Updates – 1/16

What the Hell did I run over?

Not too many productive writing developments yesterday. I do have quite a story from my date, however – I got the 1st flat tire of my life, and wasn’t able to change it using only the parts that came with my truck. It was incredibly embarrassing, but I was fortunate enough to have the assistance of AAA to help me out. Much later we went to the beach and stumbled upon a group of people sitting on a bench in the dark who were dressed in black robes. I don’t know, that was wack, and I just had to get it off my chest. Death eaters?

I am interviewing for a firefighter reserve position in a couple of weeks. This is significant because I will have to cut my hair and shave my face – which means serious continuity errors for Cheaters Prosper. I initially sought to resolve this problem by laying out a schedule that would allow for the entire film to be finished within two weeks. My older brother pointed out to me that a haircut signifies an emotional change in a character, and helped me realize that I could film the final climatic scene with a different style (the major scene takes place on the last day of the film’s story, after all).

There is one other scene left for me to act in that takes place on the second day of the film, and a haircut would be problematic for that. The only alternative I can imagine would be to rewrite the scene so that I communicate with Jax over the phone, but I’d much prefer to avoid doing that.

I’m hoping to shoot a handful of scenes this Sunday. I’m planning on using my friend Dan for the majority of the remaining scenes, as my older brother is simply to busy to request more of his time. I will have my brother film the important, interior scenes we still have to shoot.

It’s time for me to get some shut-eye. I will have a better post for you tomorrow.

• Thomas M. Watt

 

Master – 9.3

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2     Ch. 3     Ch. 4     Ch. 5     Ch. 6     Ch. 7     Ch. 8     Ch. 9

2 DAYS LEFT! PRE-ORDER MASTER NOW!

 

“Why are you kidnapping me?” she says.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No.”

“Are you going to rape me?”

I roll my eyes. “No.”

“It’s a legitimate question for a hostage to ask, Phil!”

I sigh. “You may not understand this, but I don’t want to be in this situation anymore than you want do.”

“Why me?”

“Fate’s a bitch.”

We ride in silence again.

“This is B S,” she says. “And that gun’s freaking me out.”

I’m holding the gun in my right hand as I steer. In all the encounters I’ve ever had with her, I’ve never seen the current expression on her face – granted there’s few shots of botox in there now. Still, she’s not being her ditzy, bubbly self. Ashley is concerned, and the monster who is scaring her is me.

“Just, try to relax.”

“Ditch the gun then.”

I bite my lips and shut my eyes for a moment. “Open the glove compartment.”

“Wait… never mind!”

I reach out and pop it open. It’s filled with crumpled yellow pages that are covered with dark ink and lipstick marks.

Ashley slams it shut and crosses her arms.

My eyes return to the road. “What was in there?”

“Fuck off.”

“Clearly it was-”

“Sometimes I write poetry.”

I laugh then turn to face her. She’s covering her eyes with her hand and shaking her head.

“You write poetry?”

“Just shut-up, please? Can you just shut-up?”

I sigh, then fix my attention to the road. “What can I do to make this easier for you?”

“Let me go,” Ashley says, then scoffs.

I shake my head. This sucks.

“Where are we going?”

“Sheraton Inn.”

“Why? Are you raping me there?”

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You’re crazy,” says Ashley.

“Only if you keep talking.”

“Look at you, Phillip. Kidnapping me? Shooting me? You lost your f-ing mind. Loretta ruined you.”

I grip the steering wheel harder, then force myself to relax.

“Too many concussions. There are lawsuits about it, I’ve seen ESPN.”

“What?”

“You go donkey-balls, Phil! Too many concussions and you go eff-ing crazy! They talk about it on Sportscenter.”

I grit my teeth, then mutter. “My life’s not a top-ten countdown.”

“It’s a not top ten.”

I take a few breaths. This is the last person I want to be around right now.

“I can’t believe Loretta has stayed with you-”

“Loretta has been taken from me, so has Avery! That’s why I’m doing this, that’s the only reason I’m doing this!”

“Oh,” she says. “…sorry to hear that.” She returns to crossing her arms and gazing out her window. “Are you sure she didn’t walk out on you and take Avery with her? Maybe she met a guy who owns a pool and doesn’t just clean them.”

I’m about to snap this fucking steering wheel. Instead I shake my head and bust a chuckle. Soon we reach the Sheraton Inn. I park and turn the mustang off.

We sit and wait.

“So… do you need money to get a room, or…?”

“No.”

“Ok… why are we just sitting here?”

I stare at the handgun, then scratch my neck and exhale.

“What is it?”

I breathe a handful of times through my nostrils, then open the car door and step outside.

“Phil?”

I tuck the handgun in my waistband, and head toward the hotel’s side entrance.

CLICK HERE FOR 10.1!

• Thomas M. Watt

ORDER MASTER NOW!

 

 

 

 

 

Master – 9.2

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2     Ch. 3     Ch. 4     Ch. 5     Ch. 6     Ch. 7     Ch. 8     Ch. 9

Master comes out in 3 days! Pre-order NOW!

 

After ten minutes of silence, Ashley sighs, then holds out her phone out and drops it in my hand.

“My life’s in there.”

“Didn’t think you’d give it up.”

“The thought of you touching me is making me nauseous.”

I roll my window down and am on the verge of flinging it as far from the road as possible.

“Don’t! Just stuff it in your pocket!”

I load the gun, reach the phone out the window, then fire a bullet through it. The phone is blown to bits and scattered by the wind outside.

“What the eff? You killed it!”

I don’t respond. Mainly cause phones don’t die. Instead, I try to develop a plan for this hotel killing. Could it be a set-up, where the man in 203 is waiting for me? Don’t think so – it doesn’t seem like Master wants me killed. Not yet at least.

So why kill this person? And if I do, will Master even know? That question lingers in my mind for a while. He has men working for him in the real world – that much I’ve figured out. The thug who drugged me at my doorstep, the one driving the white van – at least two of them. I don’t believe in supernatural phenomena, but the thought of him having a peephole into my soul scares the shit out of me.

“Weren’t you supposed to be in the NFL or something?”

My eyes snap to Ashley, then cut back to the dark horizon out my window.

“Didn’t work out.”

She laughs. “Loretta made you quit, didn’t she?”

I show at her and hold up gun again.

“That’s what people say, she made you stop.” She dances her fingers through her bleached blonde hair. “God, if you get me on the news I’m gonna be so eff-ing pissed.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head. “You love attention.”

“I’m not wearing any make-up.”

I turn to face her. She is wearing make-up, and looks beautiful. Scratch that – the kind of good-looking playboy models are.

“So sorry I look so ugly,” says Ashley.

I don’t say a word. She’s fishing for compliments. That shit rubs me the wrong way. Some girls really are ugly, so I never understand why I’m supposed to reassure the pretty ones they’re still society’s A-listers.

“I said I’m sorry I look so ugly.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I hear her jaw snap shut and steal a glance – she’s got her arms crossed, and looks like she’s trying to shoot laser beams out of her squinted eyes. I can’t help but smirk for the first time all day.

“Why are you kidnapping me?” she says.

CLICK HERE FOR 9.3!

• Thomas M. Watt

ORDER MASTER NOW!

Master – 9.1

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2     Ch. 3     Ch. 4     Ch. 5     Ch. 6     Ch. 7     Ch. 8

Master comes out in 4 days! Pre-order NOW!

CHAPTER 9

It’s the last person I ever want to see – Ashley Dupont. My first real girlfriend. We dated through high school and the first two years in college, up until I got with Loretta. She’s also Loretta’s ex-best friend. And that’s a capital ‘X’.

“Are you… carjacking me?” she says in her typical high-pitched voice.

My gun hand won’t keep steady.

She blinks, then holds her pink nails out like an invisible plate rests on the top of her hand. “Like, for real?”

My blood boils. My adrenaline rushes. A realization has dawned on me – If I leave Ashley behind, she’ll be waiting to tell the authorities who I am and what I look like, not to mention the exact license plate number of her red mustang. I have to kidnap her. I aim at the diamond in her ear.

“Scoot over.”

“This is a jay-kay, right?” She looks around. “Some new reality show or something? Carjack your ex?”

The gun fires. We both jump. I accidently shot a bullet through her blonde hair and into her headrest.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ashley scurries over to the passenger seat, then fastens herself in.

“Holy fuck, what is wrong with you! Don’t kill me!”

“No-”

“We were together for like, 6 years! What the fuck Phil!”

My arm is locked in the air, my eyes can’t stop blinking. I’m in disbelief – nearly killed my ex-girlfriend.

“You want the car? Me? What is it?!”

I shake my head, then cough and lower into the vehicle. My knees jam into the steering wheel, but I find the lever and scoot the seat back. I start the mustang, turn it around, then head for the Sheraton Inn. I let out a breath. Holy shit, I can’t believe I just did that.

“Where’s your phone?” I say.

“What’s going on? Are you gonna kill me?”

“Just give me the phone.”

“Did I do something? Why me?”

“The phone, Ashley.”

“Phil! You’re a criminal now? Why? What happened-”

“The phone goddammit!”

“It’s at home… Don’t kill me.”

I take a good look at her. She’s wearing a black mini skirt. Her legs are clamped together. “Take your phone out from under your skirt.”

“I told you, I left it at home.”

“I carjacked you. I’m not afraid to wrestle your legs apart.”

I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to cracking her skull open with a bullet. This sucks; every part of this sucks. I decide to give up on the phone thing. I’m a married man; the thought of touching Ashley inappropriately sickens me. Because I’m a married man and my wife is missing, not because I’m not attracted to her. Ashley is every man’s dream – she’s even better looking since I left her, in a materialistic sense. Her breasts perk up like they’re resting on an invisible shelf, and they’re twice as plump as they used to be. Plus now she’s got these big fisheyes like the Kardashians after applying ‘make-up contour techniques’. Ashley got work done, and the doctors knew what they were doing.

I hate every part of this. I hate that Loretta and Avery are in danger, and I hate that I’m on my way to a hotel where I’m supposed to kill whoever is in room 203. I don’t even know what I’m going to do when I get there.

CLICK HERE FOR 9.2!

• Thomas M. Watt

ORDER MASTER NOW!

Saturday Special – Relationship Advice

I give you, a second clip of me acting. Here’s the first if you think you can handle it.

I was visiting my friend in Portland when a few dozen beers led to some ingenious sketch ideas. This is one of them.

• Thomas M. Watt
• Author of Master

Best Quotes – #3

Thank you to Jacqueline Obyikocha who nominated me for this award. I’ve been selected to write 3 of my favorite quotes, and nominate 3 of my favorite bloggers to do the same. I will provide 1 quote per and nominate 1 blogger per day.

Today’s Nominee: Laura Pickren.

Congrats!

Steve Jobs was an influential man. I never knew much about him until recently. In one video I’ve been unable to track down, Jobs states that “influence is more powerful than control.” This really struck a chord with me.

There are different types of relationships, so many that I can’t even fathom attempting to list them one-by-one. The most common are: romantic, professional, and friendly.

It is becoming disturbingly commonplace for relationships to consists of one person attempting to exert control over another. The motivation to control is always the same – fear. Fear that someone will leave you, refuse to do business with you, or reject you. At its core, control is the action taken by people who wrongly believe they’re unlovable.

Used car salesmen, passive-aggresive girlfriends, and domineering father figures perpetuate stereotypes that I consider best represent controlling personalities. These types will trick, manipulate, and flat-out lie just to get others to submit to their will.

The reason I like Job’s quote so much is because it holds true. The fruitful relationships in our lives natural influence us – you listen to your best friend’s suggestion about what movie to see, the advice of a successful person encourages you to behave similarly, the loving support of your significant other lifts you when you are down.

Always remember: Fear controls. Confidence influences.

• Thomas M. Watt
• Author of Master

Come by tomorrow evening to read my second favorite quote!

Saturday Special – Me Acting

In case you were wondering, I’m the guy playing the sleazeball. It’s a scene from Eastbound and Down, where I play Kenny Powers, a former Major League Baseball super-star.

This is from an acting class I enrolled in at a local community college. I thought it would be fun and benefit my writing to take the class. I was right, though I’m not too sure acting is in the cards for me.

Featured alongside me is Ami Wong, a beautiful young actress who made it to the final cut of a major role for a studio sitcom, and my buddy Nick VanAmburg, who’s simply funny as f*ck. I hope you get a good laugh out of this, whether it was at my expense or not. Feel free to roast me in the comment section, but lay off the other(good) actors.

• Thomas M. Watt

Master – 5.2

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Something’s wrong. I feel it in my gut. I reach out to my phone to text Loretta, but stop when I notice the motorcycle cop in my driver-side mirror.

“Dammit.”

I’d flip a U-turn right here, but it’s a double yellow. I decide to turn into a neighborhood street on my right and lose the tail. He follows me. Three turns later, he’s still on my ass.

“You win,” I say, then sigh.

I pull over, turn the engine off, and dial my wife. It rings, and rings, and rings.

“C’mon.”

Loretta picks up.

“What’s up, baby?”

“I know how bizarre this sounds, but I want you to take Avery and go to your mother’s house for the day.”

“Are you serious? You’re really starting to scare me baby!”

I pull the phone from my face and think to myself. Then I see the cop again – drive by on the road ahead. He stops the bike, whips out a pair of binoculars, then stares at me.

“What the hell…” I mutter.

“Talk to me, baby! Tell me what’s going on! You’ve been acting really strange lately.”

I return the phone to my ear. “Nothing… Just do it for me, ok?”

“Hold on.”

“What’s up?”

“Someone’s at the door. Is the pipe-guy coming today?”

“Babe, I want you to get out of there!”

A loud BOOM. Phone call ends. I dial again. The phone rings, and rings, and rings. Nobody picks up.

I start the truck, turn around and accelerate. A police siren sounds off behind me; I’m being pulled over.

“Dammit!” I pull the car over, then slam my hands against the steering wheel.

I don’t know what I’m being pulled over for, and have no idea why this cop has it out for me. He takes his time parking his bike, and walks slow as hell over to me. I grab my license and registration, roll my window down, and smack my documents against the outside of my door as he takes his sweet-ass time strolling over to me.

“Write me up, I need to get home.”

I toss the documents at the officer.

Rather than mouth a word of protest, rather than so much as bother with a rebuttal, the officer merely nods, and picks the documents up after he fumbles them. He’s nervous; sweating even. Guy looks like he’s ready to cry.

“You alright?” I ask.

He nods. “Huh? Oh, yeah.”

I’m angry and frustrated – yet I can’t help but worry for this officer. Why is he acting like this? Are criminals more courteous these days?

The cop travels back to his bike like he lost a war.

I scoff, then try Loretta again – no answer. I text her.

U ok?

I wait. Two minutes, but it feels like twenty.

Yes 🙂   

I’m not exactly at ease – Loretta says smiley face text messages are for pedophiles. I call her again – still no answer. Another three calls, then I text her.

“Everything alright??”

I wait another four minutes. No response this time. I squint and check out my rearview mirror. The officer is crying and staring at his gun.

CLICK HERE FOR 5.3!

• Thomas M. Watt

Master – 5.1

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

CHAPTER 5

I turn the key, start the engine, and drive off.

Charlie notices me from the driveway he’s marking up with chalk. His red shirt is halfway up his back and he doesn’t even know it. I give my horn a light honk. He shouts and waves with the chalk he’s holding, then returns to drawing some elephant-dinosaur hybrid. I feel obligated to warn him about how dangerous it is to draw so close to the pavement, but neighbors don’t always appreciate well intended advice – especially when it comes to their kids.

I grab my expos cap from the passenger street and screw it on my head as I exit my neighborhood and start along the main road.

A few repairs to do today, but mostly standard cleaning. Fortunately, most clients won’t be home. I like people; just not the way they look at me when I clean their pools.

I turn on the radio hoping to hear some jams. Instead, I get the stupid AM morning shows that nobody wants to hear. I switch to this popular jackass on FM – he calls himself ‘McWatty9’, and even though I listen to him I swear I can’t stand him. The guy reads the news off like he’s doing standup. Something he says catches my attention. I turn it up.

That’s right, folks the suspect with the penis-hairdo cops hunted like nymphos for has… finally-been-nabbed! Documentation confirms he’s the alleged bomb plotter whose made strange, mange, and deranged purchases up and down the county area. This dickhead won’t stop yammering to authorities either, but he… won’t give us a hint about what he’s done with all his bomb materials! Assuring us he’s not insane, the phallic-tipped bandit claims a man from his DREAMS made him do it!

           

My heart pounds. I pull over to the side of the road, put my truck in park, then turn the volume up.

And that, folks, is your… bum-ba-da- dum! Nutjob of the week!

(sound effect – a parrot chirps, “He’s a nutjob! He’s a nutjob!”)

           

I turn the radio off. Mere coincidence. Has to be. Still, I wish I knew more about the suspect’s story. I wish I knew more about the man in his dreams.

Part of me wants to call Loretta, right now, and tell her to take Avery to her mom’s house. I shake my head instead, then remind myself how ridiculous I’m being – it was a dream. Am I really so paranoid as to think ‘Master’ is real, and has some kind of power over me? I mutter to myself the best piece of advice my father ever gave me.

“Stop being an idiot.”

I get back on the road and head to my first house. It’s a nice place, overlooking the beach. Owner’s a tool, but his pool is beautiful. The water spills over the edge, giving it a ‘waterfall’ effect.

A white van approaches on the other side of the road, traveling the opposite direction as me. Its driver stares at me as our vehicles cross paths – he’s a white male, with serious power alleys. The man in the passenger seat is equally buff and terrifying. A scar runs from his nose to his lip, and he glares at me like a hungry wolf smells blood.

I keep track of the van in my rear view mirror. It disappears from view, driving somewhere in the direction of my neighborhood; in the direction of my family.

CLICK HERE FOR 5.2!

-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