Master – 2.2

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Click here to start from the beginning

“Why are you laughing?”

“You’re paranoid baby. I swear, sometimes I wonder if I married a schizophrenic.”

She returns to me again, then playfully straightens out my Montreal Expos cap. “You’re Phillip Gordon! You stand a sexy six-foot four, don’t take shit from nobody, and married the hottest Latina this town has ever seen.” She sets her hand on my knee, then slides it up my thigh, closer to my crotch. “You have a beautiful daughter, named Avery. You’re the greatest football player this town has ever known. And you know what? If anyone gives you shit, just dump enough chlorine in their pools to kill off their entire families. And their little poodles.”

I laugh. “Saying things like that could get you in trouble.”

“I don’t give a fuck what people think, baby! Only you.”

Loretta rubs the crotch part of my jeans with the flat of her palm until she finds my dong. Then, in the sexiest voice you could ever imagine, “You like when I do this?”

Loretta forms her hand into a fist and punches me right in the dick.

“Hey!” I say, then shove her away with a single arm. She giggles like a school girl as she returns to her seat, then smiles to herself while staring out the window. I laugh at first, then the ride turns to silence. No music playing, no conversation – just silence.

“Loretta?”

“Ya Baby?”

“I love you.”

She takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “Love you forever, Phillip Gordon.”

CLICK HERE FOR 3.1!

  • Thomas M. Watt

Master – 2.1

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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 – 1.2

Master_eBook

Click here to start from the beginning

I pull the pen from my pocket, then scribble my name on his Starbucks cup, right under his own.

“Say, Mr. Gordon… Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it.”

“You clean pools now, right? Like for a living?”

I blink slow, then return to him with a smile. “I’ll clean your pool for a fee, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Punk laughs.

“No, no… it’s just, you know you could have been big time, right? If you would have just played one more season, you would have gone top three rounds. I mean, why did you stop playing?”

My wife knows, I know, everybody who knows me knows. The decision I made to end my football career and drop out of college was the hardest decision I ever had to make.

“Sometimes life throws things our way that force us to make tough decisions.”

I still grin when I say it, because the love that fills my life now far surpasses the darkness that overpowered me in my ‘star-power’ days.

“I know,” begins the kid. “But why did she make you leave the game?”

“I left on my own. Ever had sex, kid?”

My wife chuckles behind me.

“I’m not a fuckin’ virgin, dude.”

“Then you already know. Sometimes when you have sex, babies pop out.”

“Why didn’t you make her abort it?”

CLICK HERE FOR 2.1!

-Thomas M. Watt

Master – 1.1

Master_eBook

 

 

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

Beta Readers and Master Update – 10/23

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The feedback emails are piling in. I can’t express enough how grateful I am to all those who are assisting me in making Master the best it can be. Some of them are right here on wordpress, but all of them are providing me with tremendous insights I wouldn’t be able to perceive on my own. No man is an island, remember that.

So far, so good. Every reader has been pleased with the book. I’m anxious to gather more opinions about the ending, though I already have a few alterations in mind. A great benefit of using beta readers is they can help sway your mind on certain ‘on the fence’ plot developments. It’s really amazing to hear the various ways they expect events to unfold, and goes to show we each have a distinct interpretation of the same material.

It wasn’t long ago that I first tried beta readers. It was an excruciating process – sending out stories that I was certain were perfected, only to find them returned with more helpings of criticism than my ego could swallow. If you’re nervous to allow someone to read your work for the first time in fear that it will ruin you, let me tell you – it probably will.

But just as muscles grow stronger from tearing, your writing skills will increase with rejection. There are only so many scoffs a person can bear before they either give-up or horde honest advice as though it were the key to survival. Biggest asset in my journey has been countless nonfiction books on writing. It is a rude awakening to discover more goes into fine literature than a God-given dose of inspiration, but you’ve got to be aware of your flaws before you can fix them.

I’m incredibly anxious to finish polishing this book off, but I’m also aware of how necessary it is to do so. I don’t want to write a book that has five sky-high chapters then plummets to the ocean bottom right after you decide to purchase it. If I wanted to be rich, making up stories would appeal about as much as a 2005 penny collection.

Again, I apologize for the trudging of my posts to my followers. I promise if you can wait a little bit it will all be worth it, and the daily stories will soon return. I’m nearly convinced independent publishing is the avenue I will choose to pursue, because I enjoy the process of building anything from scratch. That may sound unusual due to previous posts where I’ve confessed my reluctance to sell anything, but I’ve begun to see Independent publishing more in the form of start-up company. I have no business experience, but marketing a product I believe in seems like a great place to start.

  • Thomas M. Watt

Master and “THE ROOM” – 10/20

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I’m busy adding a riveting twist to the ending, one I believe will add a heavy layer of drama to this psychological thriller. Finishing this book is consuming my writing time, and keeping me from posting short stories on here. The final part to Too Perfect Marriage took me six hours to write, but I accept that. One thing I am certain of – rushed writing is cheap writing.

Though there are tricks, techniques, and structures that will greatly enhance your stories, emotion can never be artificial. If you are not feeling the anxiety, disgrace, or enchantment of your characters, neither will your readers. Consequently, it is a waste of time to churn stories out like I’m some sort of machine. What I produce will repel you.

I am on the fence about posting the opening pages of Master. Because it is only a hundred + pages, I must have a definite release date in mind. That way I can give away the right amount prior to making it available. I am reluctant only because posting the pages on here guarantees that the book will be self-published (it is greatly frowned upon by publishers to pick up a book with content already posted on the web).

Mainly because I’m immersed in finalizing Master, I haven’t put much time into taking my gaseous plan and morphing it into something solid. I haven’t queried a single publisher or agent about Master, and have yet to look into the pros/cons of pursuing that avenue. This is the first book I feel would have a chance at getting picked up, in spite of its short length. I’ve queried a terrible book before, and the process is aggravating to say the least – they tell you to wait up to 6 months to hear back, and even if someone requests and loves your full manuscript, it takes roughly a year to get that book into stores. I am, to a fault, an impulsive person.

I hate posting poor content on here, and have no intention of transitioning this blog to a shameless book promotion website. When I do launch into marketing mode, I intend to do so in unique and exciting ways. Nobody wants to buy a product that is crammed down their throats – but they might consider biting into a pitch if it’s delivered with spoonful of humanity.

On a lighter note, check out the clip below for a good laugh. It’s from a movie titled “The Room” that has been voted the worst movie ever made. It’s so godawful there’s been a bestseller written about the making of it, and get this – James Franco is making that story into a movie.

  • Thomas M. Watt

Master Update – 10/18

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Waddup, waddup.

Haven’t been posting as frequently as usually. That’s mainly due to finishing up edits and preparing for the release of Master.

First thing’s first – I need to be %100 convinced the book is worth pushing. So far, the feedback I’ve received has been overwhelmingly positive. Nonetheless, I’m still adjusting a few minute details and polishing it off each and everyday. I want to receive another round of reviews before I decide there’s no more changes to make. I’m seeking out well-read individuals who are willing to race through it and give me a basic, overall perspective of the book (If you’re interested, drop me a note in the comment section. No special knowledge required).

Once I have the novel completely ready to go, there’s still a lot of work to do – send it out to book review blogs, hype it up across the web, and honestly, just promote the hell out of it.

There used to be this small burger joint in town. Hole-in-wall type place. First time I went entered I took a look at the menu, then decided to grab lunch at the Subway next door. A while later I gave it another visit, and let me tell ya – it was the best goddamn burger I ever tasted. Third time I couldn’t even get in – Place was boarded up, there was no more burger joint.

What’s the point of this story?

That burger joint kicked the shit out of its competition. But nobody was aware, because people are always reluctant to try something new. That first burger purchase took a leap of faith by me, but by God I’m happy I devoured it.

Master is essentially my first novel. It’s the first time I’ve put something together that people will enjoy reading – like that burger I was fortunate enough to sink my teeth into. So I plan on marketing the hell out of it, but want to be absolutely sure it’ll be worth the time and effort. I’m expecting to generate a whole bunch of downloads and sales early. If readers like what they see, then word of mouth will help the book spread.

The equation is simple – product x push = success. I think Einstein won a prize for that one. But if you don’t have a good product, or neglect pushing it, you can never achieve the success you’re looking for. That’s my theory, at least.

As for this blog, I know I’ve been MIA for the past few days. That’s because I want to get this book hot-and-ready, that way I can put out an official release date and blog the first few chapters leading up to it. I want you to know I’m not just blowing steam up your… who blows steam, anyway?

Stay tuned, I’ll keep you posted.

  • Thomas M. Watt

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 8 – FINALE!

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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.

Master and Too Perfect Marriage Update – 10/10

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I know many of you are looking forward to the next part of Too Perfect Marriage. I’ll get to that in a moment.

The cover to Master is in! I can’t wait to show it to you, Ellie Augsburger did an incredible job. I’ve finished Master, and currently am going through and solidifying things. It’s crucial to hammer out the plot in the first few drafts, but a side-effect of focusing on plot is the dialogue becomes interchangeable. Every word that exits a character’s mouth should be specific to their unique personality. A lot goes into a single line – plot, characterization, emotion, and intrigue, just to name a few. When I say intrigue, I mean that their are lines of dialogue that spark interest even without full awareness of the context.

Along with editing Master and blogging short stories, I’m also a full-time student at a local cc. So many hours spent on the computer can take a toll on you mentally – it’s important to use your body. Earlier this week I felt like I could read the same question from a homework assignment 15 times over and still not understand what it was asking.

I plan to transition from writing mode to promotion mode next week. Don’t worry, I’m not just going to fire out constant updates for Master. I’m inclined to post half-a-page of my book a day up until I publish it. Hopefully, doing this will show you that the book is pretty good, and maybe when I release it you’ll be curious enough to download it (I’m debating whether or not to make it available for free during the first five days of its release).

As for Too Perfect Marriage, I should be wrapping up the series next week. Check back on Monday, I plan on posting part 7 then.

  • Thomas M. Watt