Wil Wheaton's Blog, page 29

this is how i know i’m a writer

I wrote this at 1am local time last night:

I’m in New York.

I’m jetlagged. I have to get up in six hours for an important meeting and then an important shoot.

I’m trying to fall asleep, and I’m thinking about how I can rewrite the first few paragraphs of my novel, because while I was proofing it today, I kept feeling like it could be better. Like, it’s fine, but I can be better, you know?

So I’m finally starting to drift off to sleep, and my brain goes HEY HERE IS THE WAY TO CHANGE THE BEGINNING OF THE STORY, SO YOU ARE HAPPY WITH IT.

And I go, “Fuck, brain, I have to get up in seven hours and I’m finally starting to fall asleep. Can you remember this for me and we’ll do it in the morning?”

And my brain is all, “I can’t make any promises, bro.”

So I am all, “Don’t call me bro. Ever.”

And my brain says, “Sorry. That was a joke that didn’t land.”

And I say, “Okay, so you’ll remember this for me in the morning?”

And my brain is all, “I’m going to have to wake you up a whole bunch so we can keep this particular idea alive until you write it down.”

So I sigh, reach over to the table next to my bed in this hotel, and pick up my laptop. I open it up, turn the brightness all the way down, and write the idea that I had.

And it’s good. It’s really good. It’s *better* than what was there before.

I’m glad I dragged myself out of near-sleep to write it down, but now I am wide awake and I still have to start a long day in six hours, and I’m kind of fucked.

But I don’t care, because I wrote down this thing that’s really good, and I feel good about it.

And this is how I know that I am a writer, and that being a writer is what I want to do with the rest of my life.

2458 words cut (77348 remain) on the revisions of All We Ever Wanted Was Everything

I usually put these updates on my Tumblr thingy, but this one is of particular significance, so I’m putting it front and center on my blog.

I’m pretty sure I just finished the final draft, including revisions, of the novel I’ve been working on for a little over a year. As a matter of fact, I’m going to send this final draft to my editor right now. I’ll be right back.

…okay, I’m back. I know it took you seconds to get from the end of the previous sentence to this one, but if you are wondering, it took me about half the duration of “Waiting For The Man,” which is part of the playlist I made for this novel, to write and send the email, with the manuscript attached. It’s kind of cool that I just feel excited and enthused about it, instead of feeling like I’m going to throw up.

I’ve been working on the last two chapters of this book for a long time. The feedback from all the beta readers, regardless of which revision they read, has pretty consistently said “[lots of feedback] and the ending needs work, because it just … sort of … ends. Abruptly.” I took that feedback to heart, and watched many self-imposed deadlines race by me while my creative self just refused to give me anything for months. Eventually, I decided to stop randomly flipping over mental rocks, and expecting to find the ending, fully formed, sitting there waiting for me. Eventually, I accepted that the only way I’d find the ending was to sit down, commit to a deadline that I would not miss, and write as many different endings as I needed to, until one of them was the right one.

So I tried out a lot of different endings while over the last couple of weeks. I’ve written and thrown away probably ten thousand words in the last few days, alone, until yesterday. I knew that I’d end up cutting nearly everything I’d written, but I also knew that all the pieces I needed to assemble into the right ending were there … I just couldn’t see them.

I turned it in and spent three hours unwinding in Horizon: Zero Dawn (I’m late to the party but what a great game it is!) before I went to bed. My editor sent it back with some notes and suggestions while I was sleeping, and when I looked at it this morning, I knew that I was going to finish today. Which is good, because today is the Totally Official It Has To Be Done Today deadline!

I made a joke about how I was going to drag myself over broken glass, only to find an ending that is totally obvious once I see it. That wasn’t too far off. I love the way this story ends, now. I hope it hits the same emotional notes in the readers as it hits in me, and I hope that someone who hasn’t followed the process with me won’t even be aware of how much of a struggle it was to find it, because OMG IT IS SO OBVIOUSLY THE ONLY WAY IT COULD END.

Sometimes, as an actor, I have to try out performance choices that I think are wrong, just to confirm that they’re wrong, and to give myself the chance to discover something I didn’t know was in me, or in the material. In those cases, it’s just a matter of spending time in rehearsal and preparation, following the map that the writer has given me. It was a heck of an experience to do essentially the same thing as a writer, without the map, because the map didn’t exist until I made it.

Holy shit, you guys, I wrote a novel.

captured here in my quotation marks

Almost two years ago, I was inspired by all the kids riding bikes in Stranger Things to write a post about a thing that happened when I was the same age as those kids (12 in 1983), and I was riding my bike with my friends.

While I worked on that blog post, other memories from the same time began to percolate up through the thick dried crust that the decades had built up over them, and I started to get this idea … what if I took all these things that happened from like 1982 through 1984, and I used them and the kids who were there as inspiration for a short story? It seemed like a decent idea, so I got to work on it. As I approached ten thousand words, I discovered that there was a lot more story left to tell, so I decided to let it keep on going until it became a novella. When it got there, I still wasn’t done, so I kept going until it was an actual novel.

I ended up calling it All We Ever Wanted Was Everything, because I’m terrible at making up my own titles, and if you look at all of my books, you’ll notice that they are almost always titled after lyrics. It’s a semi-autobiographical work of fiction, about coming of age in the summer of 1983, told by the writer who is revisiting his childhood. Writing it has been one of the most rewarding and satisfying experiences of my entire creative life, even though I got so depressed after the election in 2016, I took almost nine months off from writing it (and doing much of anything creative).

I picked it back up earlier this year, and I began working on it, intensely, every day. It gave me a sense of purpose, creative satisfaction, and the hope that, maybe before too long, I could honestly call myself a novelist. Some days were easier than others, but even on the most challenging day, I never felt like giving up. I never even felt the absolute conviction, which I always feel at some point in a manuscript, that it was the worst thing ever and I was a damn fool for thinking I could write the story. The day I typed THE END for the first time was pretty special, even though I knew it was really just the beginning of the real work, which was the rewrite.

As a lot of you know, we had to vacate our house because of black mold this summer. While we were away, I worked on the rewrites, and as a result I spent much of my summer in my narrator’s version of the summer of 1983, which was pretty awesome. In no small way, working on this story got me through what could have been a not super awesome time.

So.

About three weeks ago, I finished a revision and realized that it was as good as I could make it on my own, and it was time to turn it in to my editor. He took his Red Pen of Doom to it, and sent it back about two weeks ago. It’s been sitting on my computer desktop, looking at me every day while I carefully avoided it, because I was afraid that his notes were going to say some version of, “I know you worked hard on this for a long time, but it’s all crap and here’s why.” Well, I opened it today and got to work on it. I am relieved to report that his notes do not say that. They mostly say some version of, “you don’t need this, and you are getting in the adult narrator’s way, while he tries to stay out of his own way and tell his story. Here’s how you can make this stronger…”

I don’t know how other writers and editors work, but we do this thing where I give him the manuscript, he opens itin LibreOffice, suggests changes and puts in notes that explain why he suggested them, and then he sends it back to me. I go through it, change by change, and accept the changes, respond to the notes, add new stuff as needed, and then send it back. Typically, we’ll do this three or four times before we’re finished.

This time, because he warned me he’d made some deep cuts, I just accepted all the changes at once, then started reading the changed manuscript, to find out if I really missed anything, or felt like something I wanted to fight for had been cut out. Well, it turns out that I didn’t miss anything, and his cuts made the narrative much stronger. I figured we’d end up cutting ten percent, and we only ended up cutting about six percent. That tells me that I did a better job with the draft I turned in than I thought. That note about getting out of the way is a really good one; I see lots of places where I was self-conscious and unsure, so I made the narrator explain himself in places where I should have just let him tell his story. There is literally a single paragraph that I want to fight for, but even as I have thought about fighting for it, I secretly (well, secretly until now) believe that it doesn’t have to be there and nobody will miss it once it’s gone, if we end up cutting it.

While I worked today, I was surprised to notice that I had been missing the characters I created and lived with for so long. I got to again experience that sense of meaningful satisfaction that I had been enjoying every day while I worked on the first draft and its revisions (even on the days when I felt like the words just didn’t want to flow together). I got to get excited and terrified about this novel being really close to finished, and that much closer to being read by real people in the real world.

There’s still some tough work to do. I still need to rewrite the ending (the very fair note on the current ending is “it just … sort of … ends, and you’ve earned a better ending than this one. Go find it.”) and I’m genuinely unsure how to pull that off, but it’s one of those things that I know will be super obvious, right after I metaphorically drag myself over broken glass to find it. But this is the work I want to do. This is what I want and need to be doing with my life, and it feels reasonably good to both know that, and be able to do it.

Have a good weekend, everyone. I hope you get to spend it with awesome people who make you happy.

The world is a terrible place right now, and that’s largely because it is what we make it.

Here’s a picture of Marlowe to make this post suck less.

As most of you know, I deactivated my Twitter account earlier this month. It had been a long time coming, for a whole host of reasons, but Twitter’s decision to be the only social network that gives Alex Jones a platform to spew hate, hurt innocent people, and incite violence was the final straw for me. But I haven’t regretted leaving for even one second. Having that endless stream of hate and anger and negativity in my pocket wasn’t good for me (and I don’t think it’s good for anyone, to be honest).

I was on Twitter from just about the very beginning. I think I’m in the first couple thousand accounts. I remember when it was a smallish group of people who wanted to have fun, make jokes, share information and tips on stuff that was interesting, and oh so many pictures of our pets. It was awesome.

It started to get toxic slowly at first, then all at once, starting with the misogynist dipshits who were behing the gate-which-shall-not-be-named. That was clearly a turning point for Twitter, and it never really recovered from it. I watched, in real time, as the site I loved turned into a right wing talk radio shouting match that made YouTube comments and CSPAN call-ins seem scholarly. We tried for a couple of years to fight back, to encourage Twitter to take a stand against bad actors (HA HA LIKE ME BECAUSE I AM A BAD ACTOR RIGHT YOU GOT ME HA HA HA). Twitter doesn’t care about how its users are affected by themselves, though. Twitter cares about growth and staying on the good side of President Shitler’s tantrums.

I mean, honestly, the most lucid and concise indictment I can give Twitter is: it’s the service that Donald Trump uses to communicate with and incite his cultists.

Anyway, enough about how terrible Twitter is. We all know how terrible it is. That’s never going to change, by the way.I know some very good people who are working on making Twitter better, but I honestly don’t think they can overcome the institutional inertia that has allowed it to get to the point its at now. It may get incrementally better, but the fundamental problem of random, mostly-anonymous people being terrible isn’t going to change, because that’s not a Twitter problem. That’s a humanity — and specifically a social media — problem.

I thought that if I left Twitter, I could find a new social network that would give it some competition (Twitter’s monopoly on the social space is a big reason it can ignore people who are abused and harassed, while punishing people for reporting their attackers), so I fired up this account I made at Mastodon a long time ago.

I thought I’d find something different. I thought I’d find a smaller community that was more like Twitter was way back in 2008 or 2009. Cat pictures! Jokes! Links to interesting things that we found in the backwaters of the internet! Interaction with friends we just haven’t met, yet! What I found was … not that.

I found a harsh reality that I’m still trying to process: thousands of people who don’t know me, who have never interacted with me, who internalized a series of lies about me, who were never willing to give me a chance. I was harassed from the minute I made my account, and though I expected the “shut up wesley”s and “go fuck yourself”s to taper off after a day or so, it never did. And even though I never broke any rules on the server I joined (Mastodon is individual “instances” which is like a server, which connects to the “federated timeline”, which is what all the other servers are), one of its admins told me they were suspending my account, because they got 60 (!) reports overnight about my account, and they didn’t want to deal with the drama.

I respect and support that person’s decision, because it’s a private server and it’s run with their time, energy, attention, and (presumably) money. I don’t agree with it at all, and I think it’s deeply unfair, as well as rewarding abuse of a reporting system that’s meant to protect users, but it’s their site and it’s their rules, and I can’t say I blame them. The people going after me were pretty awful, and I can only imagine that an admin would get fed up with them, too.

I want to share the message I posted there when I left (Twitter is called ‘birdsite’ on Mastodon):

I have been notified by an Admin here that they are getting 60 reports a day about my account. As far as I can tell, I’m not breaking any rules, and I’ve done my best to be a good person here. But this admin is going to suspend my account.

It’s the Admin’s instance, so I fully support their choice to eliminate a source of frustration, but something to consider: a person who is doing nothing wrong can be run off one instance by a mob from another instance. That seems … not cool. 1/x

But it’s been made very, very clear to me that I am not welcome in the Fediverse, and I hear you. I hoped to find an alternative to the birdsite where I could find the same fun community that existed over there in the beginning, and it’s clear to me that I won’t be finding that. Before I leave, I want to just make something very clear, because I’ve spent most of my life being yelled at by people who don’t know me at all, and I want the record to be clear. 2/x

During GamerGate, I was dogpiled and mobbed and brigaded and attacked by thousands of accounts. I started using a blocklist that was supposed to help stop that. I did not know that the blocklist I signed up for also had a lot of trans women on it. When I found out, I did everything I could to remove those women from the list I shared. When there were still innocents on the list, I stopped sharing the list entirely. Despite this, a mob has decided that I’m anti-trans. 3/x

This lie that I am anti-trans, or anti-LGBQ, is deeply hurtful to me (I know it’s nothing like the pain LGBTQ people deal with every day, as they simply try to *exist* in a world that treats them so badly, but it is still hurtful in its own way to me). I just want to make it extremely clear: that is a lie, and the people spreading it are misinformed.

So I’m leaving the Fediverse, which has treated me with more cruelty, vitriol, hatred, and contempt than than anyone on the birdsite ever did. 4/x

I know that I’m well-off, well-known, and as a CIS white hetro dude in America, I live life on the lowest difficulty setting. I know that I have very little to complain about.  But I still have feelings, and I really do care about the world and the people in it. What I see is a lot of anger and cruelty directed at the IDEA of me, from people who I just hope don’t realize that it really does hurt me, in my heart, to be accused of being someone I am not, and to be the target of a hateful mob. 5/x

Anyway, take your victory lap and collect your prizes. You’ve made it clear that I’m not welcome here, and even though I disagree with the action this Admin is taking (banning me when I didn’t break any rules doesn’t seem right), I respect and support the Admin’s decision to run their instance the way they see fit.

Please do your very best to be kind to each other. The world is a terrible place right now, and that’s largely because it is what we make it.

Bye.

6/end

This isn’t limited to Mastodon.cloud (the worst attacks and dogpiling came from a few other instances before the instance I was on became awful) and it isn’t limited to Twitter.com. I see this in the online space all the time now: mobs of people, acting in bad faith, can make people they don’t know and will likely never meet miserable, or even try to ruin their lives and careers (look at what they did to James Gunn). And those mobs’ bad behaviors are continually rewarded, because it’s honestly easier to just give them what they want. We are ceding the social space to bad people, because they have the most time, the least morals and ethics, and are skilled at relentlessly attacking and harassing their targets. It only takes few seconds for one person to type “fuck off” and hit send. That person probably doesn’t care and doesn’t think about how their one grain of sand quickly becomes a dune, with another person buried beneath it. That’s a huge problem that seems to be baked into social media, and I tried to mitigate it with a blocklist that I never intended to be problematic, but ultimately was. (And for what it’s worth, the part of me that wants to apologize to the people who ended up on it by mistake is overwhelmed by the part of me who was attacked really viciously by a lot of those people and feels like maybe blocking them wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.)

At the end of the day, I’m lucky and privileged as fuck. I can sign off from a website (or multiple websites), and go live my life with my amazing family and our dogs. I’m not a marginalized person who has to fight every moment of every day, just to live my life. So I’m keeping that in mind and keeping that perspective in my heart. Yes, the accusations and the big lie that took hold in remarkably short time about me is hurtful. Yes, it’s upsetting to know that there are a lot of people out there who have decided to take time out of their lives to actively hate me, without knowing anything about me other than a story they were told by someone else who doesn’t know me. But I can sign off and get away from it, so I will. And I will be grateful that I can.

Buuuuuuuuuut … I’m done with social media. Maybe I just don’t fit into whatever the social media world is. I mean, the people who are all over the various Mastodon instances made it really clear that I wasn’t welcome there (with a handful of notable, joyful, exceptions, mostly related to my first baby steps into painting), and it seems as if I was just unwelcome because … I’m me? I guess? Like, I know that I’m not a transphobe, but holy shit that lie just won’t die, and right now as I am writing this, someone at Mastodon is telling me that I am, because people said so, and I should apologize to them. I mean, how am I supposed to respond to that, when it happens over and over and over again? “You’ve been lied to about me. Please give me a chance” just doesn’t seem like a viable way forward with people who are, for whatever reason, very, very angry. And these people seem to have an idea of me in their head that doesn’t fit with the idea of myself that I have in my head. It’s honestly caused me to rethink a lot of stuff. Like, am I really the terrible person they say I am? I don’t think I am, but I’m doing my best to listen, and when I say, “please stop yelling at me and let’s have a conversation that I can grow from” I get yelled at for “tone policing” and honestly I just get exhausted and throw up my hands. Maybe I’m not this person they tell me I am, but I represent that person in their heads, and they treat me accordingly? This is one of those times when my mental illness makes it very hard for me to know what’s objective reality and what’s just in my head.

But I don’t deserve to be treated so terribly by so many random people, so I’m not going to put myself in a place where I am subjected to it all day long. As the saying goes, I’m too old for this shit. What we used to call microblogging isn’t worth the headache for me. I’m gonna focus my time and my energy on the things that I love, that make me happy, that support my family.

Please do your best to be kind, and make an effort to make the world less terrible. Thanks for listening.

regarding the kindness of strangers.

Over the last few days, I’ve encountered a lot of people who have been kind to me. I’ve seen people in random places, like the grocery store and the pet store, who have told me that they read my stuff online, and they appreciate me. I ran into a bunch of people at my friend’s show last night, who told me how much they value — not just like, but value — Tabletop, and more than a few people there told me that they thought I was a good person who does good things.


 


If you’re one of these people, I know I said “thank you” in person, but I want to say it again, in public, in a way that my anxiety doesn’t allow when we’re face to face.


Thank you! I needed that, so much.

 


You see, I *really* needed to be reminded that the stuff I do matters to people, and is worth my time and effort. I’m dealing with a few really terrible things in my real life that I’m not talking about in public, and won’t talk about in public, and at the same time, I’ve been struggling with anxiety. I can feel a capital-D Depressive episode lurking around pretty much every corner, and I’m doing my best to practice my CBT and take my meds and talk to the people who are close to me, who care about me and help me when my brain decides to turn on me. For far too long, my brain has been going out of its way to remind me that I suck at everything, the book I’ve worked so hard on for so long is going to fail (it won’t; I’m super proud of it and believe in it), and nobody cares about me or what I do. The world has moved on, I’m drifting into “trivia answer” territory, and if I just disappeared from public life tomorrow, nobody would care or notice.


 


I know that none of that is real, but … well, I’ve written about Depression before and how it is such a giant dick about stuff like this. It’s challenging to tune out that insistent voice of doubt and despair, even when I know that it’s just a bunch of noise.


 


I shouldn’t give trolls and harassers any space in my head, too, but I gotta be honest: that last week on Twitter was horrible. Every day was a flood of people putting in considerable time and effort to make me miserable, and even though I was able to ignore most of it, some of it still got through. I mean, I’m just human and I have a wonky brain, so…


 


Maybe I’m just more *aware* of the kindness of people in the last few days, or maybe there really has been some kind of uptick in kindness for some reason that normal people can probably see, but remains hidden to me. But the end result is: I’m doing everything I can to practice gratitude, kindness, empathy, and patience. I’m not always successful, but the affirmation I’ve gotten from people who don’t know me and have no reason to reach out with kindness and appreciation has made a HUGE difference.


 


I’m so grateful for the love and support and patience that my wife and children give me every day, but I’ve been dealing with so much negativity and cruelty, I haven’t been able to see and feel it. The people who have been kind and gentle to me recently sort of helped push back the weasels of despair that have been threatening to overwhelm me, which has created the space in my life that I couldn’t make myself to accept and embrace the love of my wife and kids.


 


So thank you, people who don’t know me and have nothing to gain by being kind to me, for your kindness, whether you are offline or online.


 


And please consider this: you have choices all day long about how you treat people. Every interaction can be kind, or it can be cruel, and the choice you make will have an effect on people you’ll never meet. Make a choice that you’ll feel good about.


 


Thanks for listening.

the summer of mild inconveniences

About three months ago, we discovered toxic black mold underneath our kitchen sink. Two weeks after that, Anne and I packed up some bags and moved ourselves and our dogs out of our house, while a team of hazardous materials removal dudes tore apart our kitchen and made our house look like Breaking Bad.

A month after we moved out, we were able to come back into our house, because the mold (which originally appeared to be a few square feet, and ended up being much, much worse) had been successfully removed. The only problem with getting back into our house was our kitchen remained (and remains) torn up. Our refrigerator is in the middle of our living room. Our dishwasher is on our patio. We have no sink, so there’s no running water, so we can’t cook.

It’s all a real pain in the ass, and it’s made this entire summer feel like something we are enduring, rather than living.

But.

It’s important to me that I keep and maintain perspective. Starting at the very beginning of this, with the toxic black mold: nobody got sick, and we discovered it just before it spread into the walls in a way that would force us to literally tear our house down.

Insurance denied our claim for reasons that I think are bullshit. We tried and failed to fight their denial, and while it’s infuriating that they got away with it, we’re very grateful and very lucky that the whole thing didn’t cost as much as we feared, and we’re grateful and lucky that we can afford to pay for it out of pocket.

We had to be out of our house for over a month, but our friends let us stay in their home (they were out of the country), so we didn’t have to endure the cost and weirdness of living in a hotel for thirty days. We got to take our dogs with us, and we were in such a quiet and unfamiliar location, it gave me the solitude I needed to focus and finish the manuscript of the novel I was writing.

Did I bury the lede on that? My novel is currently with my editor, and even though I still need to do some work on it, it’s that much closer to being finished and published. That’s kind of a big deal for me.

Our same friends offered us their house in Hana if we wanted to get out of town for a little bit, and Anne used points and miles to get us an unexpected vacation in Hawaii for less than the cost of a single plane ticket. I’m grateful for that.

After we got back from Hana, we were able to move back into our house, even though the kitchen was (and is) all torn apart. We’ve had to eat out for every meal, which has not been awesome, but I’m grateful that we can afford that, and that we live in a place that has lots of healthy and affordable options to feed ourselves. I’ve been joking that we’re sort of like college students who eat out of take away containers, but with a fancy budget.

When we got back into our house about a month ago, we expected to live in the chaos for about five days, before everything was finished and restored to the way it was before … but everything takes longer than expected, and as of this morning, my refrigerator is still in the middle of my living room.

But.

I’m grateful that this summer has been, in perspective, a series of mild inconveniences that haven’t wrecked our lives. I’m grateful that Anne found someone who could replace our hardwood floor with an exact match, even though the boards in our house haven’t been made since the 1940s. I’m grateful that they matched the floors perfectly. I’m grateful that they were able to rebuild our cabinets and save our countertops so perfectly, you can’t even tell that they’re new. I’m grateful that the people who have done all this work on our home have been kind, honest, hard workers (who my dogs love, which is important. If your dogs don’t like someone, respect that, because dogs seem to have good instincts about people for some reason.) I’m grateful that, when this is all finished, I don’t think we’ll be able to tell that anything ever happened, because everything is matching close to perfectly.

I haven’t spent this summer making things, like I wanted to. I haven’t started writing anything new. I haven’t spent any time on my blog since June, and though it feels weird, I haven’t really missed it. I feel like I am in this part of my creative cycle where I absorb and consume and get inspired by other people’s creations, so I am nourished and ready for the output part of my creative cycle, whenever it decides to arrive.

I’ve spent this summer reading lots of books, and watching almost one movie a day. I know that sounds like goofing off and fucking around, but for me, it’s a fundamental part of my creative life and my creative self. I get inspired by good things and bad things, and I’ve consumed a lot of both this summer. I have found the same kind of comfort and familiarity in a book that I had when I was a kid: no matter where I am or what’s going on, I can open a book and lose myself in it. I’ve found so much happiness and comfort in the books I’ve read this summer, it’s inspired me to dedicate myself to finishing my novel asap, so I can maybe give people who read it the same escape and happiness I’m getting.

For my novel, I needed to find a slasher movie from pre-83 that wasn’t Friday the 13th or Halloween. It needed to be something that the kids in my story would have rented at the video store, and even though I could have gotten away with using one of those popular and well-known films, I wanted to find something different for reasons I’ll get into when I start writing my “here’s how I did it” posts about the novel, in the run up to its release. The upshot of this is that I’ve watched a TON of early 80s slasher movies this year, and holy shit am I primed to write and make one of my own, because I understand them at a granular level I didn’t think was possible, and I want to see what happens when I make my version of that kind of thing, even if it’s just a short script.

I’m grateful for the time I’ve had to do that level of research (some of them have been fun to watch, others are just terrible, but it’s always been worth it), and I wouldn’t have made the time if my house hadn’t been torn apart. Maybe I’ll even work an unfinished kitchen into the story, as an homage to this whole shitshow.

So. It’s been a summer of mild inconveniences, and I’m grateful and lucky that it isn’t so much worse. I’m grateful for the life I have, and for the people I get to share it with, especially my best friend and wife, Anne. I  hope that, wherever you are and whatever your personal circumstances are, you get to share your life with someone who is as special to you as Anne is to me. I hope that you have the privilege (like I do) of looking at bummer things that happen, and finding some perspective that makes them feel less frustrating and annoying than they could be.

This is the first post I’ve written since I deactivated my Twitter. I wonder if anyone will see it? I wonder if I’m wrong about Twitter not making any difference in blog traffic or book sales. I’m going to feel really silly if I am. Anyway, I hope you’re having a good summer, and I hope that any inconveniences you have encountered have been mild.

Thanks for listening.

Coming soon: a live Internet show with me.

I've been talking with some friends who do live streaming events about putting together a show in LA that would have a small live audience, and a potentially unlimited global audience, through streaming. It would be sort of like An Evening With Kevin Smith, but it would be with me. I'll read a few passages from my books, including unreleased material from All We Ever Wanted Was Everything, and then I'll do a little Q&A from the Internet and the live audience.

I think we're going to aim for like a $5 ticket price to watch the live stream, and the show would be in the neighborhood of two hours.

I want to hear from you and I want you to tell me if you're interested. If there's enough interest from different time zones (like Europe, where it could potentially be in the middle of the night when I'm live in LA) I would do a show that's at like 11am in LA, but 8pm or whatever in Europe.

I beg your patience and understanding during the coming weeks, because I'm going to ask this over and over again to make sure as many people as possible know about it. You're going to see reposts on my Facebook, on Tumblr, on Instagram, and on my blog.

For a show like this to be successful in person, I'd need to sell out a house of like 800 people, so I need to hit at least that many people online to feel like it's worth it, but I'm also cautiously optimistic about the potential for a global audience over 1000 people.

SO: I think $5 seems fair. Am I undervaluing myself? Should I make it like $7 or $10? That seems high to me, but what do I know.

If this works, I would be totally into doing shows every month, inviting artists who I think you'll dig, so they can earn some money, and build their audience.

H*ck, if this really does work, it could be something truly special and memorable for lots of people! I feel silly thinking big, but why not think big? I'd love to start something that grows into a really awesome showcase for my work, and other people (musicians, comedians, storytellers) who I want to bring to a larger audience than they have right now.

intrusion is my illusion

A little over fifteen years ago, I started writing a blog. I loved lifting the curtain on my personal life and sharing what was going on as I learned how to be a father, handled a vindictive ex-husband who exhausted my family while he tried to hurt my wife (not caring that he was doing a lot of collateral damage to my then step-kids at the same time), and about my almost-daily struggles to figure out why I had a once-promising acting career that had stalled out and wasn’t going anywhere.

I’ve written hundreds of thousands of words since then, not just in my blog, but in books and for places I was honored and privileged to contribute to, like Suicide Girls and the AV Club. Over the last year or so, I’ve put about 71000 words into the manuscript of my first novel, and I’ve wasted far, far, far too much time on Twitter.

I really hate Twitter. It was once promising, and I feel like it still does some good, but on balance, it enables harassment and evil and cruelty at least as much if not more than it helps things change for the better. I feel like it has broken our society, and wrecked our social contract. I feel like the board at Twitter, and its CEO, Jack Dorsey, know this, but they’re too busy profiting from their inaction to care. May history judge them all the way they deserve.

I’ve been thinking about how bad Twitter has become, and how I can’t imagine asking people to follow me there like I did when it started so long ago. I’ve been thinking about how angry and sickened I am by the Fascist who is currently occupying the presidency, and the people he has surrounded himself with who enable and encourage him and his hateful conduct that goes against everything America has always represented to the world (except for the shameful and indefensible parts of our history, like slavery, Jim Crow, and Internment).

I’ve been thinking about how I want to tell silly and even hearfelt stories in my blog. I’ve been thinking about how I want to share how wonderful my kids were on Father’s Day, (which they know I don’t care about) when they took me out to lunch and ice cream anyway, because it was an excuse to be together. I want to write about how much I love my daughter in law, and how happy she makes my son. I’ve been thinking about how I want to write about how grateful I am that, even though my kids are 28 and 26, and not children at all anymore, they still want to spend time with me. I want to write about how great it feels to know that all the suffering we all went through when they were young didn’t affect our family in the way it was designed to. I want to celebrate that the worst person in the world, who made our lives a living hell, is relegated to a rarely-remembered footnote in our family’s history, who is living the life he deserves. I don’t write about these things, now, because they are deeply personal, and I don’t feel like it’s aways necessary or even smart to pull the curtain back on my life, or the lives of my family.

And yet … I will write about something personal, real quick, because it’s a story I’ve wanted to tell for almost ten years:

Ryan was 19, and was home between semesters of college. He’d had a real difficult year while he was adjusting to school and being away from home, and his mom and I were doing everything we could to support him while he went through a challenging growth phase.

I had just bought this laser star projector from Think Geek, and I wanted to show him how cool it was to spray little green points of light across the ceiling of our living room, and just lay there, watching them drift around.

So we turned off the lights, stretched out on the floor, and did just that. The house was quiet, and the only sound was the soft whirr of the fan inside the projector.

We imagined constellations, and named them, but were mostly quiet, too, until Ryan, still looking up at our imaginary planetarium, said, “So I’ve been thinking about something…”

“Oh?” I said, “What’s that?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about how I am who I am because of you. I love science fiction and literature because you introduced it to me when I was little. I care about people because you taught me to be empathetic. You have always been more of a dad to me than my dad ever was … and I was hoping that you’d make it official, and adopt me.”

One of the laser points of light drifted across the ceiling, like a shooting star. I watched it and tried to process what I had just heard. Ryan’s dad had spent his entire childhood trying to convince Ryan to reject me. He wasted their whole lives to that point trying to make them pick sides in a battle that neither one of my kids wanted to be part of. At times, it felt like he was going to be successful, and a day would come when the children I did not make, but did raise as if they were my own, would never speak to me again.

And now, a day had come that I always dreamed of, but never actually expected to happen.

“Is that okay?” He asked. I didn’t realize that I’d been quiet for close to a minute, while I was trying to process that this was real, that this was really happening. I didn’t realize that tears were streaming out of the corners of my eyes, down the sides of my face, and pooling in my ears.

“Ryan, I would be honored to adopt you,” I said, thickly.

“Is it okay if I change my name, too?” He asked.

The tears turned to joyful sobs, and I told him that I would love that.

It took months, and a lot more complicated paperwork that you’d probably expect for an adult adoption, but we eventually found ourselves in the same courthouse his soon to be out of our lives forever biodad had dragged us into for years. In the same place I had to listen to lies about me and my wife and our relationship with our boys, we stood up in front of a judge, my godmother (who came all the way to Pasadena to be part of it), his mom and brother, and a couple of close friends, and we swore that we wanted to legally become father and son. Years later, I got to do the same thing with Nolan, who didn’t choose a poetic moment under imaginary stars to ask (he isn’t a writer, like Ryan is) but asked me during lunch at Comic-con! Both days were the sort of thing I would have rushed home to write about when they were young, but I kept it just for me and my family, until now, and not just because I wanted to respect their privacy as adults.

These are the stories that I miss telling, because these are the stories that don’t just make me happy, but are the stories that I believe can resonate with readers.

Like, right now, I am here to tell my fellow stepparents that you are doing a wonderful thing, being a loving and supportive parent to your kids, whether they share your DNA and name or not. (In fact, for the first 15 years we were together, I told the boys that they were Wheatons in everything but name, and if they didn’t want to take that step, I respected that. I would love them no matter what.) I remember how hard it was to not take the bait when their biodad would tell them some outrageous lie about Anne and me, and instead just tell them that I was sorry they had to hear that, and remind them that I loved them no matter what. I hope that by sharing the story of my son asking me to officially become his father, a stepparent somewhere who is having a hard time, or a stepchild who is wondering if they can ask about adoption, will feel a little less alone and afraid.

Shitty people like to try and hurt me by saying that I raised someone else’s kids, like that’s somehow a dishonorable thing. I feel genuinely sad for those people, if they truly believe that, but when they’re just being cruel, I honestly don’t really care what some asshole stranger on the Internet thinks about my relationship with the people I love.

Which brings us back to Twitter. I took it off my phone months ago, because I didn’t need to give my time and energy to garbage humans whenever I had a free moment. I turned my mentions off a couple weeks ago, because even though I’m blocking over 25000 accounts, new shitty people are popping up every hour of every day, and taking advantage of their ability to reach into my life and try to hurt me. It sucks to miss the fun stuff, the “yes and” to my dumb jokes and puns, and the interactions with good and kind people that I’ve absolutely loved since I created by account. But as I wrote recently, unless and until Twitter takes harassment and all its systemic problems seriously, it causes more harm and unhappiness than anything else. It’s not you, good and kind people, it’s me. And it’s Twitter. But we all know that, don’t we?

I have work to do. I have stories to tell. I have a wife and children and pets to spend my time with. I have a lot of deeply personal things happening in my life right now, that I have no intention of talking about. I have people in my life who are far more important to me than Twitter or blogging.

I have been trying to quit Twitter for close to two years, but I can’t, because being there is important to people who want to work with me. I can’t because part of me holds out some desperate hope that it will get better. I can’t because there are three million people there who seem to care about what I do in this world, and it’s really stupid to abandon them, when I have creative projects coming up that I think they want to know about.

But my God, people, Twitter is broken and it’s destroying our ability to see the humanity in each other. I know that I am guilty in that regard, but you’ll have to forgive me for how much I hate Nazis.

See? I did it again.

I know that this website started out as an unfiltered view into my world, but I’m old now. My kids are grown. The people I work with read it, and my employers are giving me increasingly restrictive agreements to sign before I can work with them, which I kinda need to do to support my family. I’m not going to be able to go back to the way things were, because the world has changed so much, but maybe that’s for the best, because time I don’t spend here is time that I can spend in my imagination, writing the stories that I want to write, that I hope you want to read.

regarding blocklists, trolls, twitter’s systemic inaction against abuse, and the responsibility of wielding great power

Jesus what a day.

Apparently, a couple of exceptionally popular YouTube creators were talking on Twitter about being blocked by me. Their fans grabbed their jump to conclusions mats, torches and pitchforks in hand, and went on a rampage through my mentions.

So I guess it’s time for the obligatory blog post that I don’t want to write but need to write, about how I use social media.

First off: I think I know what happened in this case. A couple months (or maybe it was weeks; in 2018, hours can feel like days) ago, a toxic YouTube personality with a large and unsurprisingly toxic following just went after me one day, without provocation. Over the years, people have tried to create the illusion of a feud with me, in an effort to get my attention and grab some free publicity to drive up views and subscriptions. I always ignore these things, because they are childish at best, and they invite a kind of negativity and vitriol that I would prefer not to have in my life. (As a side note, if someone claiming to be a social media expert pitches the fake feud idea to you, fire them and burn their contact information to the ground. That person is an idiot.)

Anyway. This person already had a following that eclipsed mine by several a factor of at least ten, so they weren’t going to gain anything if I gave them the attention they were looking for. It honestly felt like a young person who was feeling powerful and wanted to use the power of their following to make my life miserable, to entertain the shitty people who follow them. In my efforts to be empathetic to this person, I will freely admit that, when I was in my teens or early twenties, I probably would have thought that what they were doing was harmless, and that the person who was being attacked and dogpiled probably deserved it for some reason, and that they shouldn’t take everything so seriously. Thankfully, I grew up and out of that mentality.

So awhile ago, when this person turned my Twitter mentions into a goddamn Nazi rally, I did a little work to track down patient zero. I found this person, blocked their account, and then blocked their followers, so they would lose one of their attack vectors. I freely accept that a lot of innocent people were caught up in this massive blocking, and many of them are YouTube personalities (because it appears that, at some point, an explicit or implicit agreement was made among YouTubers that a lot of them would follow each other on social media. I wonder why good and decent people would follow this toxic person, but that’s on them, not on me.) In the aftermath, a lot of these YouTube personalities have, at some point, made a bunch of noise about being blocked by me. “Oh why did this happen,” they wonder, “I’ve never interacted with this guy. Please tell me, dear followers who worship me, whatever did I do to deserve this great injustice.”

Real quick: In this example, I present the imagined locutor as acting in bad faith, but can sincerely relate to that feeling. From time to time, someone I know and like RTs someone, but I can’t see it because I’ve been blocked by that person. I usually a have a little bit of a sad, because most of the time that person who has blocked me is someone I would like to see on Twitter, but I don’t pitch a fit about it, because I am a goddamn adult, and they don’t owe me anything.

I have said this on Twitter in a thread before, but I don’t think I’ve said it here: if you think you were wrongly or inadvertently blocked by me on Twitter, I’m painfully easy to get in touch with so you can ask about it and get it removed. Like, you certainly don’t have to, but you can if you want to. If you throw a fit about it and send your followers after me, you’ve made me feel like I don’t regret blocking you by accident. If you do this thing that people do where they are just asking about it and don’t really mean anything wink wink (sealioning), I don’t regret blocking you by accident. I want everyone to understand that Twitter is a mess, because Jack is a terrible CEO and doesn’t act like he cares at all about limiting Nazis, trolls, Russian bots, and other bad people. I believe that he doesn’t care because every single time someone or some group of people work hard to solve his problem (which is all of our problem) for him, he treats it like a public relations problem, not a systemic problem on the platform he runs, that is making the world a worse place due to his inaction. Because Twitter does not make it easy to manage and reduce attacks and other bad acts, we have to rely on imperfect tools like shared blocklists, extensions that help us identify and block trolls and bots, and tools that do mass blockings of an account’s followers. I’ve said many times, it’s a blunt and messy and imperfect instrument. It’s a nuclear bomb where what’s really needed is a rapier, but we go to war with the tools we have. Thanks for nothing, Jack. I hope you believe that the money you are earning is worth the damage you are inflicting on the world, and I hope you sleep really well at night.

Back to this morning. My mentions turn into this morass of anime avatars, poor grammar and racist, bigoted attacks. So, as I said above, I felt like I didn’t particularly care that I blocked these people, if this is the way the people they attract behave. If you attract a lot of bigots and trolls, you may just be a bigot and a troll, goes the math.

But that’s where I think, hey, maybe things are a little more complex than that. Because when multiple millions of people follow a person, that person can’t be reasonably held to account for everything every one of those followers does. Sure, there’s the glaring and profound exception of people who encourage and condone terrible behavior because they engage in it themselves, but most of us who have large audiences are going to end up with a few bad folks in that audience, because of math and human psychology. A few people who follow and/or know these guys reached out and said, essentially, “hey, these guys are good people and knowing what I know about you, I think you’d probably get along in regular circumstances. Please don’t let a small representation of their audience affect the way you feel about them.” I will admit and own that I can intellectually agree with that statement entirely, while emotionally struggling to be as graceful as I’d like to be in my idealized self.

Part of me really wants to unblock these people, because they seem like genuinely good people who exercised poor judgment. Another part of me doesn’t want to reward bad behavior. The biggest part of me believes that in about 18 hours nobody will care about this and they’ll go back to rolling in towers of YouTube cash, forgetting that I ever existed.

So I don’t know what I’m going to do in this instance, but since I’m spending the time writing about it, I want to make the following points very clear, so I have something to point to the next time this happens:

I actually use Twitter and other social platforms the way people use them. I’m not a hashtag brand who doesn’t care. I’m a real person who really looks at mentions and stuff. I’ve said it before: if you cut me, I will bleed.
Nobody is entitled to my time and attention. Yes, I block thousands of people on Twitter, because it’s that bad for me on Twitter. Yes, I block lots of people who I’ve never talked to and never will talk to. Usually, that’s because they’ve announced to the world that they’re garbage by following a garbage account that trolls and bullies and attacks people. Occasionally, it’s a mistake, and when that mistake is brought to my attention in a mature and respectful way, I do my best to correct it.
Chris Hardwick gave me great advice that I’m going to paraphrase here. He said that when you’re interacting with a person, and your first reaction is GO FUCK YOURSELF, think about all the times you’ve wanted to unleash Hell on someone, but three or four or seven messages later, you can talk like people and move on with your lives. Hardwick says that he does his best to start out at that seventh message, so he doesn’t blow up at someone in a way he’ll regret. I do my best to follow this advice, but I admit and own that when something like tearing children away from their parents is the issue at hand, I don’t have any patience or understanding or acceptance of someone who is anything other than sickened and outraged and horrified by it. There’s never gonna be a seventh message with that person, because that person holds beliefs that are reprehensible to me. But when someone is pissed about a joke they didn’t like on Big Bang Theory or thinks I ruined tabletop gaming by making it more accessible, or has taken a friendly sports rivalry too far, it’s a lot easier to get to that seventh message.
When Twitter treats abuse as a serious, systemic, societal issue with real consequences, and not as a public relations challenge, all of this will change. Until then, I will continue to use clumsy and blunt instruments to make my experience on the platform as nontoxic as possible. In other words, I’d love to use a lightsaber, but right now, I only have a blaster at my side.
Remember that there’s a real person on the other side of your social media interactions. This is especially important for young people, because there is not a person alive who can hurt and be hurt like a teenager. I promise you that you’re going to get older, and you’re going to be mortified by the terrible things you did when you know that you should have known better. If I blocked SuperYouTube6969 and you think they’re the greatest thing since memes, don’t take it personally. I can assure you that it has nothing to do with you.
Let’s all do our best to start out at the seventh message.
If you’re a creator with a large audience, whether you like it or not you have a tremendous responsibility, and you have an incredible opportunity to decide if you’re going to use that audience to enrich yourself, or if you’re going to use the privilege you have to make the world a better place. How do you want to be remembered?
As always, don’t be a dick.

I know there’s more I want to say, but I have a raging headache right now and what I really want to be doing is working on my novel, so that’s where I’m going. Feel free to discuss this in a non-shitty way in comments here. And if you’re one of those people who was inadvertently blocked by me, let me know so I can take a look.

Thanks for listening.

 

this is brilliant

When we worked on Next Generation, Brent Spiner and I would sit at our consoles on the bridge, and make up lyrics to our show’s theme song. I vaguely recall coming up with some pretty funny and clever stuff, but nothing that held together as perfectly as this, from the weirdos over at meh.com: