After a short break since my last post, I’m excited to share a new project. Written in a Star Wars saga. Hope you enjoy.
“IMPORTANT.”
In workshop translation, this ancient phrase means:
Each year, the ritual repeated like a Jedi prophecy:
Clear the debris field.
Locate the spotlights.
Stare at them in silence.
Promise, with great conviction, that better stands would be built “next season.”
Deploy them anyway, hoping physics and optimism would hold them together for one more cycle.
And somehow… they always survived.
Until one Saturday in late April, when the garage sat at exactly 69 degrees, the coffee had turned to despair, and common sense had fully abandoned its post.
That was the day the Force awakened.
The resurrection had begun.
The spotlights worked perfectly.
…but the stands had clearly survived a coordinated assault from termites, weather anomalies, and questionable life decisions.
One leaned slightly left, as if it had suffered emotional damage in a previous saga.
Another was constructed entirely from “hope and drywall screws.”
The third was technically upright only because it was being held hostage between the others.
The galaxy was unstable.
It was time.
Not for replacement.
But for overengineering.
Relics of the Build
“Tall enough to accidentally blind yourself during a lightsaber duel in a driveway.”
The second took one.
The third stopped being a project and became a declaration of war.
At this point, the garage was no longer a garage.
It had become a hidden rebel outpost at the edge of civilized space.
The air was thick with PVC dust and spray paint fumes.
Classic rock crackled through an old speaker like encrypted rebel transmissions.
Clamp lights dangled from extension cords like unstable power couplings aboard a starship held together by optimism and zip ties.
Tools were scattered across the battlefield:
Cutters.
Drills.
Loose screws.
Fittings rolling toward the edge of reason.
And in the center of it all stood the incomplete spotlight frames.
Waiting.
Judging.
The plan was no longer a plan.
It was a mission.
Each spotlight stand would be powered by its own MiniRen 8/3 controller — compact command modules designed by Dirknerkle, capable of coordinating synchronized assaults on darkness itself.
The first stand was a prototype.
The second proved the concept worked.
The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth became personal vendettas against symmetry.
Measurements were checked.
Then ignored.
Then “re-imagined.”
PVC was cut with the precision of a lightsaber duel conducted by someone who had absolutely not read the manual.
And somewhere along the way, a dangerous condition took hold across the galaxy of garages everywhere:
Garage Confidence
A rare mental state where watching a single YouTube tutorial convinces a person they are now qualified to engineer Imperial Battle Cruiser.
At sunset, the final coat of flat black paint dried beneath flickering workshop lights.
Somewhere in the distance, Back In Black played like a victory march after a successful trench run.
The finished stands lined the driveway.
Clean.
Balanced.
Ready.
Like a squadron awaiting launch orders from Command.
For a moment, there was silence.
And pride.
And mild concern about what had just been built.
The spotlights were mounted.
Cords routed.
Controllers linked.
Switch flipped.
Each stand powered by its own MiniRen 8/3 controller designed by Dirknerkle, tucked neatly into the system like tiny hyperspace nav modules preparing for activation.
Individually controlled.
Fully synchronized.
Probably far more advanced than anything required to illuminate a suburban yard.
But at this point, practicality had long since been exiled from the system.
The yard erupted in light.
Not gentle illumination.
Not tasteful design.
But full Imperial landing-zone brightness.
Trees ignited in glow.
Every extension cord revealed itself like a traitor in the open.
One neighbor peeked through blinds.
Another slowed their vehicle like they were witnessing a classified launch sequence.
And somewhere in the distance, Thunderstruck crackled through the atmosphere like a transmission from another star system entirely.
For one brief moment…
It was perfect.
Then one spotlight slowly tilted sideways because someone, somewhere, had not tightened a screw in accordance with the Galactic Engineering Code.
But that would become the next mission.
Because in the Garage Wars saga…
No build is ever truly finished.
It only evolves.
Like all great Christmas display legends in a galaxy not so far away.
Episode IV: The Wall of Forgotten Projects
After the last Christmas season, I hung the spotlights on the wall of my shed and labeled them:“IMPORTANT.”
In workshop translation, this ancient phrase means:
They remained there on the back wall, hidden behind a growing pile of relics from past missions: extension cords tangled like carbon-frozen vines, rusted rebar stakes from forgotten battles, half-empty bags of zip ties, and a sacred coffee can filled with mystery screws that once served a great purpose… or possibly never did.
Each year, the ritual repeated like a Jedi prophecy:
Clear the debris field.
Locate the spotlights.
Stare at them in silence.
Promise, with great conviction, that better stands would be built “next season.”
Deploy them anyway, hoping physics and optimism would hold them together for one more cycle.
And somehow… they always survived.
Until one Saturday in late April, when the garage sat at exactly 69 degrees, the coffee had turned to despair, and common sense had fully abandoned its post.
That was the day the Force awakened.
The resurrection had begun.
Episode V: The Empire of “Good Enough” Strikes Back
The problem was deceptively simple.The spotlights worked perfectly.
…but the stands had clearly survived a coordinated assault from termites, weather anomalies, and questionable life decisions.
One leaned slightly left, as if it had suffered emotional damage in a previous saga.
Another was constructed entirely from “hope and drywall screws.”
The third was technically upright only because it was being held hostage between the others.
The galaxy was unstable.
It was time.
Not for replacement.
But for overengineering.
Episode VI: Inventory of the Rebel Workshop
The workbench slowly filled like a rebel supply depot hidden deep in the Outer Rim.Relics of the Build
- (3) LED spotlights — red, green, and blue… a suspiciously Jedi-coded color scheme (white for another project)
- (1) MiniRen 8/3 controllers designed by Dirknerkle — one per stand, because galactic domination requires redundancy
- (1) 10-foot stick of ¾-inch PVC pipe (recently discovered hiding under the shed like a fugitive droid)
- (2) ¾-inch PVC 90-degree outlet elbows
- (4) ¾-inch PVC caps
- (3) pan-head screws (clearly important to someone, somewhere, at some point in history)
- Assorted conduit straps (mission-critical, classification: “trust me”)
- PVC glue (unopened, because commitment is terrifying)
- Exterior flat black spray paint
- One tape measure that refused to retract without a fight
- One PVC cutter with the energy of a reluctant lightsaber
Structural Specifications
- Cross member: 10 inches
- Leg supports: 7 inches each
- Total height: approximately 8 inches
“Tall enough to accidentally blind yourself during a lightsaber duel in a driveway.”
Episode VII: The Rise of Garage Confidence
The first stand took nearly three hours.The second took one.
The third stopped being a project and became a declaration of war.
At this point, the garage was no longer a garage.
It had become a hidden rebel outpost at the edge of civilized space.
The air was thick with PVC dust and spray paint fumes.
Classic rock crackled through an old speaker like encrypted rebel transmissions.
Clamp lights dangled from extension cords like unstable power couplings aboard a starship held together by optimism and zip ties.
Tools were scattered across the battlefield:
Cutters.
Drills.
Loose screws.
Fittings rolling toward the edge of reason.
And in the center of it all stood the incomplete spotlight frames.
Waiting.
Judging.
The plan was no longer a plan.
It was a mission.
Each spotlight stand would be powered by its own MiniRen 8/3 controller — compact command modules designed by Dirknerkle, capable of coordinating synchronized assaults on darkness itself.
The first stand was a prototype.
The second proved the concept worked.
The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth became personal vendettas against symmetry.
Measurements were checked.
Then ignored.
Then “re-imagined.”
PVC was cut with the precision of a lightsaber duel conducted by someone who had absolutely not read the manual.
And somewhere along the way, a dangerous condition took hold across the galaxy of garages everywhere:
Garage Confidence
A rare mental state where watching a single YouTube tutorial convinces a person they are now qualified to engineer Imperial Battle Cruiser.
At sunset, the final coat of flat black paint dried beneath flickering workshop lights.
Somewhere in the distance, Back In Black played like a victory march after a successful trench run.
The finished stands lined the driveway.
Clean.
Balanced.
Ready.
Like a squadron awaiting launch orders from Command.
For a moment, there was silence.
And pride.
And mild concern about what had just been built.
Episode VIII: The Rise of Light
Then came the moment.The spotlights were mounted.
Cords routed.
Controllers linked.
Switch flipped.
Each stand powered by its own MiniRen 8/3 controller designed by Dirknerkle, tucked neatly into the system like tiny hyperspace nav modules preparing for activation.
Individually controlled.
Fully synchronized.
Probably far more advanced than anything required to illuminate a suburban yard.
But at this point, practicality had long since been exiled from the system.
The yard erupted in light.
Not gentle illumination.
Not tasteful design.
But full Imperial landing-zone brightness.
Trees ignited in glow.
Every extension cord revealed itself like a traitor in the open.
One neighbor peeked through blinds.
Another slowed their vehicle like they were witnessing a classified launch sequence.
And somewhere in the distance, Thunderstruck crackled through the atmosphere like a transmission from another star system entirely.
Episode IX: The Legend Continues
I stood in the driveway, hands on hips, staring at the glowing installation like a man who had just reverse-engineered a Rebel base using scrap parts and stubbornness.For one brief moment…
It was perfect.
Then one spotlight slowly tilted sideways because someone, somewhere, had not tightened a screw in accordance with the Galactic Engineering Code.
But that would become the next mission.
Because in the Garage Wars saga…
No build is ever truly finished.
It only evolves.
Like all great Christmas display legends in a galaxy not so far away.
