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

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

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 3

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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 1

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“We’re doing great, really great… I just needed to listen better… No, a kiss goodnight and in the morning… not a chance, my parent’s divorce ruined me… she’s their mother, man!… Sounds good, you too.” Calvin ended the phone call and put out his cigarette. He hung his head, then smiled and opened the sliding door. He returned to the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” said Bridget. She scrunched her nose and sniffed. “You smell like cigarettes.”

“You quit, not me.”

“Smells repulsive.” Bridget finished shimmying into her red party dress. “How do I look, baby?”

Calvin plopped down at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets. “Great.”

Bridgette slipped her thumbs under her spaghetti straps and flipped her top down. She wiggled at the hips, so the two hills filling her push-up bra jiggled around.

“This better, baby?” she said with a laugh.

Calvin smiled. “Didn’t think you were dressing up for me.”

“You’re my husband!”

“…why don’t I come along, for a change?”

Bridgette scoffed. “We’ve been over this. You don’t do good at social events.” She tugged her red dress back up over her breasts, then smiled and pecked Calvin on the cheek. “You’re the one I come home to. You’re my protector and guardian… but sometimes I need you to protect and guard the kids.”

Her phone beeped. She peeked in her purse, then scurried with it out to the hallway bathroom.

“I was thinking maybe I could join you this time,” said Calvin.

“Why? It’s just me and people from the dealership.”

“But it’s a club, right?”

“You won’t let me dance now? God, give me a break-”

“Never said that, babe. But you’re going dancing, so I’m sure bringing a spouse is fine.” Calvin sighed, then dragged himself out to the hallway. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “You said you wanted to spend more time together, right?”

“At the dinner table! The dinner table, baby! When I’m here alone, and you’re working, or whatever it is you’re really doing.”

“Ok… well maybe it would be fun, like the old days. It’s good to go out together sometimes… I already hired a babysitter and cleared my plans-”

“Aw, baby,” said Bridgette. She came over to Calvin and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “You cancelled your date with your guitar, all for me?”

He forced a tight-lipped smile.

“I told Brody I’d be his date tonight,” said Bridgette, before glancing at Calvin through the corner of her eye. She scratched her eyebrow. “If you really want to come, I’ll let him know.”

“I do… You’re important to me.”

“Aw! You’re important to me!” Bridget smiled, then pinched Calvin’s cheek. “Fine… you win.” She grabbed her phone, tapped out a text, then waited for the response with her fingers in her lips.

“Who’s Brody?” said Calvin.

“Huh? Oh, my boss.”

“Ah. Ok.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know. You don’t say much about work.”

Bridgette’s eyes went wide. “I don’t say much about work?”

“I’m a firefighter… I work with all guys… Three days in a row.”

Her phone beeped. Bridget laughed so hard she snorted, then covered her mouth.

“What?”

She grabbed her purse and left the bathroom shaking her head.

“Babe?”

“You wanted this, not me!” Shouted Bridgette. She opened the front door and left the one-story house.

Calvin remained where he stood. He noticed something in their wedding portrait he’d never noticed before – Lying on the hill in the background was an old couple. Calvin squinted and moved for a closer look to be sure – the woman, easily seventy five, had her hand in her husbands pants! The husband, who might as well have had ‘grandfather’ written in wrinkles on his forehead, was smoking something that was far too fat and green to be a cigarette.

“You dirty dog…” said Calvin.

The front door swung open, and Bridget stuck her head back inside. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Calvin. He met her on the driveway then followed her out to the curb. Calvin plucked out another cigarette and lit it.

“Let me,” said Bridget, summoning the pack with her fingers.

He lowered an eyebrow, then handed her the lighter.

“The cigarette,” said Bridget.

“I thought you quit?”

“I did,” she said, then nabbed one out from his pack. She sucked half the life out with one puff. “We’re in for a show tonight, babe.”

“Oh… why?”

“Brody’s bringing his wife,” she said, exhaling a stream of white smoke.

“Oh,” Calvin said.

Bridgette pet down his hair. “She’s a bitch, honey. Imagine Cruella de Vill’s vagina. Everyone at work hates her. If Brody wasn’t such a sweetheart, he’d have divorced her already.”

Calvin lowered her wrist away from his hair. “Maybe he feels marriage is his best option… No matter what.”

Bridgette cracked up laughing and soon was in tears. “Yeah, right. Brody? Honey, he’s got more options than he can count! His wife’s a leech… married him for his money. Plus she’s dumb as a rock. Words won’t do justice, you just have to see for yourself. I kind of feel bad for him. Even her. She’s what’s known as ‘Fugly’.”

Calvin nodded. He lit another cigarette, but Bridgette plucked it from his lips. She smoked it, tossed it on the ground and stomped it out with her heel.

“No more smoking. We’re in this together.”

Calvin twisted his lips, then rocked back and forth as he waited with his hands in his pockets. Bridget texted.

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

…To be continued.

  • Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 2!

Sunshine Blogger Award

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That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I have been nominated for not one, but TWO sunshine blogger awards. Many thanks to both lovely ladies, Jennifer Calvert and Karina Pinella. I have received a grand total of sixteen questions to answer. Due to my smart-ass nature, I’ve elected to answer them in a press conference format, along with two of my other personalities. Make sure to read through to the bottom, because I’ve nominated 5 others for the award along with my own list of questions. Without further ado, I bring you the joint press conference.

  • * *

Three candidates take the stage simultaneously. Standing at the podium on the right is Thomas M. Watt, who takes a sip from his bottled water then adjusts his microphone. The middle podium belongs to McWatty9, whose devilish smile and fiery eyes are enough to prompt any parents to put their children to bed early. Hunching over the third podium and breathing with his mouth open is Henry Huerto, and it appears he forgot to brush some potato chip remnants off his t-shirt.

“Any a you idiots got a question?” says McWatty9.

Most journalists lower their hands and take up their pens. A woman in a purple blouse speaks up.

“Who are your favorite published authors?” she asks.

“Great question,” says Thomas. “I’ve always enjoyed anything written by John Steinbeck, but some of his work stirs me emotionally, particularly East of Eden. I tend to shy away from anything that hits too close to home, so I’ve never been able to finish that book. Right now I’m really into Vince Gilligan-”

“Lady asked about published authors dipshit, not television writers,” says McWatty9.

Thomas nods. “Yes, I’m aware. Thing is, his shows include so many awesome plot twists and feature strong, dynamic characters. I really enjoyed The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson, so I guess I should include him, too.”

Man with a hawaiian button-down shoots up from his seat. “What did you want to grow up to accomplish in your life?”  Other journalist raise their eyebrows at him. He gradually sits back down.

“A lot,” says Henry Huerto. “But you know, I didn’t do any of it. I guess I’m just a loser…”

You could hear crickets. Every person in the room avoids eye contact with Henry.

“Right, uhh, what are your favorite Movies?” says a journalist.

“The one I made with your mom,” says McWatty9. “And it’s about how we made you-”

“I’ll answer that,” says Thomas, racing to grab his mic.

“‘Cause I boned her,” says McWatty9.

“Favorite movies,” says Thomas. “I’d have to say the Matrix tops my list. The moment when Neo stands up after being shot dead inspires me every time. I watched Silence of the Lambs recently, that was an incredible body of work. Also enjoyed se7en, especially the ending – it’s funny how much of an impact the ending of a film has on your overall impression of the movie.”

“If you got to choose your last meal in life, what would it be?” asks a reporter.

“Hot cheetos and a gatorade,” says Henry.

“You a teenage girl?” says McWatty9.

“No… that just sounds good right now.”

“Ya know where the Brooklyn bridge’s at?”

“Yea,” says Henry.

“Good. Go there and Jump off it.”

“Next question,” says Thomas.

An eight year old girl wearing a backpack stands up. “What is your favorite… temperature?”

McWatty9 jumps to respond: “Eighteen hundred degrees.”

Room falls silent.

“Why?” asks Thomas.

“Because that’s the temperature I’m gonna have Henry cremated at.”

“Introvert or Extrovert?” asks a journalist.

Thomas answers. “Introvert, for sure. I like people, but I feel the majority of social gatherings are pointless and irrelevant. People respond to you better when you’re successful anyway, so I’d rather pour my time into whatever skill I’m currently trying to develop. Currently that’s writing… besides, no matter what group of people I spend time with, they inevitably begin bashing some other person who doesn’t conform to their group. I genuinely hate that, and the more I open my mouth I discover I’m a disagreeable person. My mind is always working toward fixing some kind of problem. Interactive, or extroverted people put a lot of time and effort into their relationships. I put mine into stories.”

Media members nod.

“What are your favorite past times?” asks a young women with a low-cut top.

“You,” says McWatty9.

Thomas clears his throat. “If I’m going to be honest, I have to say I don’t care much for any hobbies or endeavors that don’t bring me closer to my long-term goals. I have an obsessive, addictive personality, and don’t live anything close to a balanced life… So I have to say none.”

“What about yourself would you change, if you could?”

Henry grabs his mic. “Self doubt, paranoia, overthinking. Emotions get the better of me. I hate myself.”

An unsettling silence comes over the crowd.

“Brooklyn bridge,” says McWatty9, through a cough.

“What scares you the most?”

Thomas answers. “I hate spiders.”

“Bet ya like turtles,” says McWatty9.

Another journalists stands. “Why do you blog?”

“I like to see the responses I get to my stories. It’s a free way to get feedback, and an easy way to tell whether I’m putting out quality work. For a long time, people only seemed to enjoy the poems I would post. My short stories have only recently began to entertain my followers, and I’m really thrilled about that… for a long time, I couldn’t pay people to read my work.”

Guy with a rasta cap shouts: “Who is your favorite musician?”

Thomas says, “Currently I alternate between Eminem and Coldplay. Chris Martin is a genius, but I have mad respect for Eminem, especially because I relate to his struggle to make something of himself. He faced a lot of adversity and didn’t have much support. I should add that Ocean by John Butler Trio is the most beautiful song in the world.”

“How do you feel about awards?” says a teenager with zits.

“Same as I feel ’bout you,” says McWatty9.

“What is your favorite dessert?” says a big guy with a mustache.

“Um, I kind of like good and plenty,” says Henry. “I don’t know, those sound good right now… Does anybody have some I could share?”

Crickets.

“What makes your world rock?” says the young woman with the low-cut top. She bites the end of her pen.

“Dreams of the future,” says Thomas. “That always beats my current reality.”

“Waddup,” says the guy with the rasta cap. “Favorite music?”

Thomas grins and answers: “Similar to my taste for cinema and novels. When something is well written, it speaks to you. I don’t limit myself to any one genre, I’m more a fan of the individual artist.”

“How important is it to you to be a famous writer?” blurts out a father.

“I’m happy just to write,” says Thomas, before scratching the back of his head, then biting his lips. “Actually, it’s everything to me. That’s what I want to do with my life.”

The moderator walks out onto the stage, and claps his hands. “Ok folks, thank you all for joining us. That’ll be the end of the questions, so… get the hell out!”

  • * *

Now for my 5 nominees, and my ten questions. If you are nominated, you have to answer these… your wordpress contract obligates you under penalty of prison time, in case you never read the small print when you signed up. My nominees are:

  1. Storytime with John – Kid’s a natural. He’s up there with A Opinionated Man (see below).
  2. Ben Myatt – Writes bad ass characters, though his latest post has me concerned.
  3. Kevin Cooper – Ally of indie authors everywhere, great person and writer of the Miedo series.
  4. A Opinionated Man – King of internet blogs, far too big to bother with this.
  5. Ray M. Meadows – Fantastic writer and confrontational twitter-er

And the questions I have for you:

  1. If you could instantly learn any one skill set (i.e. fly a plane, fix an engine, surf), what would it be?
  2. It’s a beautiful, bright sunny day. What are your plans?
  3. Neighbor’s dog defecates right outside your front door. How do you respond?
  4. You just won the lottery. What’s the first thing you do?
  5. What do you think of these questions so far?
  6. I disagree. State something that most people consider completely normal that always feels bizarre to you.
  7. Zombie apocalypse – Which personality are you in your group of survivors?
  8. Do you regret accepting this award?
  9. Why do you blog?
  10. Any current projects you’re working on you’d care to share?

Thank you again to Jennifer and Karina for the nominations, and congratulations to those whom I nominated! I’ll be back blogging a new short story soon.

  • Thomas M. Watt

Sunset – Part 4

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Coming to kill you.

D’angelo read the text, fumbled his phone back into his pocket, then spun around.

The purple civic passed by again, slowing as it drove by his studio apartment.

D’angelo ransacked his place – but he didn’t own a gun, and had no steak knives. He checked his closet.

“Dammit!” he said, tearing down four blue suits from the rack. That’s when it caught his attention – his high school baseball bag. He tugged it out from the closet, then opened the bottom slit. He slid out his Easton 777, an aluminum baseball bat. D’angelo tapped the barrel against the flat the wood panels on his floor, then stepped over to his door.

He grabbed his phone back out, and his thumb shook as he responded.

Come get it.

D’angelo slammed the front door and hopped down the stoop. He waited on the side of the road.  Screeching tires – purple civic had just slammed the brakes and come to a stop in the middle of the road. The driver flickered their lights on and off, taunting him.

D’angelo’s heart raced as he marched toward it. He clenched the bat firm and breathed heavy. The engine turned off, and the lights went out.

“I’ll kill you!” D’angelo yelled. “You hear me?” He swung the bat over shoulder, but the handle slid through his sweaty hand. The bat fell and rang out on the cement. “I’m not afraid of anyone!” He said, picking it back up.

D’angelo wiped the sweat from his brow. “Ain’t afraid a shit,” he muttered to himself.

D’angelo crept onward. Night had turned cool, so much so he could now see his own breath. The purple civic turned back on, and the lights switched to bright, blinding him. D’angelo shielded his eyes, then heard rubber burn. He braced for impact, then kept one eye open when forced himself to look – The wheels took the civic in the opposite direction. It backed off the road, over some grass, then plowed into a tree. The airbag deployed.

“Karma, bitch,” said D’angelo. He broke into a jog – then his phone beeped. New message.

Meet at McFlannigan’s.

D’angelo squinted at the purple civic. An overgrown man moaned and groaned his way out. He wore a brown raincoat and aviator sunglasses. He stumbled over to D’angelo.

Hiding his eyes were dark aviator sunglasses that had been shoddily glued back together.

“John?” said D’angelo.

John halted with a wobble. His phone was in his hand.

“You drunk, bro?”

“No, never, of course not. I do not drink alcoholic beverages. I’m not an alcoholic.”

“I met you at McFlannigans.”

John shook his head, then turned away and slid his phone back into his pocket. “Common misconception. Where we allocate may indicate certain characteristics of our personalities, but it does not dictate our actions.”

Another beep. D’angelo opened the new message.

Be there in 15 or I will kill you in your sleep.

D’angelo shook his head, then spit on the ground. “Hey, I got to go bro. Good luck with this,” he said, then turned and headed off.

“Wait!” said John.

D’angelo stopped. “What?”

“Where are you going, I was wondering?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Is it McFlannigans? Or will you just go to sleep tonight? It’s just a question, actually two, but that’s it.”

D’angelo knocked the end of his bat softly against the pavement, and stared at John with a single eye squint.

“McFlannigans.”

“Great! I’ll go with you.”

“Your cars here, bro.”

John turned, laughed at his car, then swatted at the air with his hand. “I’m quite sure, you know, that even if I leave it here, I will find it here, sitting and waiting for me, later, when I come back for it.”

John jogged over. D’angelo stuck his hand out when he got close.

“You’re stayin’, bro.”

“I know where you live,” said John.

D’angelo pushed his jaw out.

“But only because I watched you run there. I remained where I stood, don’t you remember? I was angry.”

“Whatchu want, bro?”

John stepped forward, and reached into the pocket of his raincoat. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet. I’ve been… straightforward.”

“You got a deathwish?”

John flipped his eyes down at the bat D’angelo held, then chuckled.

“Never said a joke, bro.”

“The bat. That is the joke,” said John. His hand remained in his pocket, angled straight at D’angelo. “If you knew what I was holding, you would know why I am laughing.”

“Why?”

“It will not help you.”

“I can knock skulls with-”

“Should have brought a shovel. Would have made things easier.”

D’angelo ground his teeth, then lifted the bat over his shoulder.

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.”

To be continued…

– Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 5!

Master Update – 9/21

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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

Sunset – Part 1

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Coming to kill you.

D’angelo read the text, fumbled his phone back into his pocket, then spun around.

  • * *

3 HOURS EARLIER

Orange glow of the sun hovered over the horizon. D’angelo had just gotten his head shaved and beard trimmed at the local barber shop. Nothing unusual this day – other than the young girl who’d nearly killed herself crossing the street. She had headphones in and never checked for cars before setting foot on the crosswalk. D’angelo spotted and grabbed her before a BMW plowed her into oblivion. The thanks he’d gotten from those nearby was great, but the fact he didn’t have to wait around to file a witness report was thanks in itself.

D’angelo lived a good life – lots a work, a little play… What more is there? A long day with a few good sales called for a drink at the local pub.

Whiskey and ginger, that was his shit. Lakers game on a Tuesday evening didn’t require much. But that’s when she entered – thick body, round cheeks, and a streak of purple in her jet black hair. Girl’s a freak – just his type.

“Number,” she said.

D’angelo eyed her, then checked over his opposite shoulder. “Who you talking to?”

“Ghost behind you.”

Dangelo smiled and laughed. She didn’t.

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Order me a drink.”

D’angelo scratched his neck, then whistled for the bartender.

“Yes?” said the bartender.

“Get this lady a cocktail.”

“Try again,” she said.

“Margarita,” said D’angelo.

The bartender raised his eyebrows at her.

“Coors Light,” she said.

D’angelo laughed.

“Sunset,” she said.

“What?”

“My name.”

“Your name’s sunset?”

The bartender brought over her drink.

“Yes,” said Sunset. Soon as she took the Coors Light, she swapped it with D’angelo’s whiskey ginger. Sunset sucked down D’angelo’s drink through the skinny red straw ’till nothing but ice remained.

“Who do you think you-“

“Open your ears, I told you already. Phone number,” said Sunset, before holding out her phone.

D’angelo scoffed, then shook his head. “I’m not into bossy women, you know,” he said, then entered his number into her contacts. He gave the phone back to her.

Sunset stood up and started away. D’angelo grabbed her by the elbow.

“Where you going?”

She looked down at the grip he had on her, then slowly lifted her gaze until her purple lasers were aimed at him. “Don’t,” she said.

“Okay, alright.” He let go. “Sorry.”

“Me too,” she said, then started off.

D’angelo swiveled on the bar stool, stood up and spat out his words.”For leaving, or what?”

The clicking of Sunset’s heels ceased. She kept her back to him for a moment, then rotated around slowly. When she faced him again, she wore a red lipstick smile from ear to ear. Sunset strolled back to D’angelo, cupped her hands around his ears, then pushed a wet kiss onto his lips.

“Bad thoughts,” she said, then whirled around and strutted away.

To be continued...

  • Thomas M. Watt

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Donald and Thurma – Part 4 – Finale

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

“I think I can,” he said to himself, chugging along the sidewalk tracks. “I think I can.”

Donald walked with both fists clenched. Amanda and Thurma strolled a short ways ahead, Thurma with her head down.

He wasn’t angry, he was determined – and approaching a girl who was more than likely to reject him was no easy task for Donald.

“Hey,” he called out.

The two girls turned around. Amanda smirked, and crossed her arms. Thurma stilted like a wooden statue.

“Let me guess,” said Amanda. “You found something and were wondering if it belongs to Thurma. Is that your excuse for talking to her? Because that’s not exactly original.”

“No,” said Donald. “I want to talk to her as myself.”

“Why?” said Amanda, narrowing her eyes. “Been acting like somebody else?”

Donald stared straight at Thurma. “Have you?”

Silence.

“Erm, I’ll leave you two alone,” said Amanda, before patting her friend on the shoulder and walking on ahead.

“What are you talking about?” Thurma said to him.

“This shit.” Donald pointed back to the bar. “You want some dipshit frat-boy, let me know and I’ll leave right now.”

“I don’t want that.”

“I’m a dork. My name’s Donald by the way.”

“Mine’s Thurma.”

“You’re one too.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Thurma. She twisted her lip, then sighed and lowered her gaze to his feet. “But maybe I’m not the bitch who you met, either.”

“Good.”

She looked back up. “Maybe I am just a basic bitch. Maybe if you knew the real me, you wouldn’t have come running to talk to me.”

“I like basic bitches. I’m a basic dude.”

Thurma chuckled, then hid her teeth behind her hand. “So what do you want?”

“Huh?”

“What are you after?” She said, then set her hands on her hips. “Is it a number, to brag to your friend about? Because if you really think you’re going to sleep with me tonight-”

“I came to talk with you. That’s all.”

“Why?”

“Because when I look at you I see a part of me, the part that I like.”

“What part’s that?”

Donald scratched the back of his head, then looked away. “I like good morning texts. I like snuggling. I like having to tell a girl she doesn’t have to worry about what’s-her-name, no matter how paranoid she’s being, or clingy she becomes.”

“I’m not following you.”

Donald shook his head, then returned his gaze to Thurma. He creased his brow when he noticed the mark on her chin, then leaned forward to get a better look at it.

“Stop!” she said, then covered the mark with her hand. “That’s rude.”

Donald grabbed her wrist and forced it away, then set his thumb on her chin. “I like the scar you try to hind behind your makeup.”

Thurma’s exhale came heavy. “Oh…”

“The stuff that puts other guys off, that’s the stuff that I like. You could say that’s from low-confidence, but I don’t think it is. I think it’s a preference.”

“Ok.”

“There’s no line I can say to make you want me, there’s no maneuver I can use that will get you to like me back.”

Thurma’s eyes fidgeted in Donald’s.

“I’m just saying that I’d like to get to know you. If that friend zones me, then fine-”

“You said it.”

“What?”

“About fifteen seconds ago. You said the line that won me.”

“Huh?”

“Kiss me dork.”

Donald moved in with a smirk, then gave Thurma a light peck on the cheek.

Thurma shook her head, then scolded him with a finger wag. “I swear to God, if that’s what you think it means to kiss a girl don’t ever-”

Donald slid his hand through her hair, raking her brunnette locks up in his fingers until he had his hand wrapped around the back of her head. He advanced until her forearm fell flat against his chest, then dug his lips into hers. Thurma’s eyes dropped closed and the phone she had been holding unraveled from her fingers and plummeted until it cracked against the sidewalk. She immediately pressed her newly-freed hand against the side of his face.

An obnoxious series of honks was followed by a loud holler:

“Fuck her already, bro!” Yelled Freddy.

Donald finally took a step back.

“Number,” said Thurma.

“I think your phone broke.”

“Ok.”

Donald smiled, then wrote his down on a wrinkled napkin he’d stored in his pocket. “Nice meeting you,” he said, then turned around and headed towards Freddy’s escalade. Once he took his seat Freddy sped away.

“You better get a tit-pit,” said Freddy.

Donald grinned and looked at him.

“What?” said Freddy.

“I’m the man,” said Donald.

“You’re a man, not sure if you’re the man.”

“No,” said Donald, before turning the bass up on Freddy’s sound system. “I’m the man.”

The End!

Hope you enjoyed.

  • Thomas M. Watt