Free Write – 6/27/20

I finally sat down and did some writing yesterday, about 730 words worth. I wanted to avoid it, contemplated the pointlessness of the task, but in the end – I did it.

It’s easy to get bogged down during any first draft. The amount of elements we learn to incorporate in an effective story is never ending – create a sympathetic protagonist, inciting incident, conflict, need/wants… it simply never ends.

They say you’re either a plotter or a planner. I’ve heard the great Craig Mazin (Chernobyl) has literally every major beat plotted out before he begins writing his script. Stephen King, on the other hand, is a notorious plotter.

I have to say I’m more of a plotter. When I sit down trying to plan out the story, I find myself dumbfounded and unable to create a sequence that will work once the writing begins.

What I’d really like to do with these short stories is experiment with different effects. I want to establish a character who experiences a fundamental arc that resonates with the reader and leaves an emotional impact along with a lesson learned.

The story I’m crafting currently is about internet dating and how artificial it is compared to real, genuine relationships. I’m not a hundred percent sold on the concept but it’s simple enough that I feel I can write it quickly without a momentous struggle.

But since this post is about “free write”, let me spontaneously move to another thought that’s been nagging at me – we’ll call it “intrinsic attraction.”

I’ll define intrinsic attraction as a primitive curiosity that subconsciously prompts us to investigate an issue. When you look at videos that “go viral” or news items that generate massive public response, I believe intrinsic attraction is the culprit. I also believe that when producers and publicists refer to the strength of a story’s premise, they are referring to the level of intrinsic attraction.

I think this is what a writer should look for before they begin writing any story. Does the subject itself generate interest? We’ve all seen videos on youtube with millions of views that feature nothing more than a rock being microwaved for 10 minutes. Why do we watch these? Because we want to see what happens.

I feel it’s much more difficult to find as captivating a premise for a story, but that’s the key to gaining views. I think the more ambiguous you can make your stance as the story teller, the more intrigued the reader will become to find out what agenda is at play through the unfolding of your story. If you can find a controversial issue and keep the reader guessing at what you think, this intrinsic attraction will generate a viewer response to engage in your material.

I don’t think I’ve found the answer to this with my current story, at least not yet. I need to put a twist on it or else the reader will enter the story already knowing the answer – internet dating is not as true and reliable as a person in the flesh. I should also clarify what I mean by internet dating – I’m referencing the short term experiences made by online interactions that do not manifest into real world meetings.

I’m going to do more thinking in this area, but of course I’m open to suggestions. Thanks for taking the time to read this and feel free to share your thoughts.

Master – 5.3

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

“What kind of pansy-ass…”

It goes against everything I know about conduct with police officers, but I step out of my Dodge pick-up and walk over to the officer. He’s now sobbing uncontrollably.

“Easy.” I continue to creep carefully. “Hands up, don’t shoot!” I say with a laugh, hoping to get a rise out from him. He doesn’t even react.

I’m within feet of him now. His chin is in his chest as he looks downward at his gun. He’s shaking it erratically in his lap.

“Why don’t you put that gun back in its holster, Officer?”

“No, no. Everything is not alright!” He waves the gun as he screams.

I take a step back. I swear if he were any person besides a police officer, I’d grab that gun away from him.

“I can’t do this anymore, Phillip.” He says, then turns away.

My brain starts to spin, but then I realize he has my driver’s license. “Hey, relax, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You won’t let me sleep, so what’s the point?”

“What?”

He points the gun at me. I dodge the shot by smacking his wrist with my forearm. I drop back a step then go sprinting toward a front lawn. Another gunshot rings out and I dive. I lie on my stomach with my hands on my head.

“Ahhh!”

I open my eyes and look up. The scream came from a little girl – she points at something behind me.

I whirl around.

“Jesus,” I say.

The police officer blew his own head off. Chunks of brain litter the pavement behind his bike, along with a fresh red pond.

Neighbors exit their homes. I have no idea what’s going on, but they won’t stop asking me. Then someone realizes there’s an officer down, and I’m the guy he pulled over.

“Stay there!” yells a middle-aged woman. She points a plunger at me.

“I can’t,” I mumble. “I didn’t, I don’t know what-”

A familiar ring – my cell phone, sitting in my driver’s seat. Loretta’s calling! I stand, sprint over, fling my dented door open, and rush to answer.

“Loretta!”

“Help.”

Call ended.

CLICK HERE FOR 6.1!

• Thomas M. Watt

 

Master – 4.2

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

She’s hidden beneath the covers, and I know she hates being woken up. The only exception is Christmas morning. Then again, she’s wide awake every Christmas morning.

I peel back the cover just enough to see she’s facing away from me. I rest my hand on her brown hair, and she doesn’t move.

“I know you’re sleeping right now, Brussels-sprouts. I just wanted you to know-” I pause.

I lived a very lonely life. That’s what people don’t get about me; that’s what they miss. Until you’ve gone without love, you have no idea how powerful it can be when it finds you. It’s not just a saying, and it sure as hell isn’t something I tell myself to feel better about giving up football. I don’t mean to get sappy, but as I stand here at my daughter’s bedside, knowing a short hallway away rests a beautiful woman who loves Phil Gordon the pool guy, I can’t help but thank God for all the life I have, and forget to give two shits about the one I gave up.

“I love you, Brussels sprouts.”

She turns over, and I finally see her face. Avery puts her hand in mine, then rubs her eye open.

“What time is it, daddy?”

I smirk. “Too early for you.”

She giggles.

I kiss her on the forehead, then get up.

“Wait!”

“What is it?”

“Come over here!”

I sigh, then do.

“Pinky.”

I grin, then hold out the finger. She locks her tiny pinky around mine.

“Say it, daddy.”

“You sure? Figured you’re too grown-up for that.”

“Say it!”

I smile. “Daddy cauliflower always returns for princess Brussels Sprouts.”

“Yay!” says Avery, kicking her legs and feet. I can’t help but laugh along with her – she hates vegetables.

I proceed to the kitchen, scoop out some Columbian roast, toss it in the filter, then add about four cups worth of water and turn the coffee pot on. I wait with my hands on the counter and my head dangling over my chest.

It was a dream, I remind myself. Nothing but a dream.

Still, ‘Master’ seemed so real. The entire scene did. Some dreams are so ludicrous you realize you’re dreaming while you’re in the middle of them. Other dreams fool you a little more, but as soon as you return to consciousness you realize you’d been tricked.

The coffee finishes brewing, and I pour myself a cup.

But then there are those other dreams, when long after waking, you are still convinced that you were in the presence of another being. Maybe not physically, but maybe metaphysically. The universe is a strange place.

“Are you trying to freak me out?”

It’s Loretta – she’s standing in the doorway, glaring at me.

“Yes, just the dream. Don’t worry-”

“You don’t spook easily, Phillip.”

“I know.”

“So why do you look so disturbed, baby?”

I think for a moment, and some primitive part of me urges me to warn her about Master. I almost want to stay here, just to watch over my family and make certain everything remains alright.

“Like you said, it was just a dream.” I hand her the mug. “Here, I don’t even want this. Have a good day, babe.” I kiss her and head for the front door.

“So why are you so upset?”

“Just being paranoid, like you said.”

“Love you, Phillip,” she says as I leave.

CLICK HERE FOR 5.1!

• Thomas M. Watt

Master – 4.1

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

CHAPTER 4

“Phillip?” says Loretta.

I’m out of breath and gasping for air.

“Look at you baby, you’re covered in sweat!”

She puts her hand to my forehead. I shove it away, then mount and kiss her with every ounce of passion I have. She pushes me away.

“Phillip? What is it?”

“God almighty, Loretta. I thought you were dead.”

“Bad dream?”

“You have no idea.”

I try to kiss her again, but she scoots out from under me. “What was it?”

“You and I, we were in a psychiatrist’s office… I watched you die, babe.”

“Hmm,” says Loretta. “In your dream, you and I are seeing a psychiatrist.”

“Yea.”

“And he attacks me.”

“Yea, he set you on fire.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing… I couldn’t move.” I lean to kiss her, but she dodges back and catches my face with her palm.

“So you sat there and watched it happen?”

“I had no choice, I told you.”

Loretta scoffs, then rolls over and throws the cover over her head.

“Babe?”

She doesn’t say anything. Her silence makes me feel worse than her yelling. I rub her shoulder.

“Hey, I’m sorry Loret-”

She springs out from her side of the bed and wrestles me onto my back. She’s got my shoulders pinned to the mattress as she straddles me.

“I don’t care if you have dreams about trains splitting my brains across the rails.” She darts her head forward and smushes her lips into mine. “You know why?”

“Tell me.”

She sucks in my lips as she grips my pecks. “Because in real life, Phillip, you would stop that fucking train. You would figure out a way to stop that train and save me, and nothing in the world could stop you.” She kisses me softly, only for a moment.

“And that’s why I love you.” She leans back, then pulls up my eyelids with her thumbs, studying me like a child.

“What?” I say.

“I see it in your soul.”

She kisses me again, then falls away from her straddle of me and returns to her side of the bed. “Baby, what was the name of the psychiatrist?”

“In my dream?”

“Duh.”

I laugh. “He wouldn’t tell me. Made me call him Master.”

She turns over and looks at me. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why?”

She sits up to her elbows and stares straight ahead.

“What?” I say. “Remind you of someone?”

She laughs, then turns back over and faces away from me. “You’re too paranoid, baby.

Your mind is going to get the better of you.”

I roll out of bed, kick on my jeans, then head out the bedroom. I’m surprised to find the

door to Avery’s room cracked open; usually she keeps it closed.

CLICK HERE FOR 4.2!

• Thomas M. Watt

Master – 3.2

Click here to start from the beginning

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

“Oh… yeah, bring her in.”

“Loretta, come in now.” says Master.

I want to scratch my temple, but I’m having trouble lifting my arm. Loretta enters through the door. She sits in the sofa across from me.

“Babe, I didn’t know you came-”

Master interrupts. “It’s not just football, Phillip. It’s finances, it’s your inability to be a true ‘man of the house.’ Everyone thinks you’re a joke not because you never made it in football, but because you’re a loser in real life.”

“What kind of therapist-”

“I’m not your therapist, I’m your master.” He stops behind Loretta, and sets the canister of gasoline on her shoulder. “How many people will you kill to save your family?”

“What?”

Master unscrews the canister. “Loretta and Avery are mine. Are you, or are you not, willing to kill to see them alive again?”

I take several breaths through my nose. “Move that gasoline away from my wife.”

“Answer the question, Phillip.”

“I’m not a man of violence… get that god-damn gasoline away from her!” I try to stand – my legs won’t budge.

Master pours gasoline onto Loretta’s head. I can’t do anything but listen to the ‘glup glup glup’ as he drenches her dark hair.

“My bet is, you are. Our actions often contradict our words.”

“What are you-” I want to charge him, but my back is stuck to the sofa, my feet are glued to the ground.

“Light it,” says Master, then tosses the lighter to Loretta.

It lands in her lap. She stares up at him and blinks, then turns to face me. She looks like a sick puppy dog.

“Do something baby,” she says.

“What’s going on?” I scream. “What is this, where are we?”

“Obey your Master, Loretta.” Master pulls a handgun out from his pocket. “Light it.”

“Baby I’m scared,” says Loretta.

“Why can’t I move!”

“Light it!” Master says. He loads the gun.

“Help me Phillip!”

Master reaches his arm long, then presses the barrel into Loretta’s temple.

“Light it.”

Loretta and I meet eyes.

“Save me,” she says softly.

Master pulls the trigger. It clicks. No bullet comes out.

I wince my eyes closed, then return my view to my still-living wife and let out a breath. “Thank God,” I mutter.

Master opens the chamber, then seems disappointed to discover he’s out of bullets. He drops the gun on the ground, walks over to his desk, then opens the draw.

“What is going on here,” I say, calmly as possible. “Why can’t I move the rest of my body? When did you drug me?”

“Stop speaking.” He finds something in one of the draws of his desk that makes him smile– it’s a book of matches and a cigarette. He lights up.

“What are you doing?”

Master takes a seat, sniffs the cigarette, then frowns. “I need you to deliver a package for me.”

“You got it. Let us leave.”

Master grins at me. “Sounds lovely. I’m fond of that idea.”

“Great.”

He sighs. “Not practical though. Tell her you love her before you leave, you may never see her again.”

“What are you talking about?”

Master flicks the lit cigarette at Loretta.

“No!” I scream.

Flames engulf her from head to toe. Her skin melts like wax, her hair shrivels up like dry weeds. “Baby!” she says.

“I can’t move!”

The heat from the fire warms me. I smell my wife’s flesh burn away. My wife dies in agony before my eyes.

CLICK HERE FOR 4.1!

• Thomas M. Watt

Master – 3.1

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

CHAPTER 3

A muscular trashcan clothed in a pinstriped suit sits across from me. Hair slicked-back, big square glasses, and a fiery glare so intense I swear he wants to kill me.

“You’re scared,” he says, scribbling in his notebook.

The sun shines in through the window, where parked cars, trees, and a graffiti-ed fire hydrant can be seen down below. I’m in a psychiatry office, but I have no memory of driving here.

“Talk about your failure as a football player.”

“What?”

“You were a great college player; one of the greatest ever to play the game. If you would have continued, you could have been a superstar. But you quit.” The psychiatrist pauses, then looks up from his notepad with a flick of his eyes. “Why, did you stop?”

“I don’t recall your name, doctor… what was it again?”

“Master.”

I laugh. “Master? That’s what you want me to call you?”

“Yes.” ‘Master’ pulls a lighter out from his pocket, then flicks the flame on. He lets go of the switch, then does it again. “Why did you give up on your lifelong dream, Mr. Gordon?”

“I don’t see it that way, doc, never have. I was in love, and my daughter Avery was on the way. To be honest with you, professional football isn’t really the right environment to start-”

“Fear.” Master stands up, then walks over to a desk. On top of the desk is a canister of gasoline. He begins to walk in a big circle around the room, carrying the gasoline at his side. “Fear drives us to make desperate decisions. In your case, you quit because you knew it was a matter of time before others discovered the truth.”

“What truth?”

Master pauses, then smiles kindly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gordon, but I feel it would be rude to leave you wife waiting for a minute longer. Do you mind if she joins us? I know it’s a bit of a surprise, but I can assure you this session will be better spent with her present.”

CLICK HERE FOR 3.2!

• Thomas M. Watt

Master – 2.1

Click here to start from the beginning

I remove my Montreal Expos cap and take a step forward. I snag a firm grip of his shoulder, then stare straight into his eyes.

“One day, God-willing, you’re going to have a child of your own. And when you do, you’re going to raise that kid and do everything you can to keep him from becoming the person you once were; maybe the person you are now. When that day comes, I want you to look in your child’s eyes, and ask yourself – was it worth having this child? All the sleepless nights, all the extra-payments, all the stress that comes along with caring for a family?”

“Fuck that, I don’t do relationships.”

I smile. “Have a good day, son.” I turn around to face my wife. “Let’s go, babe.”

She frowns, then takes my hand. We leave.

CHAPTER 2

My Dodge pickup sounds like it gurgles cement as we bump along the road. Loretta unbuckles her seat belt, then leans over the center console and wraps both her arms around my right bicep.

“Let it go, baby,” she says, then kisses my shoulder.

“We should move,” I say.

“Why?” Loretta springs back.

“I don’t want to live here anymore. I don’t want Avery growing up here.”

“You and I grew up here. We have family here.”

“I don’t want Avery dealing with the same bullshit I do. She shouldn’t have to deal with these questions.”

“What questions?”

“C’mon Loretta, you want me to say it?”

“Say what?”

“The fact that I was an NFL prodigy who quit. Fact that the same people who thought I’d be rich and famous call me when their pool’s got too many leaves floating on top.”

Loretta laughs. She sits back in her own seat, crosses her arms, and stares out her window.

“What?”

She looks at me, rubs the tip of her nose, and turns away.

Click here for 2.2!

– Thomas M. Watt

Master – 1.1

 

 

CHAPTER 1

I sit in the coffee shop waiting on my wife, who insisted on ordering the drinks tonight. She’s over at the barista stand mixing in the half-and-half, and the only thing that concerns me is the punk hovering right next to her. Wish to God he’d stop staring at her like that.

Is what it is – if I got up and did something every time someone looked at Loretta, I’d probably be in jail right now. I’m not a criminal; not even a bad ass. I’m just a pool cleaner.

“Excuse me,” Loretta says to the punk.

He rolls his eyes then takes a step back.

Love is a strange thing. You can go your entire life thinking you know what it is, getting a whiff of it now and again, but until you’ve found the right one you’re never going to know. Then again she was only my second girlfriend, so maybe I’m not one to talk.

Loretta journeys in my direction, and the punk follows behind her. Now I’m uncomfortable.

I rise from my seat. “You need something?”

Loretta looks surprised at first, thinking the question was directed at her. When she turns to find the punk is behind her shoulder, she scurries to our table, then meekly takes the seat behind me.

“Yeah,” says the punk. “Your autograph.”

I turn to my wife. She doesn’t say much; her body language does the speaking for her. A cross of her arms and shrug of her shoulder are enough to give me a clue – give the young man what he wants and send him on his way.

CLICK HERE FOR 1.2!

• Thomas M. Watt

Master – Cover Reveal!

Thank you to Ellie Augsburger with Creative Digital Studios. She did a fantastic job. Release date to be posted soon…

“Clock is ticking, Mr. Gordon.”

• Thomas M. Watt

Master Update – 9/21

I know some of you are looking forward to Sunset Part 4 – Should be writing it tomorrow. Busy molding the ending to Master today, and I’m really thrilled about how it turned out.

Ellie Augsburger tells me her initial concept for the cover should be finished by the end of this week. I’m excited to see it. A cover will also make it much easier to promote.

I did a lot more writing than promoting this weekend. Pushing a book begins while you’re still writing it – The problem I’ve run into is a split personality, the artist and the promoter. The more time I spend on social media connecting with others, the more my mind is occupied with finding more effective ways to draw attention to my story.

Now that the story is (nearly) complete, I’m going to send the full manuscript out to four or five willing beta readers. The good news is that multiple parties have already read the first half, and they are just as enthusiastic about it as I am.

This isn’t the first time I’ve poured my all into a book, but it is the first time I’ve received overwhelmingly positive feedback. I’d like to think that the short stories I blog on here reflect my overall improvements as a writer.

Beyond that, I’m excited to wrap up Sunset this week. I’m happy with the ending I have in mind, I only hope I can find the right words to show it to you.

• Thomas M. Watt