Our Mayor

Welcome to Matthew S. Rotundo's home page. Matt is an award-winning writer of science fiction, fantasy, and horror. Read more about him here.

The Pixeltown Dispatch
Sign up here to be notified about new releases and other news of interest from Matthew S. Rotundo. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Satellite Office
The Rotundo World Tour


ConStellation 10
Lincoln, NE
April 26-28

Watch this space for updates!

Progress Report, in which my muse changes it up

Another week, another 5K for Apocalypse Pictures Presents–or as Magic Meter puts it,

My muse paid me a visit, which is always a pleasant surprise.  But instead of revealing a bit of the future, as is her usual wont, she illuminated the past–a little change-up to keep me on my toes.  Specifically, she explained to me why Chapter Two happened.  Which, you know, is good information.  I’d been kinda wondering.  A little retconning will be needed, but what first draft doesn’t need a good retcon?

The next chapter will conclude Act I–in a thrilling and captivating manner, one hopes.

And now, some snippety goodness, prepared especially for you:

Santiago peered over Gil’s shoulder.  “What is that?”

“It’s a keycard,” Gil said in a wondering voice.  He squatted so he could hold it before the prisoner’s eyes.  “Where did you get this?”

The man shook his head.  “That?  I dunno, I just found it this morning.  I was scavenging in Santa Monica.  That was just lying around.  I thought it looked kind of cool, so I picked it up.”

Gil leaned in.  “All right, you get that one for free.  You lie to me one more time, though, and Susan’s gonna shoot you in the head.  Follow?”

“I’m not–”  The man stopped when he saw the expression on Gil’s face.  He licked his lips, breathing hard.  “I wasn’t doing anything, I swear.”

“You weren’t spying on us?” Susan said.

His words came in a rush:  “I saw you coming down Sunset.  When you turned off, I followed you.  I was just curious, that’s all.  Swear to God.  You never see any vehicles out here.  I was hoping I might be able to score some water.”

Gil gave a tsk and stood.  “Well, that’s too bad.  If you’d been straight with me, I might have given you some water.  But you just signed your own death warrant.”

No updates for Write Club.

Headlong into the holiday season . . .

Leave a Reply