I’m working on a couple of writing projects right now, including Just A Geek, so my mind tends to wander quite a bit, as it looks for inspiration and trys to fix the things I can’t seem to fix when I’m *actively* writing.
Wednesday night, as I drove home, my mind wandered. I’m stuck in a rewrite, and I think I need to cut about 45 pages out of the middle of JAG. My mind was working on this, and weighing some alternate solutions when it said, “Hey, Wil.”
“What?” I said.
“You haven’t written in your weblog in a few days.”
“So? I’ve been busy. And you should be working on fixing JAG now.”
“Well, you should write more often. You were happier when you wrote daily. More relaxed, too. There’s an SUV in your blind spot. Slow down.”
I looked over my shoulder and saw a white Lincoln Navigator. If I could just figure out how to use my mind’s mysterious powers . . . I could go to Vegas, and get rich! I’d live in the Rain Man suite! I’d have hoo–
“We can’t afford to go to Vegas right now,” it said. “Listen: Tomorrow is September 11th.”
“Holy shit. It is? Already?”
“Yeah. If you weren’t News Fasting, you’d know. You should see how everyone is exploiting it, too. It’s really disgusting.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“Do something on your site, fucker. Write something to remind everyone about how we all came together on this planet in the aftermath of September 11th. And leave out all that stuff about the Bush Administration exploiting those victims for political gain. Everyone knows about that. Just honor the victims and their families. You can get in your cute little political opinion another time.”
It was a good idea, and that didn’t surprise me at all. My mind is full of good ideas. It was this mind, after all, that told me, “Dude, that girl Anne is hot.” It was this mind that gave me such brilliant turns of phrase as “The happy shit dance is the dance that’s sweeping the nation.” It is this mind that has said to me, countless times, “No more Guinness, Wil. It’s time to go home. And drink a glass of water when you get there.”
I have learned to listen to my mind.
“You’re right,” I said, “Let’s do something that reminds people of the one thing we have in common, no matter where we are: we’re all humans on this planet. That should be the legacy of September 11th. Life is fragile, and fleeting, and precious, and wonderful. Maybe the best way to honor the memories of those who died, and to respect the loss of those who survived them, would be to remind everyone of our basic humanity.”
“Good idea,” my mind said, “that’s a great way to move toward peace an– HOLY SHIT! CHECK OUT THE MILF IN THE CARPOOL LANE!”
I did. She was.
“I’ll do a flash animation. It’ll be cool,” I said.
I described some concepts, asked my mind to file them away until we got home, and focused on the freeway. Which was moving along at a terrifying 5 miles per hour.
“This traffic sucks,” said my mind, “I’m going to Disneyland.”
And it was gone again.
When I got home, I realized that I don’t own any flash authoring tools . . . but I know someone who does. I shot off an e-mail to Roughy:

I know it’s really late, but I want to do something to honor the victims of September 11th. It’s a flash animation that will replace my index tomorrow.
I think it’s pretty easy, and shouldn’t take too long. Check it out:
Okay.
The whole screen is black.
In the center, the word “Liberal” fades in. After a second, the word “Not” fades in, right in front of it.
Then, they both fade out.
Then, the word “Conservative” . . . same thing.
Then, “American”
The next come faster:
Then “Canadian” “Italian” “Muslim” “Man” “Woman” “Child” “Rich” “Poor” “Gay” “Straight” “CEO” “Janitor” always with the word “Not” just ahead of them.
Finally, some other words come by so fast, they blur together, and make a white block. That block sits there for a seoncod, and the word “HUMAN” fills it. The word “not” doesn’t happen, this time.
It fades out, and then “in memory of the victims of 9.11.01”
And beneath THAT “May Peace Prevail On Earth.”
That’s it.
What do you think?

Roughy thought it was a good idea, but it was late, and we needed to make it shorter. I thought that shorter was better, because it would be simpler, and more elegant.
We IMed and e-mailed and called each other names, and about two hours after I sent the e-mail, Roughy sent me the final file.
I’ll be honest: I was very moved by it. It was even better than my mind and I had envisioned it. I tried to show it to my mind, but it was busy working out the difference between “Ketchup” and “Catsup.”
I put it on the site, and went to bed.
I had been asleep for about 15 minutes when my mind woke me up. “Ketchup is just better than Catsup,” it said, “that’s all there is to it. Maybe Catsup has more vinegar or something.”
“That’s great, I’m thrilled that you woke me up for that. Good night.”
“Uhh . . .yeah. See, I’m really not into sleeping tonight,” it said, “let’s go play Xbox.”
“Dude. I have to get up at 6 to get the kids to school. We’ll play Xbox after I drop them off.” I rolled over and hoped that Anne wouldn’t hear me.
“Uhm . . . no. We’re getting out of bed, now.” I felt a strange antsyness in my legs, just behind my knees. No amount of tossing and turning could get me confortable. When my mind sets my mind to things, there’s no point trying to argue.
“I hate you, mind. Remind me to kill you with some beer this weekend.”
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that,” he said.
I got out of bed, and walked into the living room.
“Before we play Xbox, I’m going to check e-mail,” I said, “so shut up for a minute.”
There were already some notes in my Inbox, which thanked me for my tribute, and I’d like to share some excerpts with you all today.

Subject: Never forgotten.
Bless you.
I am proud to be an American. It’s one of the few labels I gladly accept. I love my home, and I’d gladly die in service of my country and count it as the best death I could ever hope or ask for.
But the importance of being human overrides all things, even love of country. There’s a difference between being proud of one’s homeland and allowing that pride to dehumanize others.
I save human lives. It shouldn’t and doesn’t matter what country, race, religion, whatever that life is.
Though at the same time, I’m not going to lie. I believe in war, and that’s a whole other sticky moral subject.
I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for remembering the people that died. Too many people are trying to forget or even downplay what is a personal tragedy for so many. But thank you as well for putting things in the right perspective, with the importance of being human.
In memory of my 355 brothers and sisters:
343 Firefighters
12 Paramedics
That was what mattered to them as well, I think.

It was signed by an EMT.
Here are a couple other e-mails:

“I don’t know why such an obvious conclusion seems to escape so many people in this world.” . . . “I felt somehow out of place mourning again for the fellow human beings that we lost that day. When I went to your site this morning . . . I didn’t feel quite so alone anymore. Thank you.”

This one just came in as I was typing up this entry. It’s the last one:

Thanks, Wil, for the most tasteful tribute today. I almost cried when I went to your site (as I do daily) and saw the message.
When I moved back to Winnipeg (from Toronto) last year, one of my first temp. jobs was with a Federal government office, working for the head nurse in charge of nurses in northern Manitoba (mainly for Aboriginal communities) and they had lost Christine Egan, a nurse in their department, the only person from Winnipeg to die at the WTC (she was visiting her brother’s office on the 105th floor). They had a memorial fund at the front desk to raise money for a northern Manitoban student who wanted to study nursing. I found her business cards when I was filing, and even though of course I did not know her, it was still upsetting.
I guess we all have our stories, don’t we? But it proves we are all connected.
Peace.

I just realized, as I typed this, that sharing those e-mails may come off as patting myself on the back. That’s not my intention at all. This isn’t about me. I just wanted to share that there are other people out there in Internetland who feel the common thread of humanity that we all share. It made me feel less alone, less isolated, and less afraid.
We are all connected on this planet. Let’s try to remember that, okay?

I know many of you read WWdN via RSS or come here directly by bookmark.
Please take a look at http://www.wilwheaton.net/91103.html today.
Thanks.
Wil

The whole house has gone to sleep. Ferris and Riley are behind me, snuggled up back to back near the coffee table. The back door is open, and the dull roar of the freeway is my constant companion. A solitary fan sits in the doorway, and pulls cool night air into the room.
I always take great comfort in the silence of a slumbering house.
I’m listening to Dark At The End Of The Tunnel, which is the soundtrack to writing Just A Geek.
But I’m not writing. I’m looking at websites all about Urban Exploration. See, this guy who does UE e-mailed me earlier tonight and told me that WWdN is considered “similar” to his site by Google.
Uhm . . . oookay. I told him that I think the exploring he does is much cooler than what I do here, but whatever. His e-mail has spurred the sort of intriguing, fun, educational late-night-link-following that makes Tabbed Browsing the Killer App of the moment.
In the past few hours, I’ve been down forgotten tunnels, and explored abandoned hospitals and asylums (a big bonus, since I read the new Arkham Asylum from DC this afternoon). I’ve stood silent in shadows and crouched behind trees to elude security. I’ve run like hell to get away from police. I’ve visited those places that we pass every single day, but I’ve seen the secrets they will only reveal to the bold.
Is this reality?
Jesus, this music makes me long for another place. Another time. Working on Just A Geek is harder now than ever, because I’m getting closer to completion, and that terrifying prospect of sending it out into the wilderness of readers, Dancing Barefoot has done (and continues to do) better than I ever dreamed . . . I have put a lot of pressure on myself to follow it up with something good, and JAG isn’t quite there, yet. I’m getting closer, but it’s just beyond my grasp. It’s frustrating, to say the least. It’s also hard because, for all the sadness and frustration I experienced when I was struggling through the “gotta make it as an actor” years (I have to relive that time to write the book, you see), it’s nothing compared to what we’re going through now. How I’d love to run down one of these dark tunnels, and never come back . . . just keep exploring forever.
If you peel away the skin, is there anybody there?
I don’t know.
Is there anybody in there, in this self-inflicted tomb?
I’m going to bed.

She put her head on his shoulder. Her tears soaked his T-shirt, her sobs shook the bed.
“I hate that things are like this,” she said.
“Me too,” he said. He wasn’t able to cry. He desperately wanted to, but the tears wouldn’t come.
“It’s so unfair. We’ve done nothing to deserve this.” She clutched his arms.
“I know,” he said.
“Why won’t he stop?” She said.
“Because he can’t.” He paused. “Because he won’t.”
They held each other tightly. A small fan did little to move the hot air around the room. In the distance, a train’s whistle sounded.
“I love you,” she said. She meant it. Did he know?
“I love you too,” he said. He meant it. Was it enough?
They lay there, silent, atop the covers, until sleep claimed them both.
In the darkness beyond their walls, the Bogeyman stirred.

Some good advice, just sent to me by my mom.
I love you, mom. 🙂

Tip: Mental Clarity: Taking a News Fast
Been feeling stressed out after watching or reading the news lately? A “news fast” – avoiding news on the television, newspaper or the Internet for a few days or even a week – may be in order. It is a good way to gauge how you react to and process news, and how the news affects you. If a news fast seems outlandish, consider the following:
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