Too Perfect Marriage – Part 8 – FINALE!

club

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Calvin’s heart raced. “So Shea is-”

“Dead,” said Brody, before taking a peek at his Rolex. “Right about… now.” He laughed in his face, blood sputtering from his lips.

“No,” said Calvin. He shook his head, reached into Brody’s jacket, then yanked out the gun. “No!” He stood up and stormed into the club.

It was like swimming through Miley Cyrus’ earhole – Strobe lights bashed the swerving bodies with split-second flashes of blue and red. Bass blasted like bombs were exploding in the speakers. Sweaty bodies, sequin gowns, cocktails in the air.

Calvin’s legs felt like jelly. The sweet ingredients of love that had been swirling in his gut earlier had been poisoned with fear, worry, and knowledge -knowledge that Bridgette had no intention of killing him. Her target was Shea, the woman whose existence sparked Calvin’s future but burned Bridgette’s to ash.

He tucked the handgun into his waistband. As he strolled through he kept his eyes trained for a blonde woman in a red dress. Luckily for him, both women matched that description. Two women in red party dresses sat talking at the bar. One had her hand behind her back, and appeared to be holding something.

Too many dancers blocked Calvin’s line of sight – impossible to get a clear view of her face.

“Move!” he said.

He pushed a few drinkers out of the way, then cracked his knuckles as he motored through the crowd. Brody had said Shea was already dead, but Calvin refused to believe that. He wasn’t too late – he could feel it in his soul.

Calvin’s breath drew heavy as he closed in on the bar. He reached back into his waistband and swiped out the handgun. He hid the barrel up his white sleeve, and concealed the bulky handle with his fist.

Someone popped out at him – an adorable brunette.

“You’re cute,” she said.

“Watch out,” said Calvin.

The two blondes at the bar were facing the counter, backs to him. The one holding something extended her other arm and hugged the blonde beside her into her chest. She raised her other hand like she were going for the girl’s neck.

“Don’t be rude!” said the brunette.

Bridgette was going to slit Shea’s neck.

“Shea, no!” Shouted Calvin.

He jolted forward and took aim. The brunette tripped into his line of fire-

The two girls he had yelled at swiveled around, gazed at him, and blinked like owls. Calvin lowered his gun when he noticed the girl’s hand – she was holding a crumpled napkin, probably with some guys number on it.

Calvin shook his head and tore around. Where were they?

Every clock-hand tick meant Bridgette was closer to killing Shea.

Calvin’s eyes dotted around the packed house again. A few blondes, some red-dresses, but none of them Bridgette nor Shea. Calvin had to strike more than he needed to think. They wouldn’t have left the club, the plan was to kill Shea inside. But where?

Upstairs! Like finding keys in a front jean’s pocket, the obvious location struck Calvin in the forehead. Before he’d gone outside with Shea, he’d spotted Bridgette and Brody hovering over the top balcony. If there were any private place to kill someone in a club, it was the VIP room, and Brody had reserved it.

Calvin rushed through the dancers again.

“Move!” he said.

He plowed through. A guy hitting on a girl blocked his path.

Calvin shoved them to the ground, raced forward to the stairs, then sprinted up the flight. He breathlessly broke through Brody’s party guests’ circle. They quit drinking and mingling.

“Where is she?” Calvin said. “Where is she!”

“Who?”

“Shea!”

The guests dismissed Calvin by rolling their eyes and returning to their conversations.

Calvin flipped around. The VIP room in the back wasn’t entirely blocked – a curtain of jewelry beads hid it from view. He could make out moving bodies on the couch inside it.

Calvin rushed inside, smacking away the beads with his gun drawn.

A girl in a black skirt was riding some guy on the couch. She jumped off, and the guy held his hands up.

“Never told me dude! I swear!”

Calvin circled around, gun at his side. The freaked-out couple were panting and staring at him like he were a twisted serial killer. Calvin could care less about how he looked – he needed to save Shea, and too much time had already passed.

“She didn’t say she had a dude!” said the guy.

“I don’t,” said the girl.

Calvin paced with one hand scratching the back of his head, the other holding the gun.

“Oh, well.. It’s a private room, so uhh…”

“Use a goddamn stall then!” said Calvin. He stopped pacing. “Oh my God.”

Calvin bolted out the VIP room and flew down the stairs. He caught a pair of familiar eyes glaring at him during his descent.

They belonged to Big Fella, who seconds later fired a barrage of bullets into the ceiling. DJ killed the music, and panicked yells shook the dance floor as frightened patrons fled to the exit.

Calvin hauled ass over to the bathrooms, running against the tide of club-goers who were gushing out in the opposite direction. He stole a glance over his shoulder – Big Fella was chasing him, gaining ground every stride.

“Move!” Calvin said to people blocking his path.

Calvin pushed his way through, and reached the women’s restroom – door was locked.

“Stop!” He screamed, then kicked it. “Shea! Shea, are you alright!”

The door wouldn’t budge. Calvin loaded the gun, then fired a shot into the bolt. It broke off. Calvin stomped the door – something still jammed it shut from the inside.

Calvin rotated his body then charged, shoulder first. He made some headway, but only a crack. He could hear their voices – Shea and Bridgette were shouting in a heated argument.

“Help Calvin!” said Shea. “Hurry!”

“Trying to!” said Calvin. He backed away, then charged again – he banged it open enough to barely slide his arm through. Calvin hurried back one more time. He sprinted forward, turned to crash, then caught sight of Big Fella, holding his glock.

Big Fella fired but missed.

Calvin busted through and fell on the tiles of the women’s restroom.

“Let her go!” screamed Calvin.

The two blondes fought near the far wall, backs to Calvin. They were nowhere close to the mirror, and both had red dresses and blonde hair. The one closest to the wall was on her knees, struggling to escape the neck-brace of the women behind her. Calvin couldn’t tell who was who.

“It’s finished god-dammit! Get off her!”

The woman standing up raised a knife. She was on the verge of slitting the other girl’s throat. Somebody kicked the bathroom door open – Big Fella.

“Duck Shea!” said Calvin.

He pulled the trigger, and fired a bullet straight into the back of the woman with the knife.

“Oh… shit,” said Big Fella, stopping behind him.

The blonde women with the knife crumbled to the tile. She dropped the girl she’d been choking, and the knife fell from her loosened grip. It was Shea, and she lie on the floor, clutching her bleeding heart.

“No,” said Calvin. “God… no. There’s no way…”

Bridgette stood up, coughed to clear her throat, then fanned herself.

“Curious, didn’t you realize we wore the same dress and I didn’t say anything? You should have known we needed to get rid of both of you to be married. Now you’ll be in jail, and she’ll be a corpse.”

“How… no. This isn’t happening.” said Calvin.

“It is, sorry bae.” Bridgette rubbed his cheek, kissed him by the temple, then left the restroom, as did Big Fella.

Calvin walked forward like he were knee-deep in mud. “Get up,” he said. “Get up and be okay.”

The club music was off – looping police sirens took its place.

Calvin reached Shea. Blood poured out from her chest wound – the bullet went straight through her. Her eyes turned up as she gasped for air.

“Cal.. Calvin?” she said.

He slid down against the back wall, then tugged her onto his lap by her armpits.

“It doesn’t end like this,” he said. “No, no. It can’t.”

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be!” he said. “It’s my fault!”

She coughed, then smirked. Tears welled up in Calvin’s eyes. He clenched the knife handle, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Don’t die.”

“Don’t… leave.”

Police barged in.

“Put the knife down!” One shouted. “Put the knife down!”

“Please,” she said.

Calvin sniffed. “I won’t.”

“…forever.”

“Get on the ground! Now!”

“Forever.” Calvin pressed his lips into hers, then plunged the blade into her neck.

Police fired away until both were riddled with holes. They died in each others arms, lips joined together.

  • * *

Brody and Bridgette did a series of joint interviews following the tragedy that made national headlines. Security footage proved Calvin slugged Brody across the face then robbed the him of the gun he used to murder Brody’s wife.

Choked up with tears, Brody spoke about how blissful life could have been had he only won that fight, and interviewees and the American audience sympathized with his loss. Bridgette invited the public to share with her as she grieved, and many understood how disturbed she felt to discover her husband had kissed the women shortly before ruthlessly murdering her.

When Bridgette and Brody tied the knot, wedding gifts poured in from around the globe, and business boomed for Brody’s car dealership. They accumulated widespread fame from their against-the-odds love that blossomed into marriage, which proved to so many that not even a destructive mad-man could permanently destroy the lives of blessed good people for long.

The sudden influx of funds from Shea’s family fortune certainly helped Brody’s chain of dealerships thrive, but Brody always insisted he’d trade the tens of millions he’d inherited from Shea for even a day of her descension back to earth, even if it only meant holding her in his arms one more time.

When asked about the century old knife Calvin had used to carve into Shea, Brody informed viewers that the knife had belonged to her great, great, great, great grandfather, who had used it to peal a grapefruit he gave to a girl that became his future wife. They began the billion-dollar company together, and the knife had been passed down from generation to generation. Brody added, with tremendous difficulty, that Shea and he had always hoped to have children, and the knife would have gone to their firstborn. Because Calvin slaughtered her to soon, Shea died as the last surviving member of her incredible family.

*On a curious note, the shooter and his victim were buried in the same graveyard, despite specific orders and a never-ending outcry from the public. Shea and Calvin’s gravestones were placed side-by-side, in a remote area under some sycamore trees. The graveyard director position became a revolving door, and each new person hired for the job resigned within their first week, swearing “Forces beyond their control” prevented Calvin and Shea’s gravestones from ever being separated.

The End.

  • Thomas M. Watt

Hope you’ve enjoyed the series! Check in tomorrow for the official cover release for Master, my novel about a former football star’s quest to save his family from the deranged psychiatrist who infiltrates his dreams.

Way of the World: Mrs. Dunlap

A lot of thought and research went into the worldly and Spiritual cultures of “Way of the World.” Loyalists, citizens, bandits, deputies, and biblically-based characters have wardrobes specific to themselves. Buildings, technologies, weapons, and clothing styles in “Way of the World” were taken from various cultures and span multiple centuries, from medieval times to present day. Today we’ll take a look at Mrs. Dunlap, who is married to the mayor, and has as much influence over Gnashing as the first lady has over the United States.

Mrs. Dunlap

Mrs. Dunlap is a sweetheart who married the wrong man, despite his being the Mayor of Gnashing. She has a tremendous impact on Michael. She loves to talk a lot, which is a good thing, considering Michael hates to talk. Even after she learns that Michael is the most wanted murderer in the history of Gnashing, the notorious “Death Angel”, she continues to treat him humanely, and despises the feelings she has developed for him.

Her sweetness crushes Michael, as he has avoided ordinary people (women included) his entire life. For the first time, he reconsiders the path of violence, and begins to feel an emotion he has never felt before – love.

Unfortunately for Michael, he’s going to have to overcome his fear of speaking in order to explain how he was forced to kill throughout his childhood. And when his quest forces him to decide between love and vengeance, will Michael open up to Mrs. Dunlap, or go after his enemies and do what he knows best?

Way of the World: Michael’s Story

Coming soon…

– Thomas M. Watt

Author of “A New Kingdom”

Storytelling Essentials: Story Structure

Storytelling Essentials: Story Structure – Act 1

Like it or not, all good stories have an underlying structure that has been purposely put in place to keep you involved throughout the course of the tale. In screenplays, structure is so straightforward and strictly adhered to that certain beats are expected to take place on specific pages. In novels, especially those of the literary variety, structure is much more negotiable, and one can get away with adhering to it loosely (not if you want to be a best-selling author, however). So, what is this big-bad-structure-thing that you fear will suck all of your creative juices dry?

Relax, it’s nearly the foundation to the incredible skyscraper you’re about to erect. Let me point out the basic elements of the first act. From here on out, you would be wise to look for these parts in every movie you watch or book you read. Trust me – you will start to notice them, and become a better writer for doing so.

Act 1 –

This is where we get to know the protagonist. What does she want? What are her goals? Give the reader a reason to empathize with her. The sooner the reader can connect to your protagonist on an emotional level, the better.

Inciting Incident – Theoretically, this should occur as early as page 0. Many argue it should come later. In a 120 page screenplay, anywhere between pg. 8 – 15 is appropriate. The inciting incident changes everything for your protagonist – it gives them a reason to take up a new quest. Whether it be the death of a parent (like in my novel, A New Kingdom), the attack of a terrorist, or the sudden outbreak of Malaria, the inciting incident makes the protagonist’s former way of living impossible. Their leisurely life has been taken from them – and the only way they can ever to return to it is to take up a new quest.

1st plot point – This marks the end of the 1st act and the beginning of the second. In screenplays, it typically falls between pg. 25 – 30. It is the decision of your protagonist to take up their quest. They know what they want, and they’ve decided to go after it, even if they haven’t figured out how to succeed yet. The antagonist, or ‘the force that stands against the desires of your protagonist’, is known at this point.

I will introduce you to the remaining acts in other posts, and hopefully get more in depth with any concepts that may seem alien to you. Act one should take up the first quarter of your story, in case you were wondering.

 If you want to learn more about story structure, I highly recommend Story Engineering, by Larry Brooks. I know it had a huge impact on my approach to writing, and I could have never gotten my current position as a script analyst without first understanding the concepts laid out in that book. Kevin Brown, my good writing friend whose blog can be found at creative mysteries.net, also agrees that it was a tremendous influence and help to him.

Hope this helps!

– Thomas M. Watt

– Author of A New Kingdom

Conflict: Damien Vs. Ronnie McDee – Round 2

CONFLICT: DAMIEN VS. RONNIE MCDEE ROUND 2

Greetings everyone. Let’s pick back up where we left off yesterday. If you weren’t here, we talked about the importance the role of conflict has in maintaining the interest of your readers. If you’d didn’t read the previous lesson, you’d be wise to go back and take a look, that way you’ll be sure not to miss anything.

Yesterday we wrote three versions of the same scene. In the first, Damien casually left his office building and greeted his wife outside. In the second, we added a ticking clock, which in this instance was (literally enough) a time-bomb. In the third scene we added Ronnie McDee, a sinister clown who was meant to be Damien’s ultimate antagonist, but wound up making everyone feel dumber for ever considering any of my advice by behaving like a cartoon goofball (and I don’t know that there is any higher insult to a full grown man then to consider his comedic fodder goofy).

So we’ll add conflict to what we already have, and observe how the scene improves.

level 1 – an objective (get to his wife)

level 2 – a ticking clock (time bomb)

level 3 – a nemesis (Ronnie McDee)

Level 4 – Let’s get a real nemesis. Someone we’re actually afraid of. So where do we find an antagonist worth fearing? It’s not about we. It’s about Damien. What’s his greatest fear? What are his short comings in life? Ah, you see what I’m getting at?

Adding an internal conflict to this scene. From here on out, Damien is no longer the blank faced cubicle worker, he’s about to become a someone. Let’s cut the shit and get to the scene already.

* * *

Damien watched the circular lights flash as he descended floor after floor in the elevator shaft. He knew the bomb was going to go off in a matter of minutes. He knew his wife would die if he didn’t get to her in time. And he knew the only person he ever prayed to be struck dead was waiting for him at the bottom floor. There was a battle ahead, no doubt. But Damien was having trouble focusing on what lay ahead of him. He was to busy trying to suppress what was supposed to be behind.

The memory felt like it had been branded to his brain.

This wouldn’t be the first time Damien found himself face-to-face with Onaldo. And both encounters involved a woman of his dreams. Only the last time, Damien lost her.

He remembered her light hair, her dark eyes, and the way she kissed his cheek. Every day since her death, Damien felt the burden of his failure. His wife always told him he’d never moved on – and in fact, Damien never did. She was not the type of girl you forgot about.

The elevator reached the bottom floor and the shiny silver doors rolled open. Standing twenty feet away from him was Ronaldo, wearing his typical yellow jumpsuit and red suspenders.

“Good afternoon, sir. Can I interest you in a McBlurry today?” Ronaldo raised a frag grenade in his right hand. “Or perhaps a big and tasty?” He unzipped his orange pants, whipped out his white-and-red member, then began helicoptering it around in a circle by the swing of his hips.

“You’re a sick fuck,” said Damien.

He stepped out of the elevator and clenched both fist so tight his knuckles cracked. He did his best to hide his nervousness, but couldn’t hide his subtle gulp from Ronaldo. The clown caught everything.

“Ah! Now I remember. What was it I served you a few years back?”

“Don’t.”

“I think I know.”

“DON’T!”

“She got a happy meal, didn’t she?”

Damien shook his head as his breath fumed through his nostrils. He heard something beep – no doubt the timebomb, somewhere nearby but hidden.

He winced his eyes closed. The memory was resurfacing. The most painful moments of his life. Her name was Lela.

“What was her name again?”

“You say it I’ll cut out your fucking tongue.”

Ronaldo began tapping his chin with his finger. His eyes rolled up toward the cieling. His painted lips raised in the corners, smiling that sick smirk he always got before he killed someone.

“Ah yes, I remember. It was for your daughter, LELA!”

***

Sorry, but I’m going to have to leave you there, due to time constraints. I’ll try to pick back up here tomorrow, and go into detail about whatever I feel may be of benefit to you. For now, notice all the questions raised throughout the scene. They mostly have to deal with Damien’s fear of returning to his past. (Why is he afraid? What happened between him and Onaldo? Who was this girl? Also, where is the timebomb, and will it blow before Damien gets past the clown?)

Hope this helps!

– Thomas M. Watt

– Script Analyst for SpecScout.com

– Author of A New Kingdom

 

Story Essentials: Internal and External Conflict

STORY ESSENTIALS: Internal and External Conflict

What keeps the viewer interested in a t.v. program? What keeps a reader reading? What is the most basic element of story?

At its most basic level, a story is about a protagonist who is after something, and the obstacles she must overcome in order to attain it.

The obstacles your protagonist faces present the conflict that keeps readers interested. Conflicts are either internal or external.

External conflicts are physical elements that keep the protagonist from attaining the object of their desire. They can be the distance needed to travel, the antagonist who fights against them, or even the giant box blocking the entrance to that room they desperately need to pass through. These obstacles exist outside of the mind of the protagonist.

Internal conflicts, on the other hand, are the mental blocks your protagonist must overcome within themselves to attain the object of their desire. This can be a fear of heights, short-temper, or fear of success. Your protagonist must learn to overcome these mental and emotional roadblocks throughout the course of your story. Done correctly, this will create an effective character arc and lead to an emotionally fulfilling climax. Ideally, the protagonist demonstrates they have finally overcome their internal conflict at the precise moment they finally attain the object of their desire.

– Thomas M. Watt

– Script analyst for SpecScout.com

– Author of A New Kingdom

The Worst Kind of Marriage – Part 6

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Missed the beginning? – Click below

“What the fuck are you doing?” said Huerto. He was holding Amanda up, his fist clenching her hair.

Bethany concealed the knife behind her back. She did not want the sick-kidnapper to know she found it.

Four months since Bethany was taken from her normal life. Amanda just arrived, and it was Huerto’s intention to make a wife out of her. Bethany already was.

Huerto pointed the gun. “What do you got there honey?”

Bethany swallowed and looked at Amanda. The teenager’s face was bloodied from the beating. Her eyes were down and her blond hair was layered with red streaks from Huerto’s wet fingers.

“A good wife doesn’t hide things from her husband.”

Amanda lifted her chin. Her mouth was agape and jaw looked off center. She shook her head slowly side to side. She asked Bethany earlier not to put her life at risk.

Bethany bit her thin lips and squeezed her eyelids together.

“WHAT DO YOU HAVE?”

She sniffed. “A knife.” Bethany looked at Amanda again. The poor blonde girl wanted to live. She deserved to live and who was Bethany to jeopardize that for her.

Huerto spoke through gritted teeth. His face was pockmarked and his toupee a puffy bread loaf. “That’s not good of you dear. Not good at all. Bring it here.”

What is life?

“Now,” said Huerto.

Life is freedom. Life is laughing. Life was hers until Huerto took it away. Now he was going to take Amanda’s.

“Honey?”

Bethany stepped forward. This isn’t life.

“Give it here,” he said, dropping Amanda and flapping his hand together.

I’m already dead.

“Very good dear,” said Huerto, as Bethany took the knife from behind her back and slowly moved it towards his hand. “Now-”

Before Huerto could finish, Bethany swung the knife up and sliced it across his jugular. The rifle shot once into the dresser and he fell back. Blood sprayed everywhere and he knocked porcelain plates and china to shatter. He tried to yell but only sputtered blood and babble came out. Huerto swiveled his head side to side and stomped his heel into the ground. A puddle of blood oozed onto the wood floor.

“Let’s go!” Screamed Amanda. She stood and ran out.

Bethany took the knife and ran after her. She locked the door to the room once they exited and ran down the stairs. They smiled and reached the front door and heaved to pull it open then realized something.

The front door locked from the inside. The windows were all boarded up. Everything needed a key and they didn’t have a key. Huerto had the keys. All the keys. He also had a rifle.

The girls looked at each other.

“Do you think he’s dead?” said Amanda.

“He’s gotta be,” said Bethany.

A loud ‘thump’ came from upstairs.

Part 7, Coming Soon!

– Thomas M. Watt

THE WORST KIND OF MARRIAGE – PART 2

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The blood from the knife wound drenched her nightie. She looked over to her husband, the one who had stabbed her. He tilted his mug back and had a sip of his coffee. He was reading the Sunday comics until he noticed her gaze, at which point he raised his eyebrows.

She smiled as best she could.

Four months of this now. Four months since he had found her walking and forced her into his van. A gun to her head the entire ride over.

Play it cool. 

That was what did her in. Play it cool. A lot of good that did. From the moment she set foot in his house she was finished. Every window was boarded up with blinds to keep outsiders from peeking in. A lock on the front door to which only he had the key. She was only allowed in the backyard under his supervision. His supervision was a pointed rifle.

She hated him.

Huerto was his name. The first day he forced their ‘marriage’. The ceremony was him forcing his grandma’s old wedding band onto her finger. Huerto declared them husband and wife.

With the barrel pointed at her head, she said, “I do.” With the barrel still pressed to her head, she received his kiss.

Bethany looked over to Huerto. He was still at the kitchen table tearing a white napkin into little pieces. She moaned softly, so that only she could hear, and felt the bloody wound again. Her vision was beginning to blur. Her strength was already depleted. She leaned against the counter top and looked around to all the boarded windows. She sniffed.

A knock came to the door.

Huerto immediately looked to her, eyes wide. He picked up his rifle from its lean against his thigh, brushed his hands off each other and stood up.

“Let’s go,” he said.

He shoved her several times as she struggled to walk. She passed the front door biting her lip, begging beyond hope that the door-knocker would just barge in and spot her. He didn’t.

Huerto threw her into the closet. Quickly he wrapped a towel tightly around her mouth, then stuffed it into her bite.

The doorbell rang three times.

“Don’t say a fuckin’ word,” Huerto said, pointing his finger.

Bethany gulped.

Huerto shut the closet door and locked it behind. She was engulfed in darkness. Blood oozed from her wound onto her thigh. ‘Police,’ she whispered in her mind. ‘Please, be the police.’

She needed to get out.

Today.

Part 3, Coming Soon!

– Thomas M. Watt

And the Liebster Award Goes to…

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1.) Where do good ideas come from?

2.) Five minutes with any celebrity – who would it be and what would you say?

3.) Who is your favorite writer, and why?

4.) What is more important for authors today – being an artist or having networking skills?

6.) Would you rather have great sex or an avid readership?

7.) You are walking down the street and see the most awful sight you could ever imagine. What is it?

8.) The life of a writer – Blessed or burdened?

9.) SpongeBob SquarePants or television news?

10.) Tell us about your most current book or WIP –

  • Give me the title and a quick pitch.
  • Why are you in love with this idea?
  • What am I going to get out of this, as a reader?

And the award for this years, 2013 Liebster goes to…

1.) Misha Burnett – Exceptionally smart and a true recluse. Wrote, “Catskinner’s Book,” a science fiction/urban fantasy novel.

2.) Adrienne Morris from Middlemay Farm – Gifted writer and nostalgia fanatic. Winner of the Editors’ Choice award for, “The House on Tenafly Road.”

3.) Kevin Brown – Writes with directness and purpose to each and every word. Published close to 200 articles for Examiner.

4.) Christine Keleny –  Writer, reader, author, and publisher. She’s most famous for writing the entire Rose trilogy, and runs CK Books. Her blog is a must-follow for any aspiring author.

5.) Ayse Juaneda – Her paintings are legendary. Genius. Beautiful. Best artist in the world? I think so.

Congratulations to all you award winners! Answer my questions and nominate the bloggers who you think are deserving. Fill out your own list of questions, then spread the Liebster love by announcing your own winners.

Perhaps I’m Not an Idiot

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Tired eyes, sleepy sighs, words are ringing singing rhymes,

Bells are back, the ruse it floats, I’d sure love to write good quotes,

Hope someday this dreams lands here in this present atmosphere,

Keep on going, almost there, getting close produces scare.

How much better can this be? How much work I’ve done for free.

All for one to read it true, all for buyers to say I do.

Cannot imagine a greater feeling than to produce an intrigued viewing.

Read my book, won’t you please, take a look, enjoy the read.

If you don’t, I don’t care… No I’m kidding to be fair.

Writing words that make you quit will make me throw a childish fit.

But to see you turn that page, just to feel you feel my rage,

To know the man is not alone, to know for sure I wrote true prose,

Just to see you stop and stare, to feel your eyes on what I’ve put there.

To know my pen produced that scribble, to hear my page played like a fiddle,

To know I’ve conquered the t.v., to see for once the thoughts of me –

Carried on into another, shared by those who pass the cover.

To see the work amount to glee, to know for once I’m not diseased.

Finding out is not so bad, as long as finding makes you glad.

– Thomas M. Watt

Isabelle and Rusty Sandelion

Isabelle and Rusty Sandelion

Isabelle is a sweet-heart. She works at the ‘El Crappo Inn’ and greets Adam shortly after he first arrives. She plans to marry Rusty, but does not behave as if she is completely taken. Rusty, on the other hand, is a rancher who is quick to pounce and slow to think. He jumps to conclusions very quickly, and rather than smoking any cigarettes, he prefers to constantly chomp on carrots. His hair is orange and fluffed up at the front.

To see more illustrations and find out more about my novel, “Way of the World,” feel free to visit my website at http://www.thomasmwatt.com