robe and crown, both of which he put on to wear.

“I just have one question, if you don’t mind,” said Craig.

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“Who… are you?

“I am,” began the CEO, before grabbing hold of Craig’s shoulder. “The Burger King.”

Burger-King-the-king

  • Thomas M. Watt

Craig and the BK Lounge – Part 1

bk lounge

Craig had ten minutes before he’d be introducing himself as the keynote speaker in a conference that included fifteen of the country’s richest CEOs. He was across the street from the building, and just about to pull in, when he made a last minute decision to yank the steering wheel left, and take his rented Mercedes over to Burger King.

If he didn’t eat now, he’d be speaking on an empty stomach for the next five hours. And Craig knew all too well that this was his last chance to impress the right people and find a way to save his house from foreclosure. Hell, if it went really well, he might even be able to lease a decent car!

“What you want?” came the voice through the drive-thru menu.

“Yea, just give me a minute, I need to order something healthy. Sorry, I just can’t afford to feel like crap today.”

Craig looked sharp – freshly pressed suit, striped tie, polished shoes. He checked himself in the rear-view mirror, then brushed the little bit of hair he had left over his bald spot. Craig frowned.

“Go get food somewhere else then.” Said the drive-through speaker.

“Sorry? What was that?”

“If our food’s so crappy, order somewhere else.”

“No, I didn’t mean that,” said Craig. He smeared his forehead with his hand. “I just said, I said I can’t afford to feel crappy today. I’d like to order a-”

“Oh,” said the drive-thru employee. There was a sudden static sound, like a hand had grabbed onto the microphone. “He said he doesn’t want to feel crappy today.”

Craig heard a second employee say: “So our food makes people feel like crap, now?”

“No, just this asshole. Look at him. Sitting in his Mercedez, new suit, thinks he’s better than us. You’re bald asshole, why don’t you just go kill yourself!”

“Uh, excuse me,” said Craig.

“What you want?”

“Just forget it. I’m not going to order anything, just let me pass through and I’ll-”

“OH!” said the employee through the speaker. “Couldn’t find the non-crap menu, is that it?”

“No, it’s not that. I just have a really important conference that I need to get to.”

The same crumpled static sound returned. Craig shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he overheard another private conversation.

“What’d that bald asshole say?”

“He says he’s got a important conference to go to. Says our foods not that crappy.”

“He says it’s not that crappy?”

“Yea! You believe that?”

“Tell him he gets a free meal, on us.”

“Why?”

“So we can spit in it.”

Craig crossed his arms and waited for the employee to return to him.

“Sir,” came the voice.

“Yea?” said Craig.

“We at the Burger King have decided to offer you a free meal to make up for our crappy service.”

“It’s really ok. I’m just going to pass through once this guy in front of me gets his meal.” He checked his watch – five minutes before he needed to be on stage.

“Oh. Don’t worry, we got a speedy delivery service.”

Craig scratched his temple, then muttered to himself. “Speedy delivery?”

The customer ahead of him completed their purchase. The employee in the drive-thru window stuck his head out, then pointed at Craig. He had eyes as narrow as a falcons, and a long mullet in the back. He held an Xtra large fountain soda in one hand, and pointed at Craig with the other.

“Oh no,” said Craig.

He slammed down the gas pedal, and burned rubber as he tore through the drive-thru lane. Right as he was passing the window, both employees hurled coca-cola and french fries into the rental Mercedez. The food and drink splashed and stuck to Craig’s clean suit.

“Shit!” Craig yelled, screeching to a halt. He got out from his Mercedez and brushed the fries off. He shook his head, then shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Can’t afford to be upset today,” he told himself. “The wife and kids are counting on you.”

Craig opened his eyes to find the fast food manager standing by the doorway outside.

“Buford, Marlon! Get out here, some suit driving a Mercedez just poured his french fries out. Come pick it up.”

“Oh no,” said Craig. He rushed back into the rental car, sped straight across the street, then pulled into the parking lot. He took another deep breath, then spoke to himself again. “You can do this. Just calm down, that’s all behind you now.”

Craig exited his Mercedez, straightened his coca-cola stained suit, then checked his watch – he still had three minutes. “Punctuation is key to peak performance,” he said then adjusted his striped tie and smiled.

“You!”

Craig slowly turned and looked in the direction of the yell. Running across the street was Buford and Marlon.

Buford pointed with his mop. “You think you can desecrate the BK lounge and get away with it!”

“Dear… God,” said Craig.

To be continued…

  • Thomas M. Watt

Master Update – 9/2

master 1

Book reviews, blog tours, and purchasing a top-quality book cover top my list of priorities for the upcoming release of “Master,” my short psychological thriller.

The rant that I posted about being an INTP earlier this week had everything to do with these current obligations. In my opinion, there are two ways to generate a high volume of sales in the writing industry – 1. Be a well-known, prolific author. 2. Be exceptionally good at marketing.

Missing from that list is the unknown writer who grinds away at the keyboard, overflowing with creative ideas and obsessed with the pursuit of producing exemplary stories. An idealist would argue that this person deserves to have their work read more than the two other types listed. A realist would then point out that the idealist’s opinion doesn’t matter too much, because in a free market consumers are free to do whatever they’d like with their money.

I’m an idealist at heart, but a realist in pursuit of my dreams. Despite my inclination toward introversion and general distaste for promoting my work to others through the world wide web, I realize I’m going to have to if I truly want to succeed at this thing. That will be my focus this week.

Posted below are two websites that have helped tremendously by pointing me in the right direction. Feel free to check them out below if you’re traveling along the same path.

  1. Lindsay Buroker
  2. 7 strategies and 110 tools to help Indie authors
  • Thomas M. Watt