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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
January 2026
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Elevator Eavesdropping1/17/2026  Before the excerpt from Press The Button, this week's BREAKING NEWS: A reader has notified me that The Hallmark Channel is available in France. It is streamed in English with French subtitles. The Hallmark Channel's A Pickleball Christmas was shown in France. Apparently French has a word for pickleball racquet. It translates to: Giant ping pong paddle of shame. Some other time I'll get into my conspiracy theory that pickleball was invented by orthopedic surgeons as a way to increase business. ****************************** An excerpt from Press The Button: When I was working as a stockbroker, er, financial advisor, I needed to have an outlet for my creativity. Since I couldn't sit around writing all day, I had to pick my spots. One venue I enjoyed was the elevator.. They say you really get to know a person in a foxhole. Or after seven years of marriage. Or during eighteen holes of golf. I say-- just take the elevator with me. It’s quicker. And nobody gets trench foot. I especially love it when I catch someone eavesdropping. Because I immediately go into a stage whisper-- loud enough for the eavesdropper to hear—and say something like: “Spielberg called again last night. Wants help writing Act Two. I haven’t worked with him since Jurassic Park.” Or-- “And it turns out, I didn’t have Ebola after all. I don’t even need to wear a mask anymore.” (cough a little) Or "My therapist says I'm making progress. No panic attacks in elevators... almost a month." I call it a talent. Human Resources used to call it "a recurring pattern." I might launch an online course: Elevator Improv 101. I’m available for birthdays, bar mitzvahs, and elevator-themed improv festivals. Pro tip-- after you drop your line, exit at the next floor. Unless the eavesdropper does too. As my grandma always said, “Leave them wanting more.” She was often asked to take the stairs.  Want to sign up for this blog every week?
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Writer Industrial Complex1/10/2026  This week's excerpt from Press The Button. ********************* Remember these ads? Soft sell: “We’re looking for people who like to draw.” Right next to a picture of Norman Rockwell. Like Norman himself was running HR. Hard sell: A photo of an artist at an easel, looking straight at you. Caption: “Fed up? With your present job? Your pay? Your future?” Which—yes. Obviously. That’s why I’m reading magazine ads like they’re fortune cookies. Nobody’s thinking, “No thanks. I love my current job walking behind circus elephants with a shovel. It was worth it, four years of majoring in Art History.” These ads were for the Famous Artists School of Westport, Connecticut. Westport had a vibe. You couldn’t throw a Frisbee without hitting a famous artist-- or a guy who told you he was a famous artist. He had opinions. Mostly about the use of shadows. The Famous Artists School had a selective admissions policy. If you sent them money… you were selected. They offered mail-order art lessons and a big stack of expensive books. But that wasn’t what they were really selling. They were selling hope. Hope is the most profitable product ever invented. Right after gym memberships. The Famous Artists School peaked in the 1960s. Then technology changed. Drawing faded. So now we write novels. Because writing-- isn't threatened by technology, right? And there's not much competition. Except for six million people writing vampire romances. And Artificial Intelligence. The modern version of the Famous Artists School is what I call The Writer Industrial Complex. There’s a lot of money in writing. I know because I’ve personally contributed. The money isn’t made by people writing books. It’s made by people explaining—very confidently-- the easy hacks to writing success. We’ll get into that. As soon as I finish this webinar I already paid for: Unlocking Your Seven-Figure Author Mindset. Actual writing not included. Well, you better be successful writing. Because the circus went out of business. And now the elephant is writing a dystopian vampire romance. *********************** As long as you're here: Be Sincere Even When You Don't Mean It is having a resurgence in Australia. Why Australia? I don't know. But haven't you always wanted to be like Crocodile Dundee? Take a look, over at Amazon. The audiobook version features terrific narration by Gary Williams. also available in paperback and eBook versions. just click on the image below 
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 Before my weekly passage from Press The Button, BREAKING NEWS: In my never ending quest to see if the Hallmark Channel has run out of movies with the word Christmas in the title, I stumbled across a real made for TV movie called: A Pickleball Christmas. I watched a bit of it, and can honestly say it is the best Pickleball themed holiday movie I've ever seen. When Cassidy Winters, a small town girl who left to become a big deal real estate agent in Chicago returns home to help her grandmother who broke her hip while playing pickleball at Golden Paddles Village, complications arise. Cassidy's old high school flame, Luke Marlowe, stuck around and is now a gym teacher and pickleball entrepreneur. Could romance be rekindled under the watchful eyes of the geriatric pickleball ladies? Really? Yeah really. I'm not making this up. I am not capable of making this up. Golden Paddles Village? ******************************* And here's an excerpt from Press The Button that would not make a Hallmark movie: The December Roll Call I do a lot of jokes about dying. It’s my defense mechanism. Some guys yell. Some guys drink. Me? I make celebrity death my hobby. Keeps me busy. It’s too cold now for golf. And it’s the end of the year, which means one thing-- the big They Died This Year montage of celebrity obituaries. Every year I’m sitting there thinking, “Wait… this guy was alive? Since when?” They start with the big names-- movie stars, athletes, celebrity felons. But once they run out of those, they start scraping the bottom of the pop-culture barrel. Pretty soon it’s people you forgot ever existed. Like Zippy Mitchell. Remember him? He played the bilge pump operator on The Love Boat. A role so minor they could’ve replaced him with an actual bilge pump and nobody would’ve noticed. And every time I see a name like that, I wonder-- How does a guy like that make a living for the fifty years since that show ended? Did he invest wisely? Marry into a wealthy plumbing family? ********************* Thought: The term Golden Paddles Village should become a euphemism for the place celebrities go, who are, well, featured in the year end montage. As In: Coming up, immortal celebrities who are now playing eternally at Golden Paddles Village.  Remember: I write novels too. Darker, same voice, more bodies hit the floor. Stay tuned. Questions or comments? click here to reach me: [email protected]
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Stop The Presses!12/27/2025  Amazon doesn't really use presses. It's more like laser printer technology, but you get the idea, right? I had finished Press The Button, and was making the finishing touches for a January 4th release. I put it aside for a couple days then read it. It's funny...but I'm not sure it works as a book. I have a paid marketing consultant who I talk to once a year. She gave me an idea six years ago that made me five figures, so I pay attention to her. She reviewed Press The Button, and after a discussion we agreed: it's written to be spoken, like stand up comedy. Or read in short bursts. I have loyal readers who get every book, and I didn't want to burn them out to the point of exhaustion, especially when I have a new JR Johnson novel coming out in March. That's a real book, the one I want people to focus on. So here's the new plan: I'm serializing Press The Button here on my weekly blog posts. At the same time I'm starting a YouTube channel on which I read chapters of Press The Button. We'll see how it goes. If there's demand, maybe I'll publish a paperback and do an audiobook. I hope this project entertains people who've been with me all this time, and introduces my style to new people. The message: I write novels too. Darker. Same voice. More bodies hitting the floor. Below is an excerpt from Press The Button. It's not the very beginning. I'm going to jump around the book. ********************************************************************** So here’s the deal. I’ve got decades of material-- books, blog posts, half-finished ideas, and jokes I wrote on napkins… during mandatory workplace sensitivity training. Which—full disclosure—I did not pass. I’m not dumping all of it in here. You’re only getting the best parts. The A-sides. The stuff that actually made people laugh-- or shoot iced tea out their nose. Each bit stands on its own. And honestly… you won’t remember most of it anyway. Because you, dear listener, now have the attention span of a salamander. And not the smart salamanders either. I'm talking the ones who can't figure out which end is the front. 
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Alex Trebek Made Fun of Me12/20/2025  The new book is titled: Press the Button: Alex Trebek Made Fun of Me and Other Things That Will Make You Laugh, and it is scheduled for release January 4th, 2026. An audiobook will follow. When? Unclear. There are several technical hurdles, most of which involve me. We are also planning several glowing blurbs from famous writers on the back cover, for example: "The best humour since Hamlet"--W. Shakespeare, Dramatist I didn't say the blurbs were true. From the book: This isn’t my first attempt at a big scheme. There have been a few. One of my early attempts ended in total humiliation—in front of millions of people. I once went on Jeopardy! Don’t get excited—I lost. I blew Final Jeopardy, bet it all, ended with zero... and Alex Trebek went out of his way to make fun of my answer. Don't get me started on Trebek. He acted like he knew all the answers. Nope. He was just Bob Barker with harder questions. As for the audiobook, I'll be the narrator. This has presented its own challenges. Another quote from the book: I thought I had the voice of Morgan Freeman. Then I put on studio headphones. You ever do that? Turns out I sound like a man held hostage inside a Dunkin’ Donuts drive-thru speaker. I try to make up for any vocal failings with two techniques: 1-Enthusiasm and, 2- Ignoring what I sound like. Keep Calm and Carry On. More details in coming weeks. Comments or questions to: [email protected] 
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She Wished She Ordered from CVS12/13/2025  On a scale of one to ten, how satisfied were you with the delivery? A woman in Hopkinsville, Kentucky patiently waited for her urgent medication delivery. Instead, she got two arms and four fingers on ice — yes, literal human body parts. The package originated in Nashville and was intended for a medical-training facility (not for transplant), but the courier screw-up swapped it with her meds. Local coroner Scott Daniel had originated the shipment of the body parts and told the woman to not refrigerate them, not touch them more than necessary, and call authorities immediately. Safe advice. The woman eventually got her correct medication the next day. The body part package was rerouted to where it was meant to be. And you thought waiting in line at CVS behind the woman getting 14 prescriptions for multiple family members was bad. The above is true, but it is a filler article in place of what was going to be a massive announcement...well...an announcement about an upcoming project. But major decisions are still being tested with an expert human panel of...people...a couple of guys. Maybe next week the announcement will come. questions or comments to: [email protected] 
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Cary Grant vs. CryptoWarrior12/1/2025  Why Hollywood Escapism Has Migrated to Your Telephone Once upon a time, Hollywood handled all our escapism needs. You walked into to a theater, your feet stuck to the floor due to the years of accumulated Jujubees, you plopped down in the seat and watched Frankie Avalon pretend to surf in front of a rear projection. But now? Every bit of fantasy, delusion, glamour, and ridiculous plotline has migrated to your telephone. Your phone. That slab of glass you keep dropping in the toilet. Congratulations—you are now the studio head of your own personal MGM. Which explains the budget cuts. Instead of Cary Grant whisking you to dangle off Mount Rushmore, you get a guy named “CryptoWarrior409” on TikTok explaining wealth creation while standing in front of a rented Lamborghini. At least Cary drank real martinis; Crypto Warrior interrupts himself mid-video to pitch his sponsor, a workout powder made from depleted uranium. And those old beach movies? Shapely Annette in her post Mouseketeer phase? Now you’ve got influencers standing on paddleboards, filming themselves while shouting, “LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE!" The consequences? Oh, they’re hilarious. You can no longer watch a movie without thinking, “Why isn’t this 12 seconds long?” Meanwhile, your attention span has shrunk to the size of an olive pit, and you feel cheated if a plot doesn’t involve a cat, a drone shot, or someone making avocado toast. The old Hollywood moguls got to be millionaires. But the guys behind the instant gratification in your pocket...I'm talking about the techno dorks who own the platform, not CyrptoWarrior409...are billionaires, some approaching trillionaire status. Makes you think...maybe you should have paid attention in Algebra One. Or taken a computer programming class in college, instead of the easy three credits of Art Appreciation. Hollywood took us away from reality for a couple hours. Then we left the theater, out of the air conditioning, back to humidity and real life. The difference? Our little pocket studios give us a tiny on-demand dopamine hit every time we tap it. And there's no obvious charge, no ticket taking usher. The billionaires know this...they've got us. The only charge? Guys like Tim, Mark, Elon, and Jeff now own us, body and soul. And wallet...that's the part they're interested in. Don't believe me? Go ahead. Go without your phone for two days. Jim, are you crazy! I could miss an emergency phone call! Okay, don't go cold turkey. How about this: Just use your phone as only a phone for a week. Honestly? I kind of miss Cary Grant. But at least my phone fits in my pocket, the popcorn is considerably cheaper, and I don't have to scrape Jujubees off the bottom of my shoes. Discussion question: have you ever eaten Jujubees not in a movie theater? Querstions or Comments? Just click on this link: [email protected] 
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Cowabunga, Doris Day11/29/2025  This is Mostly True Stories, and I’m Jim Flynn. Today’s episode: Why I'm Still Waiting to Surf With Gidget Back when I was a kid, movies made life look easy — you wore a tux on the weekend, drank martinis at lunch, and somehow never had to go to work. Surfing with Gidget? Working like Cary Grant? Sure — any day now. Let’s take a look back at how Hollywood sold us the dream… and why I’m still waiting for my penthouse.It all started back in the 1930s, when the silver screen wasn’t just a form of entertainment — it was an escape hatch from the real world. During the Depression, movies offered people a temporary escape from their squalid lives. Audiences were treated to a steady stream of palatial Park Avenue apartments — with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers as your neighbors, and maybe mixing a dry martini for the Thin Man and Mrs. Thin Man. Fast forward a few decades, and the fantasy shifted from Park Avenue penthouses to sunny California beaches. By the 1960s, we had the Beach Blanket movies... The girls were hot, but not allowed to wear bikinis that showed their navels. Frankie Avalon could ride a surfboard without ever falling off, or even getting wet. I'm still waiting to go surfing, I'm sure it will happen any day now, although I heard that Gidget is in assisted living. Cowabunga, Life Alert Button! While the surf crowd catered to teen dreams, grown-ups had their own version of Hollywood make-believe — led by Doris Day. There were still the dry martinis, and I don't remember seeing Doris' navel. She went shopping a lot, and carried beribboned boxes containing all the clothes she bought. She frequently dropped the boxes...a major dramatic plot event. Sometimes she'd twist her ankle, and drop the boxes! Women never had to go to work, and if the men did, they'd stroll through spectacular modern offices for five minutes, then go to lunch...and have a dry martini or three. I had the vague notion that I would someday have a job like that. The pay seemed to be good, I'd live in a penthouse and could leave work any time Doris Day phoned me with a DEFCON One crisis, for example, she had dropped a pink hat box in front of a runaway garbage truck...and twisted her ankle. But the Hollywood dream machine eventually ran out of steam — and by the early 1970s, studios seemed to be competing not for Oscars, but for the fastest route to bankruptcy. They had a two-pronged strategy: Big Expensive Stupid Musicals, and Even Stupider Counter-Culture movies. Of all the money vaporizing musicals, one stumbles into the spotlight like a drunk uncle at a wedding: Paint Your Wagon. If you haven't seen Paint Your Wagon, try to catch it, maybe on Turner Classics, although it's seldom shown...Why? Because it stinks!...and nobody ever wanted to see it. Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin sing! As if they were musical stars! Dirty Harry channels Julie Andrews! I am not making that up. Man, did Tinseltown not read the room! Old people didn't get this new stuff, and young people were listening to Jimi Hendrix. Having face-planted with musicals, Hollywood pivoted to counter-culture — or at least their polyester-clad interpretation of it. But Hollywood seemed tone deaf, and never got it right. Their approach was like the portrayal of hippies on the TV show Dragnet. Lots of tie dyed shirts, wigs and bandanas tied around the wigs. One hit: Easy Rider. No plot. I challenge you to sit in front of your TV and pay attention to the entire movie...hint: this is not possible. Hollywood would have done better if they just continuously threw hundred dollar bills out the window for a few years, but pulled the plane out of its dive at treetop level and started making movies like Jaws, Star Wars, and The Terminator. A new kind of escapism. Next time: How Hollywood’s grand tradition of escapism has migrated to your phone — and why binge-watching is the new three martini lunch. If you have questions or comments, please click on the blue sincere jimmy link right here: [email protected] 
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I Just Actually Really Don't Need That11/22/2025  After my first book came out, two readers mailed me The Elements of Style by Strunk and White. No note. No inscription. Just the book—twice. I think they were trying to help. Or stage an intervention. Hard to say. Now—I’ve always thought most of Strunk & White is high-school-English-teacher baloney. A book for people who know all the rules but majored in Boredom at NyQuil University. But they did get one thing right: Omit Needless Words. Perfect advice. Short, punchy, judgmental—exactly how I like my guidance. And since I’ve learned the job of Chapter One is to make the reader want to read Chapter Two, “short and punchy” might keep them from dropping the book and wandering off to TikTok to watch a cat ride a Roomba. Now, the top of the chart Needless Word offenders? I have a personal Mount Rushmore: That. Just. Really. Actually. Plus a whole family reunion of “-ly” words nobody invited. Here’s how bad it gets: While editing my current book, I searched for the word that. In a 96,000-word manuscript, it appeared 917 times. You can’t eliminate all of them—some are necessary—but I cut over 500. JUST is worse. It’s a crutch word. The writing equivalent of saying “you know” in conversation because your brain took a break while your mouth kept talking. And if Strunk & White were here, they’d nod approvingly…before giving me a D- because I end sentences with a preposition. Oh well, six years at NyQuil University, right down the drain. If your high school English teacher ever wrote a best seller, or if you have any other reason to contact me please click on this link: [email protected]
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The Fake Book Club Scam11/15/2025  The Newest Scam: Book Clubs That Definitely Don’t Exist You know you’ve made it as an author when scammers start treating you like a gullible ATM with a keyboard. Lately, I’ve been getting hit with a new variety of literary spam — the Fake Book Club Shakedown. These emails all follow the same script. First, they address me like I’m the next Hemingway. “Your moving, heartfelt book touched our members deeply.” A lovely sentiment… except they always reference the same book: Hit Your Second Shot First. A book which...and I cannot stress this enough...is neither moving, nor heartfelt. It is sarcastic golf advice thinly disguised as wisdom. Nobody has ever read it and thought, “This book changed my life.” The most emotional response I’ve gotten is, “Hey, this made me snort iced tea out my nose.” But scammers don’t let things like reality get in the way. According to these emails, their book club of “over 25,000 passionate readers” (translation: zero) wants to feature my book… for a small fee. Always a small fee. Always payable today. Always with the desperation of someone who’s being held at gunpoint at a server farm in a former Soviet republic. I’ll admit, a tiny part of me feels flattered. Someone thinks I wrote something heartfelt! Sure, it’s a criminal with a laptop and questionable grammar, but still ... praise is praise. Maybe next they'll tell me I'm a good dancer. So if you’re an author and you suddenly get love letters from book clubs that don’t match your genre, tone, or basic human reality… don’t fall for it. Unless, of course, they also want to buy the coloring book. Then we’ll talk. In personal news, I have a new hairstyle, in support of someone close to me who is going through medical stuff. See photo below. I like it. May be back cover author photo for my thrillers. Early reviews of photo: one guy says I look like a bad dude. Another guy says I look like Uncle Fester from the Addams Family...all I need is a light bulb in my mouth. On balance I'd call that mixed reviews. Please click on the link below to send polite comments or questions: [email protected]  |
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