Self Doubt and the Assumption of Guilt

I just woke from a dream that contains a lot of the building blocks for a successful plot. In the dream, a schoolbook was circulating through national news due to its connection to an unsolved crime that occurred decades earlier. On the inside cover of the book there was an address and a phone number. I immediately recognized the number, address, and handwriting to be my own – but I had no part in any crime.

I took it upon myself to contact the detectives, despite my father’s warning for potential consequences. My neighbors spoke to me afterward and I realized that I wasn’t the only person to recognize the book belonged to me. Be assured this was all still a dream – which did include several giant spiders and a detective who forgot he was still on the line midway through our conversation.

I woke up with a hazy wondering about whether my friends might have been responsible for this non-existent crime. I even considered my own guilt, despite not knowing what crime had even taken place. I guess that’s what this post is about.

Nothing feels worse than being interrogated – having your words, body language, and moral compass subjected to scrutiny. Now imagine that instead of being interrogated by a detective to clear your name you are defending a composition of your own creativity to a judgmental audience.

“Is it good, or bad?” Just as the detective is studying you on whether he believes in your innocence, any audience will analyze your work in an effort to determine the worthiness of its existence. When someone criticizes our artistic work we immediately discover reasonings within ourselves for why we failed as an artist.

I am very much put off by youtube channels that review films and determine whether they were a failure or success. In the same way I find any personality similar to Simon Cowell of American Idol a complete fraud. We offer so much attention, weight, and undeserved elevation to personalities who consistently judge others and embellish their own qualifications for reserving the God complex in their respective fields.

When you are determined to improve at your chosen craft you will recognize talents, abilities, and the observance of principles in the works of others at your level. You will hopefully find yourself hesitant to eternally damn the careers of others as they depend on the same improvements that you must make in order to find success. It is only when we have ceased to look inward and strive for personal betterment that we can sit comfortably in the judges chair.

Searching within for your own shortcomings is not a confession of guilt; it is a product of humility and willingness to learn. When we shield ourselves from introspection, reflection, and our own inadequecies, we simultaneously shield ourselves from the ability to empathize, develop, and create effectively. Resist the urge to sit in the judges chair and learn to sit comfortably under scrutiny.

I know I have been away from here for a while now. I became preoccupied with building an instagram and facebook audience for “Mountain Cult.” I have some followers on there, but somehow that led to my getting more involved in music production. I swear my brain feels like it floats and turns with the seasons. My tendency toward obsession never halts but the object of its fascination always does. Anyways, “Mountain Cult – Doctor with the Red Houseware” has already won at 3 different festivals and has been selected for a handful of them. I am trying to submit it for distribution through filmhub but am having trouble understanding some of the spec requirements. I plan to release the film this month regardless.

Check out the IMDB page for it if you’d like. Hope to write here again soon.

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt17677268/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 8 – FINALE!

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.

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 6

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

“What?”

“The knife,” said Shea. She checked him up and down, then pushed her hand into his chest and walked away.

“Shea wait,” said Calvin. He jogged over to her, then grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. “What knife?”

Shea held her phone in one hand, and covered her eyes with the other. “Yes, hello? I could really use a cab, like right now… at Cherry Bumps, downtown. Ok, thank you so much.” She lowered the phone and gulped.

“Shea?”

“Men are liars,” she said. “All of you!” Her eyelids cracked open and tears leaked out.

“Tell me about the knife,” said Calvin.

“Who cares about the knife! How can you be okay with this? With them!”

“I’m not. But my wife and your husband are trying to kill me-”

“They already killed me.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with me? Am I so ugly that every guy has to cheat-”

Calvin grabbed her hands. “Stop. You’re gorgeous… plus you know who The Verve is! And, maybe I’m out of line to say this, but I’ve enjoyed talking with you more tonight than… fuck it, any conversation that I’ve ever had with my wife.”

Shea blinked, and her pupils bounced from Calvin’s eyes to his lips.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing.” Shea brushed a blond hair behind her ear. “So… what are you gonna do?”

“Leave, maybe call the cops.”

“Right, because that’s what I meant.” Shea turned around, walked over to the sidewalk, then sat down on the curb.

Calvin hurried over and plopped down beside her.

Shea rubbed her elbows. “Please, don’t offer me your jacket.”

“You want to be alone?”

Shea rocked her head back and let out an exaggerated scoff. “I want a man who won’t cheat. That’s it.”

“I meant me.”

Her head swiveled to him and her eyelids snapped wide open.

“Do you want me, to leave?” said Calvin.

Shea faced the street between her feet and bit into her hand.

“Does that mean yes?” said Calvin.

“If you don’t want to stay, you should go.”

“It doesn’t feel right leaving you.”

Shea smirked.

“What?”

“I’ve enjoyed talking with you, too,” she said.

Calvin grinned.

Shea turned to him, and her words rattled between her teeth. “I called a cab… do you… what about you?” said Shea.

“I’m gonna call the cops. If those two are trying to kill me, they deserve to-”

“You’re an idiot.”

“What? Why?”

“Just don’t offer your jacket,” said Shea.

“You look cold. Take this.”

“I told you I don’t want your-” Shea cut short her protest when she noticed what Calvin held in his hand.

“Wow… you have a sense of humor… too.” Shea ripped the Ipod out from his hand. The song listed was “Bittersweet Symphony” by The Verve. “Why did you bring an Ipod to a night club?”

“Because I’m a one song kind of guy,” said Calvin.

Shea’s cheeks flushed red. She plugged one of the white earbuds into her ear, raised the second, bit her bottom lip, then handed that earbud to Calvin instead.

He smiled, stuck it in his ear, and they listed to the song together.

“How come you’re not freaking out?” said Shea. “I mean, doesn’t it bother you?”

“It does,” said Calvin. “Just not right now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” He said, then scooted closer. “It should. My wife’s cheating on me, and your husband’s plotting to kill me.”

“So you are freaked out?”

“No,” said Calvin. “Because this moment, right now…”

“…yea?” Shea lost her eyes in his.

“It’s almost perfect.”

Shea bit her lips, then sniffed. “Yeah, I get that.” She laughed. “I mean, obviously it’s not going to be perfect with everything you’re going through. Because of you wife, right?”

“No.”

“Ah, my husband. Maybe if he wasn’t trying to kill you?”

“No. That’s not it..”

Shea folded her arms, shut her mouth and glared down at the pavement. “Oh. I get it. If another girl were here then it would be per-”

Calvin took hold of her jaw and turned her face to his. She shut her eyes and met with his lips, then boomeranged her arm around the back of his neck, tugging him closer and kissing him deeper. They finished kissing, but left their noses squished together.

“Now it’s perfect,” said Calvin.

“So,” Shea said, then gulped. “What now?”

“We leave. Together.”

“For the night?”

“Forever.”

Shea laughed. “That’s…” She quit laughing. “Perfect.”

A yellow cab pulled up and parked by the curb.

Calvin took Shea by the hand, and the two stood.

“What about them? The gun? The murder plot?” said Shea.

“Forget it. They can’t hurt me if I leave.”

Shea’s freckled cheeks lifted from her smile.

“You two ready?” said the cab driver, out the window.

“I’m ready,” said Calvin. “Are you ready?”

“Yea,” said Shea. “I’m ready.”

Calvin opened the door for Shea, whose hands stayed linked together at her waist as she continuously swerved her hips.

“Aren’t you coming?” said Calvin.

“Oh, yeah,” Shea said

“Well… what are you waiting for?”

“My moment,” Shea said. “I’m cherishing it.”

“Yo, got a job here guys,” said the cab driver.

“One second,” said Calvin, before returning to Shea. “I’m glad, but we really should get away before your husband tries to kill me.”

Shea laughed, then nodded. She stepped closer, kissed Calvin on the cheek, then giggled as she lowered her head and entered the cab. Calvin came in, shut the door, then held her hand.

“Where to?” said the driver.

They looked to one another. “Anywhere but here,” said Calvin.

“And step on it!” said Shea.

The cab driver shook his head. “You got it folks… hope you ain’t maxed out already.” He started off, and they were on their way.

“Wait!” said Shea.

The driver slammed the brakes.

She turned to Calvin. “The knife!”

“What about it?”

“I have to go back.”

“What? Why?”

Shea reached over him for the handle, shoved the door open, then crawled over his lap, stumbled onto the sidewalk and rushed back toward the nightclub.

“Just wait for me, I’ll be thirty seconds!” She called over her shoulder.

“What’s your wife doin’?” said the driver.

“That’s not my…” Calvin shook his head. “I don’t know. She’ll be right back, though.”

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 7!

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 5

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Brody stood behind Bridgette in the VIP section of the dance club. They watched Calvin get pummeled by a big man with a gold chain. Calvin and Shea escaped the club through the back door.

Bridgette spun around, and her lips were inches from Brody.

“So you had to do that?”

“Not a great time for cold feet, Bridgette!”

“Obviously,” she said, then crossed her arms. “But he’s the dad of my kids, it sucks to watch him get hurt… you better not be friends with that thug, animals like that disgusts me.”

Brody smiled and put his hand on Bridgette’s shoulder, then massaged her neck as he spoke. “H-hey, relax B-ridge. People will do anything for a fee, a love for the Benjamin’s is all I have in common with him.”

“Stop pretending, nobody can hear you but me… so why did you have him beat Calvin up?”

Brody released Bridgette, swatted the air with his hand then walked away. Bridgette scurried after him until they sat down on a sofa together.

“Don’t get snappy with me,” she said, then folded her arms.

Brody groaned. “We’ve been over this. They both needed to leave the club.”

“Duh, I know.”

“When Shea comes back in, you better be ready,” he said, then faced her with his brow deep over his eyes.

“They might leave together… I think they know-”

“She won’t.”

“Yeah but-”

“I took care of it,” said Brody. “She’ll be back inside.” He shoved Bridgette in the side with his forearm, forcing her to scoot. He shook his head as he reached for a concealed holster and took a revolver out.

“Hide that thing!” she said. “What if someone sees?”

“Your husband already did, thanks to your stupidity.”

Bridgette folded her arms, then shut her eyes and scratched her forehead. “So… did you bring the knife?”

Brody groaned, then got up from the couch and tapped one of his workers from the dealership on the shoulder. He smiled big. “Hey, having a blast?”

“Yeah, this place rocks!”

“Phenomenal! Hey, be a rock-solid guy and hand me Shea’s purse? Thanks guy.”

“Sure,” said the employee. He grabbed it from the tall table and handed it to Brody.

Brody returned to the sofa, opened the purse, then handed a steak knife to Bridgette. A napkin concealed the blade.

“You know what to do,” said Brody.

Bridgette bit her lips. “Is divorce really so bad?”

Brody curled his fingers into a fist. He glared straight ahead as he spoke through a dark whisper. “We’re a family first company. Divorce would crush my reputation. Marrying a widow, that’s a different story.”

Bridgette gulped.

“Grab Shea when she comes in.” He squeezed Bridgette’s hand. “Do this right, we can stop hiding.”

Bridgette nodded, then leaned in to him with her lips pushed out.

Brody caught her face with his palm, then sniffed. “You said you quit.”

“Calvin made me smoke.”

“You don’t listen to Calvin, you listen to me.” Brody pushed her away, then stood and stuck his finger in her face. “Get Shea.”

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 6!

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

“I had breakfast with Bridgette’s dad this morning.”

Shea quit smiling. Calvin walked around her and pushed through the dancers.

“Calvin, wait!” said Shea.

He split a couple apart and continued on. His eyes darted around the place, but it was hard to identify his wife with the rapid flash of strobe lights. Music pounded through the speakers. Sweaty bodies were everywhere – but where was Bridgette?

Calvin spotted a few of his wife’s work friends. They climbed the stairs. At the front of the pack strode Bridgette and Brody. It looked like they could be holding hands, but other patrons blocked his view.

“Dammit,” he said, standing on his toes.

Someone grabbed Calvin by the wrist.

“Shea, what does that look-”

The moment he whirled around, a fist came flying at his face. Calvin ducked down and narrowly dodged the flying knuckles. It came from a big fella wearing an extra large black shirt, gold chain around his neck.

“What the hell!” said Shea.

Big fella swung again, and socked Calvin in the stomach. Calvin fell back a few steps.

“Stop!” Said Shea.

“Ain’t about you girl,” said big fella.

Calvin lifted his gaze – bouncers were storming over and parting the dancers.

“Look me in the eye you little bitch.” Big fella cracked his knuckles.

“Who are you?” said Calvin.

Big fella grabbed a fistful of Calvin’s shirt.

“Calvin!” said Shea.

Big fella cocked his arm back and delivered another blow into Calvin’s cheek. When he reloaded for another punch, Calvin shot out his arm, grabbed his gold chain, then twisted it until Big Fella began to choke. Big Fella dropped to his knees and dug his fingers between his chain and neck, struggling to breathe.

Big Fella ripped the chain himself, and the pieces landed on the floor.

“You done it,” he said, then stood and slugged Calvin across the face

Calvin landed in a dive on the dance floor, pushing the legs out from those around him. He hurried onto his back, and found Big Fella pouncing to clobber him. Calvin brought his knee into his chest, then kicked Big Fella right in the teeth. Backlash sent big fella bending and twisting over in the opposite direction.

Bouncers tore through the crowd, pointing at Calvin.

Calvin sprung to his feet and grabbed Shea by the hand. He rushed toward the backdoor, using his front wrist to strong-arm through the dancers.

“Why did he attack you?” said Shea.

“You think I know?”

Calvin checked over his shoulder for the bouncers, and got an unexpected glance of Bridgette and Brody. Calvin stopped in his tracks.

Shea ran into him. He turned her around, then held her with his forearm wrapped around her neck.

“What are you-”

Shea followed the point of his finger. Brody leaned over Bridgette from behind the top balcony, with his hands holding the bar in front of her abdomen.

“Oh my God,” said Shea.

The bouncers were making headway through the crowd.

“Let’s go,” said Calvin. He charged toward the back door and yanked Shea along with him. He kicked it open, and the two barged into a crowd of smokers.

“Waddup?” said a smoker.

Calvin noticed the four men encircling him had baggy shirts and chain necklaces.

“Your face looks like pizza got stomped on.” said one of them.”Who you runnin’ from?”

“Nobody. Let me bum one.”

They scoffed. One of them handed him a cigarette.

Calvin lit up, then sucked the black ash into his lungs.

“What just happened?” said Shea. She coughed and looked away.

“You don’t smoke?”

She eyeballed the cigarette. “Not anymore.”

Shea plucked the cigarette from his lips, then jammed it in her own. She treated it like it were a CPR victim, and killed it in no time. Shea coughed, bent over and pressed her hand to her chest.

Calvin pat her on the back and helped her straighten up. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

“Am I okay? Don’t you think they’re cheating on us?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’re getting cuckolded… my life’s over.” Shea spun around and reached for the door. Calvin grabbed her by the wrist then tugged her back.

“That guy attacked me for no reason.”

“I know, I’m sorry but-”

“Don’t go in there.”

“My husband’s in there.”

“Bridgette can be sinister. She goes out without me, but something changed her mind tonight. I don’t think it’s love.”

“Calvin-”

“Bridgette brought a gun. Maybe Brody’s got it now. Does your husband know how to use one?”

“Oh my God,” she lifted her head and stared back into his eyes.

“What?”

“The knife,” said Shea. She checked him up and down, then pushed her hand into his chest and walked away.

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 5!

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Brody’s eyes fidgeted between her and Calvin. “…sure.”

He poured Shea a drink, then passed it along. The party guests resumed their former chatter, and the remainder of the ride went smooth, though there were a few subtle bumps. Calvin kept silent.

The ride pulled up to the popular night spot and dropped them off. The party guests hurried out and trotted to the back of the line. Once they settled in, Calvin grabbed Bridgette by the wrist and tugged her close.

“You brought a gun?”

“Huh?”

“I saw it. In your purse.”

“Are you being serious?”

Calvin’s mouth stayed shut.

“You’re starting to piss me off.” Bridgette jerked her arm away, then smiled brightly and returned to her circle of friends.

“Shit,” said Shea, squeezing Calvin’s shoulder.

He watched as she scraped her heel along the ground. It was the first time he noticed she had blonde hair and wore a red party dress, almost identical to his wife’s.

“I stepped in it. I stepped in shit,” Shea said.

Calvin stepped out of her grasp and grabbed his wife again. He swiveled her around, grabbed both sides of her face then kissed her on the lips.

“What do you want?” she said.

He brought his lips right into her ear, then whispered. “You have a gun. In your purse. I want to know why.”

“Get off me!” She shoved him back a few steps. Everybody in the circle went quiet. “See for yourself, moron!” She flung the purse at him.

It hit Calvin in the abdomen. Out spilled her make-up, tampons, and a few pens. No gun.

“Whoa! Keep it in the bedroom, you two!” said Brody. He ran his hand threw his grey hair and chuckled.

Calvin shook his head, then lowered to one knee and picked up his wife’s belongings. Shea bent over and picked up a few of the items with him, then dumped them in the bag.

Calvin stood, then smacked Bridgette’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Here.”

She folded her arms. “You don’t trust me.”

“Take your purse.”

She rolled her eyes, then returned to her circle.

“You okay?” Shea said to Calvin.

He nodded.

“Want me to hold that?” said Shea.

Calvin’s eyes were glued to his wife. She wasn’t just enjoying herself – she was glowing.

Shea made robot noises as she peeled his digits off the handle, one by one. She swung the purse over her shoulder, then stopped giggling.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, I’m great.”

“Good, because that’s totally what I asked.”

A few people exited the night club, and the line moved forward.

“Brody works a lot, and I’m really busy with the kids,” said Shea. She stuck her palm to her eye. “Shit, I mean the kids I teach. I want kids, but Brody doesn’t. He used to, well before he married me-”

“My wife is going to kill me.”

Shea gasped. “What?”

Calvin studied Brody.

“I’m sure you’re just imagining it. I don’t know, you seem really creative. I think it’s cool how you play the guitar.”

Calvin faced her.

“Brody told me. They’ve been on the phone non-stop since Bridgette’s dad died.”

The group took another step forward. They were nearing the entrance.

“Did she even tell you? Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. Bridgette’s my good friend, and I don’t like getting into other people’s business. But that’s the only reason they look close.” She bit her lips, then pat Calvin’s shoulder blade. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place, I’m just a stranger to you… but if Bridgette’s scared you won’t be there for her when she needs you most, you kind of need to show her that she’s wrong… you know?”

The group advanced to the front of the line. “Wait here,” said the bouncer.

Shea sighed. “Shit, I can’t believe she didn’t tell you. That’s terrible. Not just for you, she must have trust issues. Just be patient and talk to her… I know I just met you, but you seem so sweet. Make her aware that you want to know all about the loss of her dad. That’s a really big deal… for anybody. I’m sure it’s not even you, she just feels vulnerable… There’s only two real men in a girls life, for God’s sake!”

Calvin shut his eyes.

Shea smiled kindly. “I know how it looks. Trust me, you think it’s been easy waiting for my husband to get off the phone with her? Bridgette’s an honorable person and would never do that to either of us, but I’m human, so yeah, I worry. I’ve been cheated on before – it destroyed me… for years.”

The group entered the nightclub, but the bouncer pulled the rope back before Calvin and Shea could pass through.

“Two?” said the bouncer.

“Oh, um, yeah I guess.” Shea scratched the back of her head. She frowned and punched Calvin in the shoulder. “It’s great to be a thinker, but you really should lighten up a little… I know Brody seems like a jerk, but he’s a good guy deep down… Trust me, he would never, ever cheat on me.” She smiled at Calvin. “So stop worrying about him and your wife already!”

The bouncer cleared the rope. The pair strode up the steps together and entered through the door. Music bumped, strobe lights flashed. Shea grabbed Calvin’s jacket flap. His gaze remained somewhere beyond her.

“Hey! Nothing is wrong! They’re friends! We’re friends! Relax and have fun!”

She hopped until she had his attention, then tossed her hair back and crossed her arms. “God, you really need to let things go!”

“I had breakfast with Bridgette’s dad this morning.”

Shea quit smiling. Calvin walked around her and pushed through the dancers.

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 4!

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 2

If you missed Part 1, click here!

A long black limo pulled up and parked by the curb. The driver walked around the vehicle and opened the door for them.

When Bridgette crouched down to enter, Calvin noticed a handgun tucked away in her purse. He stopped where he stood.

“All aboard the S.S. Jackhammer!” said Brody.

Cheers and laughter followed, along with a few clanks of bottles and glasses.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” Calvin said to Bridgette, his wife.

“Uh-oh, he’s getting cold feet, you were right about this guy!” said Brody.

“You’re not even inside, and you already want to argue?” said Bridgette.

The laughter and chatter died down.

“It’s just…” said Calvin. “When did you get… Are we going someplace dangerous?”

For a moment the limo went quiet. Then Brody let out an explosive chuckle, yanked Calvin inside by his tie, and everybody returned to their previous festive mood.

“Grab a drink guy, lighten up. It’s Friday!”

Bridgette laughed. She took the seat right beside Brody. Calvin moved around at a hunch until he squeezed in between two women.

“Name’s Calvin by the way.”

“What’s that?” said Brody.

“My name is Calvin. We haven’t met before. I’m a firefighter.” He scratched under his jaw. “You know, my name isn’t guy.”

Brody raised an eyebrow.

“Ignore him. He’s a party-pooper.” Said Bridgette.

“No, no,” said Brody. “I’m a stand-up guy myself. My name is Brody, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Calvin. Your wife has nothing but wonderful things to say about you.”

“Oh, that’s a surprise,” he said with a laugh. Everybody chuckled along with him.

While the party guests indulged in the jovial mood, Calvin sat with his knees pressed together. He reached into his pocket for his phone, and started to text Bridgette.

When did you buy a gun?

“Baby, hold this for me!” Bridgette tossed her phone through the air.

Calvin made a jerky move to catch it. He wanted to ask her out loud, but her eyes darted to every spot he wasn’t.

Calvin shook his head, then slipped Bridgette’s phone into his other pocket. When he did, he inadvertently elbow-jabbed the breast beside him. Calvin instantly crossed his arms close to his chest, then sighed, shut his eyes, and let his head droop backward.

“I’m here, in my mold,” he muttered to himself.

“But I’m a million different people, from one day to the next.”

Calvin’s eyes shot open. The woman who he’d just bumped into had sung the rest of the verse.

“Bittersweet symphony?” said Calvin.

“I know, don’t you hate that song? Slaves to money then we die? Sorry, but money equals happiness.”

Calvin raised his eyebrows and grinned politely.

“That was a joke… kind of a bad one. Not sure where the laugh goes. The verve? Please. I love that song.” She mumble-sang the melody and bobbed her head.

Nothing about her screamed super-model. Especially not the freckles spotting both her dimpled cheeks. But she was… simple. And simple was better than ideal. A lot better.

“Another bottle,” Shea!” said Brody.

The woman beside Calvin nodded, then reached into a cooler and took out some Pinot Noir.

“Throw it,” said Brody.

“Well I don’t want to break-”

“Throw it, throw it, throw it!” began Brody, slapping his hands to his thighs. The rest of the party followed his lead, while Calvin had his eyes on Shea. She blinked rapidly, shook her head, then chucked it like it were a dead rat over to Brody. He and Bridgette tried to grab it at the same time, and in their haste they knocked the bottle straight to the floor, where it shattered. Wine spilled over Brody’s slacks and Bridgette’s ankles. The cheer halted.

“Dammit Shea,” said Brody. He fanned out his wet hands.

“Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have thrown it. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, don’t you worry doll. Brody bought more than enough,” said Bridgette. She flashed a picture-perfect smile.

Calvin twisted his lips, then pressed out the creases in his slacks.

“I know, I’m clumsy. Here, I’ll pass you another,” said Shea.

She retrieved a new bottle from the cooler. Brody crouched low then made ‘chuga-chuga’ sound effects as if he were a train, and ‘chugged’ over to her.

“Hey, here’s an idea? Why don’t you just hand it to me?” He chuckled loud, then snagged the bottle from Shea. “You’re the best,” he said, then returned back to his seat beside Bridgette. He popped open the bottle, then poured those around him a glass. He met eyes with Calvin, who sat with his arms crossed.

“Would you like a glass?”

Calvin scratched under his jaw. “This is your wife, right?”

Brody glanced at her, then tugged his lip corners up with his cheeks. “How truly awful of me… I’ve been so excited to have fun tonight, formal introductions must have slipped my mind. Calvin, you’re sitting next to my wife, Shea.”

Calvin nodded with his tongue pushed into his teeth.

“Hi,” said Shea. She held out her hand, but Calvin’s eyes were trained on Brody.

“I’m not used to these events, so help me understand… why am I sitting next to your wife, while you’re sitting by mine?”

Bridgette glared at Calvin. Brody raised his eyebrows. The other party guests quietly sipped their drinks.

Brody opened his mouth, but Bridgette grabbed hold of his wrist.

“You don’t have to answer that,” she said. “Calvin… babe? This an adult event. Try to act like one.”

“It’s ok, B-ridge,” said Brody, returning Bridgette’s hand to her lap. “Now Calvin, it’s my fault for not giving you the four-one-one, but typically at events like this, you actually don’t use any seating charts. Had I known you would have felt more comfortable, I would have been happy to draw one up for you.”

Many of the party guests bit their lips. A few chuckles escaped.

“B-ridge?” said Calvin. “What’s that, your pet name for my wife?”

Bridgette’s palm smacked against her forehead. Brody wore a tight-lipped smile.

“Why don’t you tone it down a notch, huh guy? You didn’t pay for this limo. You don’t know anybody here. You wouldn’t even be here if weren’t for B-ridge. So take a drink, and enjoy the good vibes.”

Calvin mirrored Brody’s tight-lipped grin. “Sounds radical.”

Shea rubbed Calvin’s kneecap, then whispered in his ear. “Just ignore him.”

Calvin turned and they met eyes.

Shea darted her hand back, shook her head, then scratched behind her ear. She turned to Brody and smiled. “I’d like a drink!”

Brody’s eyes fidgeted between her and Calvin. “…sure.”

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 3!

Sunset – Part 5 – FINALE!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

John flipped his hand out from his pocket, then unfolded a giant map of the world. “I’ve entered the coordinates. I know where our treasure is.”

“Great work bro,” said D’angelo.

John smirked, then took a step back. “You… believe me?”

“You the treasure hunter, right?”

“Wow, that’s great, really happy to hear it. Wow, I just, didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“Say where.”

“Nevada, actually. Nowhere near Las Vegas, I don’t think, unless it’s under it, but that’s only possible if roulette is rigged at the Luxemburg.”

“Go.”

“Excuse me?”

“Go bro, get your treasure,” said D’angelo. He turned his back on John, and walked along the dark street toward McFlannigans.

“What about your share!”

“Keep it,” shouted D’angelo, without bothering to turn around. He had bigger fish to fry – someone was out to kill him. The messages came from an unknown number, and the fact that the predator told him to meet him at McFlannigans was a huge clue – had to be someone he met there.

D’angelo spit in the gutter, then bounced the barrel of his Easton 777 against the flat of his palm. Sunset was his prime suspect – the ominous warning, the quick getaway after taking his phone number, and the threatening pictures she’d posted on her facebook. Still, something didn’t seem right – but the only other person who he’d given his number to was John, and D’angelo was convinced John was too head-balls to be his potential killer.. Unless the lunacy was all an act.

D’angelo reached the door to McFlannigans and checked his phone. The last text told him to meet there in fifteen minutes. That meant he had three left.

D’angelo took a breath and shut his eyes. Shaky hands, thunderous heart beat – moment of truth.

He swung open the door and marched in. Mouth shut, D’angelo checked one side of the bar to the other. The lights were dimmed – closing time. If his killer was here, they could be lurking anywhere.

Place was empty, though darkness filled it.

A creak – far end of the bar counter.

D’angelo sucked in air through his nostrils and inflated his lungs. Sunset was short enough to stay hidden crouching between two bar stools. As he drew closer, the images of her posing with knives flashed through his mind.

Snapping click – same dark spot on the far side of the bar. Identical sound to Sunset’s heel slapping against the floor when she left earlier.

D’angelo stopped. Sweat dripped down his forehead. He fastened his grip around the bat, then slapped and raveled his other hand around the handle.

His teeth stayed closed while his lips peeled away. Fight time.

“Come out!” D’angelo screamed, then took three hard steps forward, arched back for a downward swing at whoever pounced out. He nearly fell forward when he abruptly halted.

“Scared the shit outta me,” he said, then shook his head. He lowered until his bum hovered over his ankles, the studied the poor critter – it was a rat, squirming away from a trap that had just snapped on its neck.

“Wrong move,” said the voice behind him.

D’angelo whirled around.

“Cost him his life.”

D’angelo exhausted a wind of breath, then pressed his hand to his heart. “Whoo-damn bro, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He stood facing the bartender. “Can’t bring that in here.”

“What?” said D’angelo, before remember the bat he held pointed at him. “Oh, this?”

The bartender snatched it away, then took it to the front door.

“Nah bro, I need-” D’angelo stopped his sentence short when his phone beeped. He slid it out from his pocket – a new text, but this one came from a new unknown number.

Hey, it’s Summer! …So I know I seemed kind of odd when I met you tonight, but I promise (!!!) it wasn’t personal. I’m not really into you either, thought I should mention that : /. I needed to tell you something, but couldn’t do it in person, especially with where we were.

The bartender slammed the door shut and locked it up. D’angelo scoffed, then returned to the text.

The thing is, I’ve been dating Gil for a while, and he really despises you. I mean, I guess you treat him like shit or something? Hollering at him whenever you need a drink? Anyway, I just broke up with him and think it might have sent him over the edge : ( So just stay away from him… he’s kind of a convicted killer… kthanksbye.

D’angelo shook the phone back into his pocket. “Gil?”

The bartender had his back turned, grabbing something from behind the bar counter. “What?”

D’angelo creeped toward the front door.

“Can’t go out that way. Just locked up.”

D’angelo stopped in his tracks. “Where’s my bat?”

Gil the bartender rotated around, double barrel rifle in hand. He cocked and loaded it.  “Seemed to hit it off with Sunset earlier. Fuck her yet?”

“No,” said D’angelo, with his hands up. “Never.”

“Shouldn’t let strangers read your phone number out loud. Could get in the hands of the wrong person.”

D’angelo’s eyes darted everywhere – no way out.

“Why don’t we take a walk… prick.”

“Just wanna go home, bro. Got nothin’ with you.”

“‘Course not. I’m just the lowlife bartender who serves your drinks, right? Nothing but the piece of shit whose girlfriend you’re fucking?”

“Just met her tonight, swear to God.”

“Save it. Let’s go.”

Gil came around then prodded D’angelo forward by poking the gun barrel into his spine. D’angelo walked toward the back door with no weapon, no plan, and no idea how he could survive this.

He opened the door, and the two walked alone into a dark alleyway. Nobody else around, nothing but a dumpster.

“On your knees.”

“Just let me go-”

“On your knees!”

D’angeled shut his eyes, then lowered.

“I never touched your girl-”

“I’m in charge, now! I pick your last words!”

D’angelo shut his mouth. Gil smacked him in the ear.

“Wish you were me,” said Gil.

D’angelo pursed his lips.

“Say it!”

D’angelo spit.

Gil punched the back of his head, and D’angelo spilled forward. Gil grabbed him back up.

“SAY IT!”

A pair of headlights flashed on. D’angelo and Gil turned simultaneously – a purple civic.

“Who the fuck!” said Gil. He stormed toward the vehicle, rifle aimed.

D’angelo spun around – if he ran the opposite direction now he could make a clean getaway.

“Move your ass!” Shouted Gil. He fired a warning shot at the vehicle, taking out the passenger side headlight. The engine revved.

D’angelo noticed a cracked brick lying on the ground. He picked it up.

“I said MOVE!” said Gil. He fired another round, this one at the civic’s grill. The engine revved again.

D’angelo brought his arm back, then flung the brick at Gil’s head. It smacked him in the shoulder blade instead, doing little more than buising him.

“Motherfucker!” said Gil. He faced D’angelo again, loading another round.

Tires spun, and the purple civic floored it straight toward them. Gil grew distracted, caught between firing at the vehicle and shooting D’angelo. D’angelo stormed forward, dove forward and tackled Gil before he could take any shot. The Honda Civic plowed into them before they could hit the ground.

Windshield shattered, fragments spilling everywhere. Gunshot – bullet whizzed by D’angelo’s ear. He struggled with one arm to keep Gil from aiming at his head. Car crashed into the dumpster, and both men rolled off the hood and onto the pavement.

“You’re dead!” yelled Gil.

One of the larger fragments spilled with them. D’angelo clenched it, then sliced Gil’s throat with one swift swing of his arm.

Gil clutched his neck as he gurgled on his own blood and folded backwards, landing with a rock-hard slam to the back of his head.

“You wish you were me now, bitch!” said D’angelo.

Car door opened – the driver was Sunset, John emerged from the passenger side.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” said Sunset. She covered her mouth, then ran over and hugged D’angelo.

“Forget it, ‘preciate the heads up,” he said.

“Glad that’s over with,” said John. “Now we’ve got a twelve hour roadtrip. I hope your bags are packed, or at least you can pack them quick, or maybe just leave without bags altogether.”

D’angelo pulled away from Sunset. “Hold up… whatchu doin’ with him?”

“Who, John?” said Sunset.

“Yeah!”

“I thought he told you.”

“Huh?”

“Knights of Templar… I’m a treasure hunter, too.”

D’angelo raised his eyebrows, then let out a long whistle and nodded.

The End!

• Thomas M. Watt

Sunset – Part 3

If you missed Part 1, click here.

If you missed Part 2, click here.

D’angelo shook his head, took two quick steps, then checked over his shoulder – John hadn’t moved. D’angelo broke into a sprint away.

He charged two blocks, stopped for no one, then rushed up the stoop and into his apartment. D’angelo leaned back against his front door to smack it shut, then sucked in oxygen as fast as possible. Humidity was bad in California – enough to leave him drenched in sweat from the hasty dash.

D’angelo stared at the cheap wood flooring in his studio apartment for a while. He rubbed his bald head, then rocked it back and gazed up at his ceiling fan.

“God-damn!” he said to himself, then laughed.

A casual Tuesday at the bar had turned into a nightmare – first the vixen who’d taken his digits and booked it, then the nutcase who could’ve found patterns in pigeons.

D’angelo strolled over to his home computer. The next five minutes he spent listening to it hum as it booted up. Once he had it up and running, D’angelo went to work – time to find out who this Sunset chick was.

Couldn’t be that hard, a name like that is one in a million – a rare type that no man forgets. D’angelo browsed facebook, instagram, twitter – nothing.

D’angelo scoffed.

“Where you at, girl.”

He tried ‘Sun Set’. Still Nothing.

D’angelo went to the fridge, popped open a Michelob Ultra, then returned to his seat. Rolled up the blinds, raised the window, and kicked his feet up. D’angelo watched the orange sun finish disappearing behind the city skyline. He let out a sigh, drained half his beer with a few gulps, then burped.

“We both know you ain’t in livin’ in no damn cave…”

He shut his eyes and took another sip. He froze in position, shot his eyelids apart, then pounced over to his keyboard.

Sunset Coors Light

He entered the terms into the search engine, then scrolled down like mad to see if he could find anything. The first couple pages were no help, but the third included a link to an article – and a picture of her beside it.

“Damnnn!” said D’angelo.

Sunset was a Coors Light girl – meaning she went to popular sports venues wearing a skimpy two-piece outfit and cheered behind her Coors Light booth. The girl got paid to show up and look good.

The article included a caption with her name at the bottom –

Sunsett Martinez

D’angelo scratched his bald head, wondering if the poor girl had any idea her name was spelled wrong.

He stuck ‘Sunsett’ into his web browser, and an extensive list of profiles lit up his screen. He clicked on her facebook, then bobbed his head back and covered his mouth.

“What the fu…” He muttered.

Tons of half-nude picks – bra and panties, bikinis, and short purple dresses. D’angelo couldn’t look away – but her body had nothing to do with it.

Every shot showed her with a different weapon – steak knife, butcher knife, swiss knife – the girl loved blades.

“I don’t fuck wichu,” D’angelo whispered.

He noticed one of his facebook friends, someone he didn’t know in real life, named Aaron, had posted up and down on her wall. Dude was obsessed – he’d commented and liked every single thing she’d slapped up there. Girl could’ve dressed a corpse like Hitler and he would clicked ‘like’.

D’angelo twisted his lips, then hovered his fingers over the keyboard. He grabbed the mouse instead and clicked on Aaron’s profile.

Pictures of him out drinking with the guys.

“Okay,” said D’angelo. “Okay.”

He fired a direct message off to Aaron.

“You know Sunset?”

Aaron responded before he could blink.

“Yea, of course!”

“She cool?” wrote D’angelo.

“Huh?”

“Don’t know how to say this bro… but is she C-R-A-Z-Y???”

D’angelo tapped his fingers on the desk. He groaned, stood up, grabbed another beer, then sat back down. Aaron still hadn’t responded. D’angelo cracked open his beer and inhaled a fresh sip. Still no response. D’angelo waited. And waited. And waited…

Tired of staring at the screen, he propped his feet up on the windowsill and coddled his beer.  He watched the cars pass by without much interest, until a purple civic caught his attention. Nothing super bizarre – it just kept driving past his apartment one direction, then return going the other direction every ten minutes or so. He told himself it was nothing – John from the loony bin was in his head. Dude claimed cars drove in patterns, after all.

The half-empty Michelob Ultra slipped from D’angelo’s grip and dinged against his wood-paneled floor as he dozed off. He remained out cold, until the repetitive and loud beep from his phone finally woke him up.

D’angelo rubbed his eyes open, gave his cheek a little slap, then made his way over to the fridge. He tugged the door open when his phone beeped again. D’angelo slid it out from his pocket – text from an unknown number. D’angelo opened it.

Coming to kill you.

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 4!

Master Update – 9/2

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