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i’m … proud? … of me? okay, that’s new.

Posted on By Wil

For years I have slept like absolute garbage. I struggle to fall asleep every night, and it’s not uncommon for me to wake up five or more times, for no obvious reason. I’ve done all the things, and nothing seems to really help that much. The most effective thing, surprisingly, is listening to a sleep story from Calm, so I’ve been doing that. Every night, LeVar reads me to sleep, which is pretty great.

I’ve been sleeping in the guest room for a week or so, so Anne doesn’t have to deal with me tossing and turning and all the rest, so instead of rolling over and saying good morning, I stagger into the living room and say good morning.

Over the weekend, I walked out, saw Anne, and before I could say anything she said, “Did you see it?”

Friends, there is only one “it” I want to see when I wake up, and it’s the same thing we all want.

“What? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“No, no, not that,” she said. “Sorry. It’s not that.”

“Dude, you can’t do that to me. My heart can’t take it.” I weighed out my coffee beans. While I poured them into the grinder, she said, “Stephen King posted on Threads that he and Simon and Schuster are putting your narration of The Body up for Grammy consideration!”

That just about knocked me off my feet. “What?”

She repeated herself. “Open up Threads and look.”

“I can’t! I’m not looking at the Internet for 30 minutes after I wake up.” I reached into the cabinet and pulled out a coffee mug.

She tapped on her phone a few times and hurried over to me while I dumped the ground coffee into my Aeropress, and poured some water over it to start a bloom.

“Look!”

For your GRAMMY® consideration: @itswilwheaton’s narration of The Body. Submitted in the Best Audio Book, Narration, and Storytelling Recording category.
recordingacademy simonaudio 🏆 #GRAMMYs #FYC #WilWheaton #TheBody #RecordingAcademy SimonAudio AudiobooksOfInstagram

“Okay, that is pretty awesome,” I said. I stirred the damp grounds, then saturated them and let bloom finish. I filled the tube the rest of the way and put the plunger in with a satisfying hiss.

“I’m so proud of you!” Anne said. I pushed the plunger down, silently cursed that I always get some out of the sides and onto the counter, and was quiet until I was done. I set it aside and sipped my coffee.

I thought for a moment. I never cared about awards, and the few times I won, I always felt like a fraud, like someone felt sorry for me, or it was just about publicity, or a dumb popularity contest. It wasn’t about acknowledging and honoring art that I made1. “I want the work to speak for itself,” I always said, and I meant it. But I never let anyone know that there was a very small part of me, tucked safely away from everyone (including me, sometimes) who held out some hope that, maybe, if it were an Oscar … but that voice was always drowned out by another that said since that is never going to happen, just fucking forget it, man.

So I did. What initially started out as caring so much I had to insist I didn’t care, actually became sincerely not caring. Just do the work and don’t expect any external validation for it. It’s the work, itself, that matters2.

“Is everything okay?”

I realized that I had been quiet, staring at my reflection in the black liquid.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. I was just thinking … all those times I was nominated for stuff when I was younger, none of that work was mine, right? I wasn’t being recognized for art I created because that art was important to me; I was desperately trying to earn a place in my family by doing what I was told I had to do. I guess I felt like any attention or accolade was negative reinforcement for my mom, you know?

“All that time, whenever I worked really hard and earned literally anything, my mother jumped in to claim as much of it as she could for herself. When something cool happened because I worked really hard to make it happen, my dad never cared. I always felt stupid for caring, so I stopped caring. You can’t be disappointed that you didn’t win, or that your parents are still dogshit when you did win, if you don’t care.” I did that tapping the head meme thing.

“Yeah, I get that. I’m still really proud of you, though.”

I sipped more coffee.

“Thank you.” I closed my eyes, furrowed my brow, and rubbed my free hand across my forehead, into my bedhead. I noticed something unexpected.

“I think … I think that I am proud of me, too,” I ventured.

“Good! You should be!”

I rubbed sleep out of the corner of my left eye. “I think that this feels different because –” I held up a hand, “wait. First of all, I’m not going to win this. And I’m probably not even going to be nominated,”

“Dude, why ar–” she looked disappointed.

“Hang on. I hear you. I’m getting there, but that’s just part of why I think I feel this way.

“This time is different, and I feel genuinely happy and proud of myself, because I know that I did good work when I narrated The Body. Gabrielle and I both knew it when we were recording. It’s like the way I knew Stand By Me was going to be special when we were making it.” I blew across the top of my mug.

“The narration feels like that work, that art, is mine in a way that most of my other work is not. I feel like my performance in this narration is special, that it’s something only I could do, and I absolutely own that. That’s really enough.”

Anne smiled and I took a deep breath.

“It’s so unlikely I receive a nomination, just because of math and all the tremendously talented narrators who have probably been nominated before, who will also be considered. But I’m not minimizing this very cool thing that Stephen King posted, at all. That post means that the publisher, and Stephen King himself, feel the same way about my narration as I do. They at least feel like nobody is going to laugh at us because I’m clearly not qualified to be White House Press Secretary, like and such as.”

We giggled together.

“Five days!” She sad.

“It’s the funniest thing, ever,” I agreed. “These fucking dorks, I swear.”

More giggles.

“Anyway,” I continued, “I’ve known about this for all of five minutes, so I’m going to take the day to process it. No matter what, I’m going to allow myself to feel good about this, because it is a genuinely cool thing on its own. I am sincerely proud of myself.”

She hugged me. “You totally deserve this. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you. I am proud of me too. I just need some time to get used to that, and not feel weird about it.”

A few hours later, I was out for a walk, thinking about all of this, and I had a moment that was similar to the first time I heard the birds singing. I noticed that I felt genuinely and safely proud of myself, excited to do more work like this, confident and secure in myself as an artist.

There is this thing happening in me that has been slowly going on for a few months. I feel like I’m getting to really know myself, especially my artistic self, in a way I never tried to before. All my therapy and CPTSD recovery work has helped me set aside and walk away from all these ways I made myself small so my parents and brother could feel big, all the choices I made to deny who I truly was, not only as an artist but as a person, in a futile effort to earn the kind of affection, support, stability, and love that all kids should get from our parents because we exist3.

As I’ve gotten to know myself, as I have recovered from so much pain and complex trauma, just working so hard to get from always feeling angry to just feeling sad, I have embraced the weird theater kid, who loves to tell stories, I have always been. I found the courage to retire from on-camera acting, which I never wanted to do in the first place, without throwing out the skills I developed when I was doing it. I’m a good narrator because I understand story, I understand character arcs, I know how to break down a whole story, how to break down a scene, how to create and maintain unique and interesting characters for 24 hours of narration. I did that. I put in the hours and the energy and worked as hard as I could to do the best performances possible, to get to this place where I can actually feel proud of myself. It’s a new thing to feel confident, to feel like I can hold my own with the people who earn nominations and get awards, because this is what I want to do with my creative life, this is my art, this is something I made for myself that makes my heart sing4.

When I got home, I found Anne and wrapped my arms around her. We hugged tightly and I told her what I’d thought about during my walk.

“I get all of that,” she said, “and I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, I’m happy for me, too!”

It was so weird to say that, and know that it was the truth.

Hi, I’m Wil. I narrate audiobooks (you probably figured that out) and I write this blog. I’m on Threads and Instagram as @itswilwheaton. I host a podcast, It’s Storytime With Wil Wheaton, where I narrate short, speculative fiction. New episodes drop Wednesdays. If you’d like to get my posts to your inbox, here is the thingy:

One last thing before I go:

This is a teaser.
  1. I think, after decades of space between then and now, that I can allow myself to accept that, maybe, I did deserve whatever accolades I got, because it was given to me for my work. I wish I’d been able to feel that, back then. ↩︎
  2. Some of that work was good, none of it was great. I spend twenty years trying to figure out why, and recently came to understand, like, almost everything. That’s its own post in the future. ↩︎
  3. It is so fucked up that both of my parents, and my father’s entire family, made us feel like we had to earn love and support, like we were constantly being graded. I was in my 30s before I found out how incredibly not normal that is. My sister and I talk all the time about how we unconditionally love our children, and how aware we both are of the ways our parents withheld their very conditional affection. God, it’s so gross. ↩︎
  4. Man, it’s taking everything I have to not go back and delete that, conditioned as I have always been to downplay my accomplishments and abilities, lest I be accused of being “too big for your britches” by my dad. Well, fuck you, dude. I feel really good about myself, and super proud of the work I did. And I guess Stephen King agrees with me, and he knows a hell of a lot more about art and storytelling than you do. ↩︎
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it’s storytime live is almost sold out!

Posted on By Wil

In case you missed it, I want you to know about a show I’m doing in a couple weeks, right here in the valley.

So last Spooky Season, I read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, for the Storytime Patreon subscribers. It was very simple, just me and a microphone, a few Halloween decorations I got at the drugstore to dress up my office. It was deliberately simple, and as far as I can tell, everyone who tuned in enjoyed it. I know that I had a really good time doing it.

When I was thinking about bringing it back this year, I thought it would be fun to try it out on stage, with an audience, this year. My friend owns Geeky Teas in Burbank, and she has a great performance space that I’ve been wanting to use for something, so I did the math and here we are.

The space holds about 70 people, and as of yesterday morning, about half the tickets are sold. That’s more people than I thought would show up, so I’m pretty happy about that. The thing about doing shows in LA is that there are so many shows in LA on any given night, we are all spread out rather thin, and unless you are a massive draw, it always feels like nobody shows up. I’m so delightfully surprised that this room will have more people in it than not who I didn’t bring myself, from my own house, to watch.

The story I picked for this year is The Body Snatcher, by Robert Louis Stevenson. For more information, I’m going to quote myself from a few days ago, to save time:

On October 25, I’m going to be at Geeky Teas in Burbank for It’s Storytime With Wil Wheaton, Live. Last year, I did a live reading of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow for our Patreon subscribers, from my office. (Where I’m sitting right now, actually.) It wasn’t directed, or mastered, or anything like that. It was just me, the story, and a mic (Love you, LeVar). I had a great time doing it, and I got good feedback, so I’m doing another live reading this year, with an eye toward establishing a yearly tradition. This year’s classic tale of terror is The Body Snatcher, by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Here’s a little bit I grabbed from a summary, to entice you:

Every night, four men regularly meet in the small parlour of the George Inn at Debenham: the landlord, an undertaker, the narrator, and an old Scotsman named Fettes. Once educated and comfortably off, Fettes is now a “crapulous, disreputable” drunkard. The townspeople call him “the Doctor” because he occasionally sets a bone or treats an injury, though little is known about his past.

One winter evening, news arrives that a wealthy local landowner has been struck with apoplexy and that his famous London physician has been telegraphed to come. When the landlord mentions the doctor’s name—“Dr. Wolfe Macfarlane”—Fettes, half drunk moments before, becomes instantly sober. He repeats the name “Macfarlane” in shock, then insists, “I must see him face to face.” The other men watch as the once-listless drunk becomes alert and deadly serious.

The rest of the story is uncovering why Fettes is now a drunk, and what (or maybe who) he is running from. It’s creepy and even scary at times, and the prose is delicious.

Because this is Stevenson’s most famous horror work after Dr. Jekyll and Mister Hyde, there is a ton of scholarly writing and analysis of it online. Because I am that kind of nerd, of course I dove in and drank deeply from the wells of knowledge I found within. This is a story that, like Sleepy Hollow, was written in response to contemporary events that have been mostly lost to history. When we know the context in which it was written, and the events that inspired it, it gives us (or gave me, at least) an elevated experience and additional appreciation of the material, in addition to a great story. Without turning it into a college lecture, I am thinking about including some of that in the show, the way I record codas after each story for Patreon.

It won’t be fancy, it won’t be staged. It’s literally just me, in a chair, telling you a story for about an hour. There are a couple lighting cues, and that’s it. I’m keeping this as simple as possible, because I don’t have time to rehearse and prepare any staging. I’d rather keep it simple, and feel prepared, than make it complicated and risk feeling like I got in over my head.

Also, I’m giving serious consideration to taking myself on the road, and playing some smaller theaters with live readings that we’ll record for the podcast. This will help me find out if there is any audience for that, if I even feel good reading in front of a live audience, and give me a safe place to stumble a bit, if I need to.

The performance will be streamed live, and archived, for Patreon subscribers, so if you want to watch it but aren’t local, you can join us there for five bucks, which will also give you access to the entire show’s archive, and all our BTS materials, for a month.

When I booked the room, I was fully prepared to play to about a dozen friends, only. That it appears to be on its way to maybe selling out is pretty awesome.

HI, I’m Wil. This is my blog. If you’d like to receive my posts in your inbox, here’s the thingy:

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mix tapes, live shows, and storytime.

Posted on By Wil

It’s been a long time since I made a mixtape, but I remember making them all the time when I was a kid. I rarely had the opportunity to make them for another person, but that didn’t stop me from making endless awesome mixes to block out the world on my Walkman.

I’ve made a ton of public playlists over the years, but every last one of them is meant to be shuffled. They don’t have a cohesive theme, tell a story, or do anything that particular flavor of mixtape did for us back in the 80s. They are more like radio stations, I suppose. I’ve received lots of compliments for my Generic New Wave, and my KROQ Flashback playlists from people who experience them that way.

But I haven’t made a playlist with intention, to be listened to in a particular order, in well over a decade, probably two, until I got it into my head recently that it was time.

So I made two sides of a 60 minute cassette. The first side is Boys Drool, featuring a lot of the women in rock who I can’t stop listening to right now, with a focus on punk and hardcore. Due to the time limit, it’s far from complete, and it kind of insists on a second volume with a different focus.

The second side is Wax and Wane. This is classic goth, dark and moody, meant to listen to while you come down from dancing your face off with the ladies on side one. Did you know that Bela Lugosi’s Dead was recorded and mixed live, done in a single take? So when we listen to the album version, we are hearing exactly what someone sitting in the session heard, as if our headphones have been plugged into the past. I fucking love that.

While I assembled both sides of this tape, I was reminded how fun it is when I impose limits on myself and commit to working within them. Having just thirty minutes to work with forced me to get really clear with myself on what I wanted to do. Ever since I started writing, I have embraced the concept of choosing arbitrary limitations to work within, so that when actual limitations arrive, I already have some experience finding the stuff that needs to be cut or changed. Also, it’s fun and creates space for me to appreciate when I don’t have limitations.

This week’s It’s Storytime With Wil Wheaton is The Loneliness of Former Constellations, by P.H. Low, originally published in Strange Horizons.

The war is long over and as the memory of it fades, it has taken with it the sacrifices and horrors endured by those who fought and won the conflict.

One of those warriors, perhaps the most consequential warrior, you’ll have to decide if that’s accurate for yourself, has quietly made a home for herself, far away from the blood-soaked front lines, where she has safely grown old, in quiet solitude.

Our story begins when she receives a visitor, a young warrior who brings with her a familiar something halfway between an echo and a reflection that stirs something deep within the veteran who welcomes her. The war is over, but there are still battles to be fought, tyrants to be defeated, a young warrior to be mentored.

She is tired, but it has been a very long time since she received a visitor, let alone a young warrior who may remind her of herself, so long ago, so she will embrace her visitor, embrace the responsibility of caring for her, and, perhaps, she will find a way to soften her embrace of The Loneliness of Former Constellations.

I interviewed Phoebe yesterday. We had a lovely conversation about her process, how this story came together, and combining sci-fi with fantasy. I think we are dropping it next week.

I have two live shows happening in Los Angeles, both with limited tickets, so if you’re local and want to come out, I suggest you grab them today.

Anne and I have known J.Keith vanStratten forever. Over 25 years, at least. I was his sidekick on his eponymous talk show in a theater at ACME for a long time, and loved every second of it. Keith hosts Go Fact Yourself on public radio (YAY PUBLIC RADIO!), and he invited Anne and me to be guests on this year’s holiday show. Tickets are on sale now.

On October 25, I’m going to be at Geeky Teas in Burbank for It’s Storytime With Wil Wheaton, Live. Last year, I did a live reading of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow for our Patreon subscribers, from my office. (Where I’m sitting right now, actually.) It wasn’t directed, or mastered, or anything like that. It was just me, the story, and a mic (Love you, LeVar). I had a great time doing it, and I got good feedback, so I’m doing another live reading this year, with an eye toward establishing a yearly tradition. This year’s classic tale of terror is The Body Snatcher, by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Here’s a little bit I grabbed from a summary, to entice you:

Every night, four men regularly meet in the small parlour of the George Inn at Debenham: the landlord, an undertaker, the narrator, and an old Scotsman named Fettes. Once educated and comfortably off, Fettes is now a “crapulous, disreputable” drunkard. The townspeople call him “the Doctor” because he occasionally sets a bone or treats an injury, though little is known about his past.

One winter evening, news arrives that a wealthy local landowner has been struck with apoplexy and that his famous London physician has been telegraphed to come. When the landlord mentions the doctor’s name—“Dr. Wolfe Macfarlane”—Fettes, half drunk moments before, becomes instantly sober. He repeats the name “Macfarlane” in shock, then insists, “I must see him face to face.” The other men watch as the once-listless drunk becomes alert and deadly serious.

The rest of the story is uncovering why Fettes is now a drunk, and what (or maybe who) he is running from. It’s creepy and even scary at times, and the prose is delicious.

Because this is Stevenson’s most famous horror work after Dr. Jekyll and Mister Hyde, there is a ton of scholarly writing and analysis of it online. Because I am that kind of nerd, of course I dove in and drank deeply from the wells of knowledge I found within. This is a story that, like Sleepy Hollow, was written in response to contemporary events that have been mostly lost to history. When we know the context in which it was written, and the events that inspired it, it gives us (or gave me, at least) an elevated experience and additional appreciation of the material, in addition to a great story. Without turning it into a college lecture, I am thinking about including some of that in the show, the way I record codas after each story for Patreon.

It won’t be fancy, it won’t be staged. It’s literally just me, in a chair, telling you a story for about an hour. There are a couple lighting cues, and that’s it. I’m keeping this as simple as possible, because I don’t have time to rehearse and prepare any staging. I’d rather keep it simple, and feel prepared, than make it complicated and risk feeling like I got in over my head.

Also, I’m giving serious consideration to taking myself on the road, and playing some smaller theaters with live readings that we’ll record for the podcast. This will help me find out if there is any audience for that, if I even feel good reading in front of a live audience, and give me a safe place to stumble a bit, if I need to.

The last time I did anything like this, it was so long ago, we made our own flyers to promote it. So I reached out to my friend, Sean, who hooked me up with a couple of classic punk-style flyers:

You are extremely invited to download and print these out for yourself.

Aren’t they great? Honestly, if the show is half as fun as the flyers, I’m good!

The performance will be streamed live, and archived, for Patreon subscribers, so if you want to watch it but aren’t local, you can join us there for five bucks, which will also give you access to the entire show’s archive, and all our BTS materials, for a month.

Operation Read All The Books continues. I just finished Joseph Fink’s The Nudge, a fun and creepy novella that I tore through in about an hour. I’m deeply in love with The Republic of Memory, which plays with language in a deeply saitsfying way. I just picked up Ode To The Half-Broken, though, and my quick glance at the beginning of it to see where in the queue I wanted to put it came to an end when I noticed I was coming up on page 100, and I may as well go ahead and just put at at the top. This is the first story I have ever read where a robot protagonist felt like a robot, rather than a robot-as-imagined-by-a-human. And it’s just delightful, too.

Speaking of Read All The Books, my collection at Black Stone awaits! I’m such a fan of Black Stone; they don’t use any DRM, ever, in their audio and ebooks, they support indie artists, and they publish some truly outstanding genre work. This month, I wanted to spotlight Hard Reset, by Jonathan Yanez. This is a Lit RPG novel that does all the fun tropes we expect, but is so much more than that. Like Acts of God, which is also in the collection, it goes into the virtual world, and spends most of its time there, but that world is given context and higher stakes when we go outside, into the “real” (as far as any of us know) reality that contains it. It’s a lot of fun, and I connected to the characters very early in the narrative.

Last thing before I go: A study concluded that people who start their day with at least 30 minutes of literally anything that is not online reported significantly improved everything in their day. I’ve been trying this for about two weeks, and my non-scientific contribution is: fuck yeah, it does.

Just something to think about, maybe try out for yourself.

Hi, I’m Wil, this is my blog. I’m glad you’re here. If you’d like to get my posts delivered directly to your inbox, here’s the thingy:

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New Storytime: Toothpaste Feelings by Sharang Biswas

Posted on By Wil

This week’s It’s Storytime With Wil Wheaton is a sweet, queer story about … well, here’s how I introduced it:

Have you ever known someone who went away for some reason, and came back so fundamentally changed, it’s like they picked up an alien parasite along the way that took control of their personality?

And they still look and sound like the person you knew, only … different. And they know it, and you know they know, and they know you know they know, and you both care about each other, so you muddle through the weirdness, seeking to reestablish the connection you had before.

It’s awkward, and uncomfortable, tentative and uncertain. Maybe it’s a little dangerous, for one or both of you, but you do it because you care deeply for each other.

And, hey, maybe the way they they’ve changed isn’t so much them becoming a different person, as much as it is becoming the person they were all along, who is a person both of you love to be with.

This is a story about all of that, and when it’s over, I think you’ll know exactly what it means to have Toothpaste Feelings.

It’s Storytime is available wherever you get your podcasts. We also have a Patreon, where I can tell you the whole story without any advertising interruptions, as well as a whole lot of fun stuff from behind the scenes. If you join for October, you’ll get access to a special, live performance of a classic, spooky story, that’s going to be something special. I’m really excited to do it.

Toothpaste Feelings was originally published in Koreo, a magazine that is rapidly becoming a reliable, go-to source for me to find incredible stories from incredible writers.

If you listen to this episode, or if you have already heard it, I would love to hear your feedback in the comments. If you get a note that your comment is being held for moderation, please be patient while I approve it. I’m sort of a one-man show over here.

Hi, I’m glad you’re here. I’m Wil Wheaton. I tell stories; mostly written by others, sometimes written by myself. I also write this blog. I am @itswilwheaton on Threads and Instagram, where you have a chance to be one of the lucky 1500 the algorithm deems worthy of seeing my posts. If you’d like to get my posts delivered to your inbox, here’s the thingy:

friend computer can bite my shiny metal ass

Posted on By Wil

When I do an interview, or I guest on a podcast, it never feels like it’s enough of a thing to post about it in my blog. It feels like the sort of thing I should just drop into Threads.

The thing is, Threads suppresses the everlivingfuck out of almost everything I post, lately. It tells me that a little over 1.2 million accounts follow mine, but it typically only shows what I post to an average of about 3000 people. If a post is doing extremely well, it will climb up to 20,000. That’s not nothing, to be sure, but it’s a tiny fraction of the accounts that have expressed a desire to see what I post. It’s incredibly frustrating. We have given away so much of our ability to connect to each other, to communicate with each other, to these profoundly evil and destructive companies that are profiting from our dysregulation.

I wonder if anyone outside of the weird little silos the algorithms create and sort us into even see what we post? Or are we just telling other people who are already furious about the Cornell 7, the murder of Nolan Wells, the endless murders by ICE, the rampant and unchecked construction of fucking concentration camps full of children who are raped by ICE thugs things we already know. I wonder if the evil human rights abusers who sit atop these companies will ever be held accountable for their roles in all of this violence and destruction.

Like, there was real promise in decentralized communication, and we saw entire countries use it to rise up and depose the despots who had been standing on their necks for a generation. Of course it was shitty American Capitalists who saw that, recognized it as a threat to their hegemony, and put us where we are right now.

I don’t know that we will ever be able to undo this, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. And I am trying today because I realized something last night while I was very successfully not falling asleep for my second hour: there are more actual humans subscribed to my blog posts than the stupid algorithm shows my posts to on Threads. If I have something to say, something fun or cool I want to share, even if it is just a quick thing, a couple of links, a stray thought with something interesting at its end, I will just make a post here, and show it to all of you.

So, to that end, a few fun things I’ve done lately that I wanted to share:

Years ago, I spoke with John Moe for his program, The Hilarious World of Depression. At that time, I wasn’t aware of the root causes of my mental illness, so we didn’t talk about CPTSD or child abuse, or any of the things I do to work toward healing that part of my life. I’m happy to say that I recently talked with John for a follow-up. His show is now a podcast that you can get wherever you prefer. And while you are there, you can also grab an episode of Sleeping With Celebrities that I did. If you’re unfamiliar (as I was), it’s a podcast designed to help you fall asleep, a soothing conversation about something I care about a lot, delivered in a way that should help ease you to sleep. I talked all about this old TV show I love, The Prisoner.

I did an interview with The Advocate, too, talking about my experiences as an ally, and why being othered in my life pushed me to stand up for people without my privilege.

“The only way I could be a more protected class of citizen in America is if I were an openly performative Christian nationalist. I’m white. I’m male. I’m upper middle class. I’m semi-famous. I have all kinds of privilege. And yet, I’ve been othered my entire life,” Wheaton says.

“I was othered by my parents. I was othered by people in my neighborhood. I was othered on the set,” he adds, explaining that his Star Trek castmates were the exception.

“And when I see other people experiencing that, I cannot help myself. I have to throw myself between those people and the people who are hurting them,” he says. “I’m standing up for my younger self in ways that no one ever, ever did.”

Wheaton offers this promise to the trans community: “Sometimes people who won’t hear you will hear me, even when we’re saying the same thing. And if I can use that privilege to reach that person and make a change, that’s one less person who fucking hassles you for existing.”

Okay, finally, I wanted to draw your attention to last week’s episode of It’s Storytime With Wil Wheaton, The Glass City by AnaMaria Curtis.

If I described for you a sailor, stranded on an island, a thousand miles of ocean in every direction, it would be easy for you to imagine that person’s sense of loneliness. If I described for you a businessman, who has been on the road for a month straight, sleeping in hotels that blur together and smear across the same lobby restaurant over and over again, some of you could probably relate to and imagine that. If I told you about someone who has been Othered, in their family or in their community, told you how they sat in their bedroom with the door closed and wished that anyone would see them, some of you will, unfortunately, understand precisely. I grew up knowing that particular flavor of loneliness all too well. Even now, as happy and surrounded by love as I am, I can remember, and I can feel it. Loneliness is such a powerful feeling, even when it fades, some part of it lingers … at least for me, lurking, waiting, on the horizon of my memory.

This week’s Storytime is a beautiful, surreal meditation on loneliness from Ana Maria Curtis, who you may remember as the author of The Coffin Maker, a wonderful story I told you about a year ago. (If you haven’t heard it, it’s in the archive.) I’m thrilled and honored to speak her words again, and so grateful that you are choosing to hear them. I’m going to go ahead, and when you’re ready, come and meet me. I’ll be waiting for you, at The Glass City. 

I just really loved this story, and I thought I did especially good work telling it. If you have some time to spend, I hope you’ll consider spending it with me.

That’s all for now. Until next time, maybe it will happen today.

Hi, I’m Wil Wheaton and I write this blog (among other things). I’m glad you are here. If you’d like to get my posts delivered to your inbox, here’s the thingy: