Just one

You don’t need more motorcycles! You’ve already got one! No more.

Unless you’re totally changing paradigms, like getting an adv bike when you already have a cruiser or street bike. But that’s like a different thing.

But that’s it! Two motorcycles and no more!

Unless you get a Grom, because they’re super fun and so small they’re barely even bikes.

Three motorcycles. Don’t buy another.

Another internal combustion engine bike. Electric bikes are fun too, and they’re good for the environment, and you want to help the environment, don’t you? Also, the silence is super weird. All you hear is chain and tire noise. So four motorcycles. Then you stop!

Buying modern motorcycles. Respect your heritage. Get a Vincent or something if you can.

And a project bike.

And another bike to be a parts bike for the project bike.

And then you stop!

Hunted and bagged

I’ve begun reading and watching editorial comedy. It’s editors gussying up their responses to clients. Obviously, it’s played for laughs, but there’s truth in there.

Oh, dear God, I am these people. I am both ends of the joke. I am the audience laughing at the silly author, and I am the author who doesn’t understand why ‘Her snozzberries tasted like snozzberries’ isn’t an applicable line for a spicy romance.


Just heard Genesis, Jimmy Buffett, and Nirvana, in succession, on the classic rock station.

Those are all the same genre of music now.

God, I’m f’kin old.

Chop Chop Goes the Editing

My problem is narrative oversharing. My fiction goes way too long into things that don’t need discussion.

I’d really like to see the original, terrible cut of Star Wars just to understand classic examples of what should be cut.


The professor was a blithering idiot.

“I really don’t care about any of you students,” he said. “I went to harder schools, and over fifty percent of us didn’t have what it took. You’re lazy, you’re cheaters, and you don’t care. You’re just here to appease your parents or meet boys, girls, what-have you, and none of you are worth my time. I don’t accept late homework. I don’t give partial credit. I will fail each and every one of you, and laugh in your whining faces when I do it. I just don’t like you, and I hope that tells you everything you need to know about this class.”

It absolutely did, and I rose to leave.

“But for those of you still here, we’ll begin with advanced draconomancy, the summoning and controlling of dragons. They’re immune to normal sorcery, so we’ll have to develop specific techniques.”

I sat back down, and I hated myself for it.