On the Modern Pertinence of Etiquette in the, “Den for Story Makers and Takers”


I remember when I was a child and the big joke in the library was to mock the angry librarian who hissed and insisted any noise-makers to quiet. Now an author struggling to become a money-making-published-word-carver, I do much of my editing in the quiet dwelling place of the bookman’s abode.

Unfortunately, there are still people, even my own age, who enjoy friendly stories and over-pompous smiles in this same place a modest author would just call a library, but a snob would call a ‘den for story-makers and takers.’

I cannot comprehend what comes over a person to fully engage in a conversation inside a library. I can see there are times we run into friends and are at the very least required to say, “Hello, How are you? – Me, I’m good. – Oh really! – Alright see you later.”

Anything more than that is unnecessary and rude. Oh, what’s that?? I’m being a prick for telling you to quiet when you feel like talking to your friend? Ah, I’m sorry, my mistake.

Please-shut-the-fuck-up and go pretend you’re cool somewhere else.

I don’t come to the library to look cool or impress anyone. I come to the library to get work done, and I’m pretty sure everyone else does, too. Even those pretty girls you see getting really drunk on Friday nights who accentuate  the ‘s’ sound at the end of every word they can possibly fit it into.

Yes, those girls.

So in conclusion, I would like to formerly invite that old, bead-chained-glasses wearing old strict ‘hag’ back to her place of work. We need you, I can’t take any more of these smiling ‘librarian’ good-for-nothings who leave me to do all the quieting for my pencil-pushing amigos.

If you like to talk when you are in the library,

You can suck-it.

– Thomas M. Watt

Dear Nineteen Year Old Self

Dear nineteen year old self,

Remember how you used to wonder why all the girls your age liked the older guys? And how you couldn’t understand why the older guys were able to walk away from the ‘hotties’ like they meant nothing to them? Guess what – We finally figured it out!

The answer is, as you get older, life happens, and you actually have to do shit. So, you no longer pretend like you have shit to do, but you actually really do have shit to do! As far as maturity goes, I wouldn’t worry too much about that, just try to pretend like your mature. Maturity doesn’t actually happen to guys, they just learn how to trick people better.

And when girls talk about how they really like dreamers and whimsical guys? Yeah, I would pretty much ignore that. Just try to complement them a lot and listen when you talk. They really don’t care about your biceps half as much as you think. In fact, as you get older, you will start to learn that nobody really gives a shit about you! For this reason, you should probably take your work a little more seriously, and that girl who takes really long to text you back a little less.

Sincerely yours,

Your older self.

Dear Pretty Girl

Dear pretty girl who keeps looking at me,

Please stop. I have a lot of work to do and quite frankly am in no way capable of sustaining any type of relationship now. I have no income and already ended a relationship in order to pursue this idea that I can actually write and publish a book and then turn that into a career as a book-writing person. Of course you are attractive, I’m quite certain every guy who sees you can agree on that. I’m also convinced my asking you out will be more a matter of, ‘Hmm… Okay, well see what happens’ to you, and a matter of great distraction to me. I cannot take these games anymore, I’m pretty sure each being has a certain level of contrasts given them from God, and in mixing this contrasts it dilutes the brightness one infuses into their artwork. Therefore, I need a reader much more than I need a girlfriend.

This raises the other difficulty I’ve had of late – every time I meet a new girl, I tell her I would like to be a writer, and then she says she would like to see what I’ve written, and then I send it, and then she never actually opens it. I understand women mostly enjoy making others feel good, and so I’m actually the one being foolish in thinking they actually want to read my book, when they factually just want to get to know me. The problem is, I don’t care about me nearly as much as they seem to, and I’m quite certain the book is much more entertaining. I’d rather read it then go to dinner any day of the week.

Well cute girl, you’ve succeeded in distracting me. Oh well, I don’t think men would ever get off the couch to do anything if it weren’t for the desire to impress beautiful women.


Thomas M. Watt (That guy who thinks you’re looking at him when you’re actually staring at the one over his shoulder)

Writer’s Block

ImageThe man sat at the computer to type a short story. He didn’t have any ideas, and after one terrible attempt at writing a national anthem for St. Lucia, a country he knew nothing about (besides Nette saying they had good rum), he decided to do the most overdone post a writer ever could do – blog about his writer’s block.

Oh, writer’s block, you savage beast. You are the worst of all the blocks. Like a square that is too big for the square hole. You are really screwing me up, writer’s block, for I am gaining lots of new Watties, and I think important people are starting to pay attention to me. But now you’re going to ruin all that, because you won’t let me think.

I’m left to wonder what will come of this post, I can already see the heads bashing on the keyboard, and am too afraid to know how many readers have already clicked the ‘back’ button, and searched for a more meaningful post.

And yet, I go on. Why? Because you want me too? No, I’m afraid. Because I want me to. Because I like to impress those around me by typing really fast. Because I can only wonder how many girls find fast typists attractive. Because the question of whether or not one’s ability to type could attract a mate is currently consuming my mind, and most likely shall proceed to the rest of the day.

I’ll bet you didn’t know this, dear reader, but petty preoccupations such as the ‘sexual typists’ dilemma bounce around my mind incessantly. I have loads of these strange wonderings, all of which eventually will develop into theories, and these theories will go on to be tested in real life scenarios.

Not to get ahead per-say, or to impress. Just to know. There is a large section of my brain completely dedicated to a constant study of the human condition. I try to write from this section of my brain.

Well, fair well, writer’s block, I suppose I could at least thank you for forcing me into a rendezvous with blogger’s circle.

A-hoy St. Lucia,

Thomas M. Watt