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Blog of Jim Flynn
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AuthorJim Flynn is a humorist, writer and novelist. He is available for speaking engagements. To contact email: [email protected] Archives
August 2026
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Batman vs. Homer8/1/2026  There’s a new trend in filmmaking: the movie is as long as the actual event.
I just saw The Odyssey. Odysseus was gone from home for twenty years—ten years fighting the Trojan War and another ten trying to get back. As I watched the movie, I began to suspect Christopher Nolan had shot it in real time. I defy anyone to make even the $20 Super Tub of popcorn last through the whole thing. Every review seemed to begin the same way: Another Christopher Nolan masterpiece. After that, the critics differed only on which aspect of the masterpieceness was the most masterpiecish. Don’t get me wrong. Christopher Nolan is a gifted man. Oppenheimer was great. But I do hold this against him: The guy has made three—yes, three—Batman movies. I hate Batman. I know it’s irrational to hate a fictional character, but I hate Batman. I am no longer going to spend three hours watching Bruce Wayne (spoiler: he's secretly Batman) in the same dark, dark, depressing movie. He’s a rich guy with really cool toys who always wins and never has any fun. His character arc is: brooding, followed by violence, followed by additional brooding. Hey, Batman: Take up pickleball. Buy a dog. You’re a billionaire. Try to meet some nice girls. The money should help. Back to The Odyssey. If you’ve tried to learn anything about writing in the last fifty years, you haven’t been able to avoid a concept called The Hero’s Journey. A professor named Joseph Campbell wrote a book called The Hero with a Thousand Faces. I recommend reading the book if you suffer from severe insomnia. Otherwise, ask ChatGPT for a summary. If you’re too lazy to do that, here it is: The hero leaves home. Bad things happen. The hero returns changed. The Odyssey is one of the original blueprints. George Lucas read Joseph Campbell's book and made Star Wars. Hollywood, which values artistic integrity—money—above everything else, saw the box office for Star Wars and lost its mind. Ever since, screenwriting professors have found the Hero’s Journey in every successful story, whether it’s actually there or not. Agatha Christie didn’t write Hero’s Journeys. Hercule Poirot doesn’t enter a strange new world and return transformed. He questions twelve unpleasant rich people, identifies the murderer, and remains exactly as irritating as he was at the beginning. I watched The Odyssey looking for the familiar beats of the Hero’s Journey. They were there. After all, it helped invent them. Was the movie too long? For me, yes. But I’m not the target audience. It was a superb superhero movie. And Odysseus, played by Matt Damon, actually smiled occasionally. That puts him ahead of Batman. My new thriller, Baker Baker, is coming soon. JR Johnson doesn’t take a Hero’s Journey. He follows the money. Several people are trying to kill him. JR thinks all these people trying to get him is fun. I think you'll have fun too. No intermission required.
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 Except Me
And I happened to be the one actually on the show I've become convinced our brains aren't tape recorders. They're screenwriters. Every time we remember something, we edit it a little. Eventually we forget the truth and remember only the story. It was a hard question. The answer was: Who is Franklin Pierce? For months...no...years after the show aired people came up to me. Not people. Men. It was always a guy. "Jim...I knew the answer. I knew it was Franklin Pierce," they'd say. I tried to act like a good sport. Inwardly I was always thinking: Would a jury be sympathetic if I murder this guy? The years have mellowed me. A bit. These guys were doing what I do now. My brain is slower. So when I hear the Jeopardy answer, I say to myself: "Oh, I knew that." That's not the same. People convince themselves that they knew. Malcolm Gladwell would have a name for this phenomenon. Suggested book title: The Daily Double Fallacy. The older I get the more I realize everybody is walking around with their own personal documentary in their head. And somehow we're always the hero. The Truth Depends On Who is Telling the Story. And if you tell a story enough times, it becomes truth to you. That's one of the themes of the novel I'm working on. Don't worry. The philosophy isn't that deep. Coming soon. In the spirit of full disclosure, I have to admit. I love it when a Jeopardy contestant does the: "I've always wanted to say this Alex/Ken. A True Daily Double." Then gets it wrong. Still bitter after all these years, I guess. The Germans have a word for this: schadenfreude. It means getting pleasure from the misfortunes of others. Admit it: you do it too. By the way: If you know Malcolm Gladwell, please forward this to him. It's a great book idea. Maybe he'll let me write the Foreword.
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Lifelong Fan...Since Tuesday6/17/2026  The New York Knicks just won the NBA title. The last time they won was such a long time ago. I do remember that one of their tall guys later became a U.S. Senator.
I think it was Abraham Lincoln. The airwaves are now filled with actors, celebrities, news media types who are proclaiming their life-long devotion to the Knicks. By “life-long” I think they mean April of this year when the Knicks began an improbable winning streak. They seem to know that the game is played with a round ball, the New York Knicks play in New York, and courtside seats face the camera. Before you're allowed to call yourself a lifelong fan, you should have to pass a written exam. Nothing difficult. Just prove you knew the Knicks existed before last Tuesday. I understand the temptation. The Knicks won the title, so I've already decided I've been a fan for years. I don't own a jersey. I couldn't name three players if my life depended on it. I did watch part of a regular season game while looking for the Weather Channel. But I knew “we” could do it. If history repeats itself, we’ll win another title when I’m 128 years old. I’ll be able to say truthfully that I’ve been a fan since April. Just thought of something. The last time the Knicks won, the Jets won the Super Bowl. I think. Maybe it’s time to borrow from your 401(k) and put it all on the Jets.* *Not investment advice. Cannot be used in court as evidence. If you have a gambling problem, call 1-800-THE-JETS?
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No Pain, All Gain: Trust Me, Grasshopper5/31/2026  Ok, I admit this is an AI generated aspirational illustration of what I'll look like in 6 weeks of Tai Chi workouts, but I'm trending in that direction.
If you're a guy anywhere near my age, the algorithm has found you too. Whenever I go on YouTube or Facebook, there's a Chinese gent who looks about two hundred years old, but he has abs like the illustration above. He speaks with such dignity and calm that he must be telling the truth, right? If I looked like that, I'd never button my shirt either. He discloses an ancient Chinese secret workout, that was locked away for centuries, and can only be revealed now that you can put your credit card information on the internet. I didn't watch the whole video, but the fellow talks about a bet he made with his wife regarding the results of the workout program. If he loses, they go to Paris. If he wins, they go to Hawaii. Win or lose, sounds like a good bet. Who is paying for this vacation? You are, if you sign up for the free Tai Chi chair workout program. How could that be? It's free! Best case is: he's going to sell your name and email address to other people who want to market to the following demographic: Delusional old guys who think doing minimal exercise five minutes day will make you look like this, even though their food pyramid in the last five years has been based on Tater Tots. Admit it: Your previous diets have consisted of temporarily switching to Lite Beer. Worse case, in addition to selling your name, the Tai Chi people are going to tell you that in order to get real results, you should upgrade to the paid program, and possibly buy some nutritional supplements. Warning: Tater Tots are not part of the Tai Chi nutritional plan. I've got to go now. Time to wave my arms over my head for five minutes. Not just any old waving around---the ancient Chinese way! Makes all the difference, Grasshopper. Soon I will be auditioning for the role of Geriatric Man in the new Marvel Superhero Movie.
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 I was writing my new JR Johnson novel when I needed a detail to show readers a character was a phony.
The guy boasts that his office chairs are made of Soft Corinthian leather. If you’re old enough, you immediately hear Ricardo Montalban saying it in that impossibly smooth voice from the old Chrysler Cordoba commercials. Back then, if Ricardo Montalban told America the seats were wrapped in the hides of magical Corinthian cows, we believed him. In the scene, JR asks: “What is Corinthian leather anyhow?” The guy answers: “Some kind of leather, I guess. Nobody ever asked me before.” Turns out, that’s basically the real story. I looked it up. There is no such thing as Corinthian leather. None. Zero. The ad agency made it up because “soft leather” sounded like a sleazy salesman trying to sell you a Naugahyde sofa. That’s it. Entirely fabricated. Marketing. Add one word: Corinthian, and we all still remember the commercial from the 1970s. And America responded: “Take my money immediately.” Which explains most of modern civilization. Words can be powerful. We buy words, phrases. Luxury branding is basically adult fairy tales. Corinthian leather. Mountain spring water. Artisan-crafted coffee, $12 a pop in NYC, for a Grande, which is two ounces. Farm-to-table. AI-powered toothbrushes. Oh, did I mention the new book will be printed on Genuine Corinthian Paper? Sourced only from organic trees, hand curated. A Grande print edition will be available. If only Ricardo Montalban was around to narrate the audiobook.
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 Every writer dreams of free nation-wide publicity for their book.
Free? Yes. But a few strings attached. This example: Life Sentence without Parole. A Utah children’s author and mother of three recently wrote a heartfelt book about helping kids deal with grief after the sudden death of her husband. Then prosecutors alleged she poisoned him by lacing his Moscow Mule cocktail with fentanyl. She has now been convicted. There was a big life insurance policy involved. From a marketing standpoint the situation is what they call “a complicated launch." The book was titled Are You With Me? The book can still be salvaged. It just needs a little rebranding. Suggested new title: Kids...Who Wants a Pony? I've been told I have a knack for titles. Still, there may actually be a lesson here for writers. For years we’ve all been told the secret to selling books is “authenticity.” Write what you know. Create emotional truth. Build your brand. Establish credibility. Hey, she took it too far, ok? And, referring to the photo above, she might have wanted an attorney with better body language. Meanwhile, most writers I know can’t even finish Chapter Three because Netflix just released a documentary about serial killers, and they've got to binge watch all 14 episodes for research purposes. The publishing industry always talks about “finding your niche.” Here’s my professional advice: try not to make your niche “suspected murderer accidentally creating the worst book publicity tour in modern history.” Though I admit this story does answer one publishing question. Yes, people still notice books. A friend of mine likes to say, "You can't make this stuff up." You don't have to! Meanwhile, be on the lookout for my soon to be released new JR Johnson thriller.
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 The internet never forgets. It just waits. Quietly. Patiently. Like when my wife brings up that thing I said in 1978. 
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She Has Green Eyes. Run.4/10/2026  Let me tell you something I’ve learned after years of reading thrillers, writing thrillers, and occasionally wondering why my own life lacks anyone actively trying to kill me. (as of this writing) If a woman in fiction has green eyes, you’re in trouble. Not mild trouble. Not “this might complicate things” trouble. I’m talking about the kind of trouble where Hollywood Bureau detectives have you under hot lights, and your fingerprints were found at the scene. On your pistol. Even though you were in Pittsburgh at the time of the murder. Nobody saw you in Pittsburgh. Because she has green eyes. In the real world, green eyes show up in about 2% of the population. In fiction, that number jumps to roughly 100%, which is impressive given the math. But writers—myself included, I confess—keep going back to the well. Why? Because green eyes are doing a job. A big job. Examples: Scarlett O'Hara, Gone With The Wind. Lizbeth Salander, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, Amy Dunne, Gone Girl, Clarice Starling, The Silence of the Lambs, and Claire Frasier, Outlander, who not only has the eyes, but time travels by touching a rock. Even Agatha Christie used the green eyed woman shortcut. Several times. And Catherine Trammel, played by Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, had green eyes. And just like that, the reader goes: Ah. Got it. She’s dangerous. Green eyes in fiction are not just a physical trait. They are a warning label. They say: This woman is smarter than everyone in the room. She knows something you don’t. She may kiss you or kill you. Possibly both, depending on pacing. And five years ago Gabrielle McHugh was written with green eyes. I didn't do it consciously. She's featured in The Seventh Man, which I'm working on. Green eyes works for female characters. For men, I go with the advice of Raymond Chandler: When in doubt, have a man with a gun in his hand come through the door. Then-if a woman with green eyes comes through the door five minutes later with a gun in her hand, you're really in trouble. .
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The Nissan Naugatuck?3/30/2026  The blog is going from once a week to once in a while. I'll explain later. Meanwhile, it hit me how trucks and SUVs are named after rough and ready places, mostly out West in the mountains, so we can image ourselves as rugged individualists while stuck at a stop light headed for Home Depot. But I think the car companies have used up all the cool places. Santa Fe, Tahoe, Denali, Outback, Sierra, Silverado, Telluride, Yukon, Durango, Santa Cruz, Ridgeline, Kona, Tundra, Wind River. Okay, you caught me, I made up the last one. How did they miss Wind River? There's even a Toyota Tacoma. I drive one. Last time I was in Tacoma, Washington it reeked from the many paper mills, so much so that the smell was cleverly nicknamed "The Tacoma Aroma." That was forty years ago, and I hear the mills are gone, place has been cleaned up and gentrified, a repurposed Northwest version of Brooklyn. Bonus question: Wouldn't The Tacoma Aroma be a great name for the minor league baseball team? But I think it's time for some representation of us rust belt Northeasterners. We buy most of those Subarus. Forget mountains. We've got abandoned factories and potholes deep enough to fly fish in. How about the Nissan Naugatuck? The Ford F-150 Pougheepsie Edition? The Chevy Bridgeport? The Subaru Chicopee? And for driving rocky beaches? The Dodge Plymouth. You've got to be rugged to survive these places. I'm willing to sell my consulting services to the auto industry. Now. About the blog. I've got to focus on finishing my JR Johnson novels. I have a trilogy that came to me, and I'm going to spend time on that. Will do a blog post when I have something to say. Meanwhile, if you haven't seen Press The Button, please take a look: www.amazon.com/dp/B0GR9HLFDK 
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Printer vs. Baseball Bat3/21/2026  Based on this morning. I have owned many printers in my life. Inkjet. Laser. Wireless. “All-in-one.” Which, by the way, is marketing code for none of the functions work particularly well, but they all fail in different and exciting ways. And I can say this with complete confidence: I have never owned a printer I didn’t eventually want to beat to death with a baseball bat like they did in Office Space. You print a test page. It works. You feel a little thrill. You think, This one’s different. Then you try to print something important. Something time-sensitive. A boarding pass. Tax documents. And suddenly, the printer becomes a philosopher. “Paper jam.” There is no paper jam. You open every compartment like you’re performing surgery on a toaster. Nothing. You close it. Then it escalates. “Low ink.” You just bought the cartridge. It cost more than the printer. You replace it anyway. “Cartridge not recognized.” You unplug it. You plug it back in. Nothing works. And here’s the real genius: printers fail only when you need them. The moment you need one page—just one—the printer senses it. It is a Smart Printer. Smart enough to sabotage you. The start of SkyNet taking over. You see yourself in a field. Slow motion. You’re holding a baseball bat. The printer is on the ground. You take a swing. Admit it. You've been there. Which brings me to my proposal. Forget software updates. Forget “smart features.” Just include the bat. Right in the box. “Congratulations on your purchase. Inside you’ll find your printer, power cord, starter ink cartridge, and a regulation Louisville Slugger.” Maybe even a little instruction manual: Step 1: Attempt to print. Step 2: Experience confusion. Step 3: Experience rage. Step 4: Proceed directly to the bat. The customer support hotline is answered by a former minor league baseball player. He advises you on your stance. Wouldn't that be great? Because if printer companies were honest—the packaging wouldn’t show a smiling family printing vacation photos. It would be a photo of the characters Samir and Michael from Office Space smashing the printer in a field. And honestly? I’d trust that brand more. If you haven't seen Press The Button, you might want to check it out on Amazon: www.amazon.com/dp/B0GR9HLFDK  |
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