All You

“All you men,” she said,

“All you women,” he said,

“All you Republicans,” she said,

“All you Libertarians,” he said,

“All you Democrats,” she said,

“All you Greens,” he said,

“All you people who don’t vote,” she said,

“All you people voting illegally,” he said,

“All you reactionaries,” she said,

“All you slaves,” he said,

“All you gays,” she said,

“All you lesbians,” he said,

“All you blacks,” she said,

“All you whites,” he said,

“All you elites,” she said,

“All you apathetic people,” he said

“All you cops,” she said,

“All you military,” he said,

“All you illegal aliens,” she said,

“All you people on welfare,” he said,

“All you rich people,” she said,

“All you poor people,” he said,

“All you thieves,” she said,

“All you drug-dealers,” he said,

“All you addicts,” she said,

“All you criminals,” he said,

“All you killers,” she said,

“All you corrupted government workers,” he said,

“All you CEOs,” she said,

“All you teachers,” he said,

“All you parents,” she said,

“All you working women,” he said,

“All you Mexicans,” she said,

“All you communists,” he said,

“All you ignorant, uneducated people,” she said,

“All you snobs,” he said,

“All you people clinging to old ideas,” she said,

“All you fascists,” he said,

“All you NAZIs,” she said,

“All you Japs,” he said,

“All you Southerners,” she said,

“All you Northerners,” he said,

“All you people in rural areas,” she said,

“All you people in the cities,” he said,

“All you idiots,” she said,

“All you foreigners,” he said,

“All you Chinese,” she said,

“All you refugees,” he said,

“All you old people,” she said,

“All you young people,” he said,

“All you conservatives,” she said,

“All you libruls,” he said,

“All you white Supremacists,” she said,

“All you feminazis,” he said,

“All you atheists,” she said,

“All you Evangelicals,” he said,

“All you hateful assholes,” she said,

“All you whiners,” he said,

“You’re the reason we’re in this mess,” they said.


Floofmanteau (floofintion) – 1. a trunk or suitcase in the shape of a housepet, a.k.a., a floof, such as a cat, dog, or bird. 2. a word blending floof with parts of another word to create a meaning about housepets.

In use: “Floofinition is a classic floofmanteau, combining floof and part of dictionary to create a word that describes a floofmanteau’s meaning(s).”


D.H. Said

Personally, I think many writers worry about where they’re going to land, so they avoid jumping over the edge. It is safer, but it doesn’t take you very far.

You have to make that jump, whichever one that you see holding you back.

Yes, I am addressing myself.

Time, Energy, and Patience

Incomplete States is a science-fiction infused historic series of possible futures. Book Three, Six (with Seven), now in editing and revision, also focuses on another intelligent species.

They are much different from Humans and the other species encountered in this historic series. Their culture, mores, and social structures aren’t like Humans or the rest. This makes editing them a powerful challenge, which translates into time, energy, and patience. Clarity, coherency, and consistency is demanded. This is the fourth day of editing and revising this thirteen-page chapter.

Time, energy, and patience has become my new editing and revising motto. I used to race through writing books and then become impatient with the editing and revising phases. I’ve developed a more acute respect for how editing and revising fit into the writing and publishing process as I’ve written more books.

The other aspect that’s found new respect in me is reading . On Sunday, a friend asked me, “How do you know when you’re done writing the novel after editing and revising it?” I told her, “That’s when the reader takes over. I write what I enjoy reading. If I, as the reader, am happy, then I’m done.” Of course, that’s when the professional editors take over.

Thinking about my answer later increased my appreciation for how reading helps writing. If I’m writing for a reader, me. I want that reader — me — to keep expanding their appreciation of what they’re reading. As I do, what I read and enjoy permeates the reader/writer/creator membrane. So expanding what I read, enjoy, and appreciate improves my writing and creating skills.

I like casting a wide net over my reading choices. I have favorite authors and genres, but enjoy exploring. I just finished reading Red Shirts (John Scalzi, 2011). Now I’m beginning Less (Andrew Sean Green, 2017, Pulitzer Prize). I’m still reading The Order of Time (Carlo Rovelli, 2018). That last book requires many pauses to think about what I’m reading, and revisiting parts of the book.

Of course, I’m also still reading Six (with Seven). I must read it to edit it.

Time to write edit like crazy, at least one more time.

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Just yesterday, I was walking along, thinking, here I go again, naturally downloading the White Snake song, “Here I Go Again” (1982).

Although I respected Coverdale’s skills and talents, except for Deep I never became a great fan of him. I tried. I had White Snake albums and Coverdale-Page (where I thought Coverdale often sounded like Plant, with the overall result that C-P sounded like Led Zeppelin), but I thought there was too much glam-rock to Coverdale after DP. I thought the glam-rock sub-genre was often derivative, simplistic, and repetitive.

That doesn’t stop me from thinking of this song when I take a deep breath and tell myself, here I go again.

The Thriller Dream

This dream was like a Hollywood-produced thriller. I thought of the Jason Bourne series of movies, or Taken.

The dream began with a friend being abducted. I was an operative as slick as black ice. Determined to get them back, I abducted an enemy operative’s ex-girlfriend. While she insisted she had nothing to do with the other man or the abduction, I kept her away from weapons and under constant watch.

Meanwhile, with her as my negotiating leverage, after a brief shoot-out, high-speed chase on snowy, slushy roads at night, and hand-to-hand combat, I coerced the enemy operative into an alliance. With him helping me, we started the hunt for the abductors.

Fast-paced, there were setbacks and fights — all taking place on a dark, icy night — it went well overall. Just as my ragged team cornered the abductors, the police showed up. As I argued with the police about what was going on, with me holding a gun on them, and they refusing to back down, with my enemy ally in another room, and the abductors holed up in another room in the building, my hostage turned on me. She’d acquired a gun and now revealed herself as part of the abducting gang.

They’d been five steps ahead of me, orchestrating everything to put me at their mercy, it seems, so they could force me to do what they wanted. She began describing what they wanted from me —

And then a cat awoke me.

Although I tried getting back into the dream when I returned to bed, I failed, instead going into another dream.

Bummer. I wanted to know how it ended.

Funny, but in thinking about the thriller dream, no names were ever used that I can recall. So, if I wrote this, I think my working title would be No Names.

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