I am still recovering from the convention this weekend, so I don’t know if this entry is going to make a lot of sense. I think it does, but I’m having a hard time feeling my fingers today, so . . . consider yourself warned.
I always write and talk about the positive aspects of conventions, but I want to open the door onto some of the realities of what it takes for me to give fans what I think they deserve at one of these things:
When I signed on for the Grand Slam convention, Adam Malin (one half of the Big Bosses™ at Creation) asked me if I’d participate in this dessert party thing they do on Saturday night. He said that it was sort of a “meet and greet” thing, where a few actors would spend a little time (no more than an hour) with a few fans, who had paid a little extra for the opportunity to get “up close” with them.
I told Adam that I thought it was silly for me to do that, since I hang out at the con all day, and just about anyone who wants to can get “up close” with me for no additional cost, but he thought it would be cool for me to come to this party thing. The fans would really like it, he told me, and he would appreciate it if I participated, as a favor to him. His assistant told me that all the other actors would also be there, and that it was always a very fun experience for everyone involved.
Against my better judgment, I agreed.
When the dessert party started at 9PM on Saturday night, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. The adrenaline surge that came with and followed my reading, and the eight hours of signing and posing and stuff that went along with it had left me totally drained. In my “emotional well,” I was sucking dirt.
I wrote something about the whole autograph and picture experience in Dancing Barefoot that may help explain why signing is so draining:
. . . I’m ready to be witty, charming and friendly. I am ready to make these fans feel like the autograph I’m currently signing is the only one I’ve signed all day, maybe the only one I’ve signed in my whole life, though the actual number of autographs I’ve signed over the years is probably closer to half a million.
Over the years, I’ve learned something from this [autograph signing] experience: it’s never about the signature. It’s about that brief moment, that brief encounter with a Star Trek cast member, that is so important to the fans. That 30 seconds or so of hopefully undivided attention is what they’re really paying for, and I always do my best to make sure they get their money’s worth. Contrary to popular belief, sitting at a table signing autographs for several hours without a break is hard. It’s not just mindlessly scrawling my name; it’s stopping and listening to the always excited, sometimes shaking, always sweating, sometimes scary dude who wants to know exactly why I did “X” on episode “Y” and would I please sign his picture in silver, because Marina signed it in gold and now he wants the men in silver and the women in gold, and I hated your character and here are 25 reasons why and I expect an answer for each one of them and I’m not leaving until I’m satisfied.
This goes on and on for hours at a time. The fans come down what amounts to an assembly line, stopping at a table, enjoying their 30 seconds of attention and trading a ticket for an autograph. They move to the next table, and repeat.
I personally think that this “assembly line” method, while the only one that really works, has the potential to totally suck for the fans. The first one hundred or so who come through the line will get to see a smiling, effusive, friendly actor, and will leave feeling happy and satisfied. Those unlucky ones who are at the end of the line risk seeing actors who are tired, with cramped hands and degraded signatures. We’ve often lost our voices, and have probably had to deal with at least one scary person. It is a challenge for me, but I always try to remind myself that the last fans through the line have paid as much as the first fans, and they’ve also waited a LONG time, so they are the ones that I need to give the most attention to when I am the most drained.
I’m not always successful, but I do my best. I know that as I get toward the end of the line, my signature degrades, my humor slows down, I feel tired and worn out and I just don’t have what the fans deserve. I know it and it sucks and I work VERY hard to treat the last 150 the same as the first 150, but sometimes, I am simply not physically able.
That passage is from the Saga of SpongeBob Vega$ Pants, and it refers to the traditional set up for signing pictures and stuff at a huge con. This particular “assembly line” method really applies more to headliner guests than it does to someone like me, though.
What I do now is very different: I set up my books and some WWdN junk at a table around a bunch of other actors and I hang out there pretty much all day. Fans come over to visit with me, I sign their books, and their pictures and stuff, and I spend a LOT of time talking to them about WWdN, TNG, and some of my other work. It’s that 30 or 60 seconds of hopefully undivided attention for five or six hours in a row, and sometimes a fan who is . . . uh . . . well, let’s just say “enthusiastic” will hang out for an hour, and manage to ask me every single question I’ve ever been asked before. I really can’t get away, and I knew the job was dangerous when I took it . . . but mothercrap, man, that can suck the life right out of me.
This year I was next to my friend Rob’s wife Alana, and between Ray Park (Nicest guy in the world), Jeremy Bulloch, and about fifteen feet from some Harry Potter kids and Lord Of The Rings actors. Yes, I geeked out when Sala Baker, who played Sauron, gave me an autographed picture. It was very cool.
Aside: You know what’s cool? Since I started this site three and a half years ago, each time I go to a convention (and I’ve only gone to two or three a year) the ratio of Trekkies to Readers has shifted dramatically in favor of Readers. That makes me very happy. I’m calling this the Best Grand Slam EVER, because the reading was so unbelievably successful — for the audience and for me. I felt like it was the best it’s ever been, and I’m even toying with turning some of the material into a one man show. Think Patrick Stewart doing “A Christmas Carol,” but it’s me doing “Just A Geek.” There’s enough non-Trek material there to build a show that would work beyond the convention circuit, I think. Well, I hope, anyway.
So I spend all day with people, and I really don’t get a break. I do this for two reasons:
- The convention promoters refuse to accept that I am a “headline draw.” I am working to change that perception, by bringing new and interesting material to every show I do, so I’m not just reciting the same old jokes, and same old stories about working on the show. So far, they are very reluctant to give me time on the main stage these days. This also means that they don’t give me a speaker’s fee(I know that idea of “getting paid for it” pisses some people off, but if you think Shatner is up there because he loves the fans, think again), so if I want to take advantage of the opportunity to support my family a little bit, I have to put in the hours at my table.
- I’ve said this before, but I feel like I spent many years at conventions just being an idiot. I was an unhappy, confused, sometimes angry teenager, and I regret those years. I have an opportunity now, after taking for many years, to give something back to the fans.
I hope the “giving something back” and the “supporting my family” parts aren’t mutually exclusive, but I guess it could be taken that way. It makes sense in my head, anyway.
This is a very long-winded way of saying that by 9PM on Saturday night, when I thought I was just going to “meet a few people and take a few pictures,” I was the Walking Dead. The slow kind of Walking Dead, not the new, improved, Super-Fast Zombies of the last few years. I was so tired, many people commented on it, and I felt a little embarrassed.
I met Adam, and walked into a room with somewhere between 30 and 40 tables, I guess. Each table had about 12 people around it. Adam asked me if I’d go from table to table, and say hello, and pose for pictures. I looked around for “all the other actors,” but I only saw a few people from Enterprise and Dead Zone. It was a far cry from “all the other actors.”
Oh shit. This is going to be really hard.
Everyone I saw there was incredibly kind, and very happy and excited to see me, and I felt compelled to be charming, and funny, and friendly . . . but it was like going to 40 mini-conventions, after I’d spent the entire day at one really big one, and it was one of the hardest, most draining things I’ve ever done. After just a few tables, I realized that I had gotten myself into something very different than what I was expecting, and I told Adam, “I can’t do this any more. I’m so drained and exhausted, I feel like I’m going to cry.” He told me that the pictures were really important to the fans, but if I had to go, I had to go. Somehow, I sucked it up and hit all the tables . . . but I can’t even recall the last 10 or so. To be totally honest, I felt a little mislead, a little taken advantage of, and even though Adam thanked me many times for sticking around on Saturday night and making sure everyone there got what they wanted, I don’t think I’ll do it again.
When I finally got home, and fell into bed, I could still see 500 tiny blue rectangles when I closed my eyes, and I slept badly. It was one of those “wake up every two hours singing songs in my head while my eye twitches and my legs ache” nights. I was over-tired from the day, I think, (and I have a LOT of anxiety about Just A Geek, which is the root of all my sleeplessness and stuff right now, but that’s another post entirely.)
When I woke up Sunday morning, I felt like . . . well, how’s this analogy: The dessert party was the drink that set me over the edge after a night of raising hell with the boys, and I felt “hungover” for most of the morning on Sunday. Does that make sense? Anne says it doesn’t. Check yes or no.
It took me several hours and a big lunch to get my head “back in the game” on Sunday, but by the middle of the afternoon, I felt better. Many, many people came to talk with me about the reading / performance, and many of them had already finished my book. I realize it’s unlikely that someone will come up to me and say, “Your book sucks, Wheaton,” but everyone told me they’d really liked it. People keep telling me that it’s very clear, and very easy to read. A woman told me that she didn’t expect to be so emotionally affected by it. That was cool.
The highlight of the con, however, was near the end of the day on Sunday. Brent Spiner had just finished his talk on stage, and he was coming over to the “photo-op” thingy, which was about 30 feet from my table. I guess they weren’t ready for him, so he came over and talked to me while he was waiting.
“Hey, Wil,” he said. He embraced me as hundreds of flashbulbs popped.
“Hey, Brent. It’s great to see you.”
“How are you doing?”
“Really well,” I said. “For the first time in years I don’t feel like a loser. I wrote a book –”
“Yes! I heard that you have a three book deal! Is that true?”
Holy fucking shit. Brent heard that I have a three book deal! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!
“Yeah. And I think I’m going to pitch two more to my publisher soon.”
“So are you just a writer now?”
I thought for a second. “I think so. I’m so happy, and right now, I have more work than I can handle. I’m riding this wave as long as I can stay on my board, you know?”
He smiled. “That’s fantastic.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out this silver box, that was about 2x4x1 inches. It turns out it was a digital camera.
“Look at this,” he said, with the same mirthful glint in his eye that I miss from our TNG days.
He turned on the camera, and showed me several pictures of his son, who is the most adorable little guy you’ve ever seen. He looks just like Brent.
We talked for a few minutes before a convention staffer came over and told him they were ready for him.
“Brent, can I give you one of my books?” I said.
“Wil, I would love to have one of your books.” He said.
“Will you read it?” I said.
He looked puzzled, and said, “Of course I’ll read it!”
“Cool!” I said. “You’re in it, you know.”
“Well, in that case, I promise you I will read it.”
“That’s cool, Brent. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will.” He said.
The staffer cleared his throat.
“I have to go,” he said. “It’s fantastic to see you, Willie. I’m glad you’re doing well.”
I should point out right now that Brent Spiner is the only person in the world who can call me Willie without getting a cock-punch, so don’t even think about it.
“Thanks, Brent.” I said.
I smiled as I watched him go, but in my mind, I was throwing the goat.
post script
I wrote the following in the comments, but I know that not everyone reads the comments, and I feel that these are two important points of clarification:
- I was very impressed with Adam at this convention, especially at this dessert party. It was very important to him that everyone who was there was having a good time, and he went out of his way to stop and talk to everyone who had questions, complaints, concerns, or just friendly comments. I think Adam and Gary are working to turn around the reputation they have in some circles of fandom. Since about 2002, I’ve seen two guys who are concerned about running a good show, and making sure that the fans in attendance get their money’s worth.
- I just want to clarify one more thing: the dessert party wasn’t “bad,” at all. Every single fan there was wonderful, and I could tell that they were all having a very good time, and it was really an event. If I hadn’t been doing essentially the same thing for most of the day, I bet I would have really enjoyed it, and maybe even spent some extra time hanging out.
But at the end of a long day, it was just one thing too many. I want to be very clear that I am an adult, and I am responsible for all of my actions. I could have left at any time if I had wanted to, and I am not resentful toward Creation, Adam, the fans, or anything like that.
I was just very, very tired. 🙂
