I wrote this in 2002, when I was just thirty-one. It feels like three lifetimes ago. So weird.
I’m proud of younger me, who wrote it. He’s struggling so much, he’s so afraid, and he won’t get help for his mental illness for a while, yet, so every day is just so hard. He just wants to raise his stepkids, love them the way he wasn’t loved, and have some kind of life with his wife, but a vindictive piece of shit just won’t stop trying to destroy all of their lives. He is trying so hard, and he feels like a failure, every minute of every day.
My heart hurts for the guy who wrote this, because I can remember exactly how he felt, but I’m also super proud of his refusal to give up, give in, or surrender. He fights for his wife, he fights for his family. He hasn’t learned how to fight for himself, but that will come, later.
He’s learning how to be a writer.
It’s an oppressively hot October afternoon. I have the worst writer’s block of my life. I can write a few words together, I can create one or two images, but I can’t connect them. I want to tell the story of the young girl who sees the carnival come to her small town, the girl who is just 18, and aware of her power over men, the girl who tries to use this power on a young ride operator so she can escape her small town. The girl who has her power turned back on her and ends the story crying in an empty field surrounded by torn tickets and cigarette butts.
I want to tell the story of the powerless man who watches his wife cry herself to sleep at night. The man who can’t provide for his family, the man who can’t protect them from the Bogeyman. The man who wanders his empty house at night, looking for the joy he knows once lived there. The man who waits for exhaustion to claim him in the deep of night, and give him a brief reprieve from his sadness.The stories sit cross a river of doubt and frustration, and the ferryman demands a payment I don’t have. I decide to walk down the shore, in search of a bridge.I find myself in Old Town Pasadena, in front of Hooters, where this whole journey began. Maybe my muse is inside.I walk in and find the place filled with middle-aged businessmen who drink beer and leer at the young waitresses over fish sandwiches. A young girl with hair so bleached it looks like straw says, “Welcome to Hooters!”“Can I get food at the bar?” I ask.“Of course!”“Thanks,” I say, and take a seat.The waitress working the bar appears to be about the same age as me, in stark contrast to the other girls who look like they’re all in their early 20s.There are heavy bags beneath her tired and sad eyes.“What can I get you?” she asks.“A Guinness and a cheeseburger,” I say.She turns, and pours me a pint. It’s still settling when she puts it in front of me.“Not many people drink Guinness in the middle of the day,” she says.“Is that a fact?” I say. In my mind I’m Sam Spade or Phillip Marlowe, and I’m in a 1920s Hollywood speakeasy.“It is,” she says, “I think this is the only pint I’ve poured all day.“Well, I don’t like to drink beer I can see through,” I say, as I lift the now-settled glass to my lips.Her laugh doesn’t make it to her eyes, but it’s still friendly. I find a kindred spirit in her sadness. We’re both in a place we didn’t expect to be. I bet I’m the first guy she’s waited on all day who hasn’t stared at her skimpy outfit while talking to her.“Hey, honey, can we get another pitcher of Bud over here?” calls a guy in a George Zimmer signature suit at the corner of the bar. His tie is loose and he bounces his leg on the rail. It shakes under my foot. I don’t like that at all.I look around the restaurant. I’ve never seen it this full during the day. John Fogerty tells me that there’s a bad moon on the rise.“Sure,” she says, and walks down to the taps.Two young girls turn heads as they walk in and sit at a table behind me. “Oh my god! Your eyebrows look so great!” the tall one says.“Don’t they? I totally had them tattoo’d on,” she says.I tune them out and count the rings down my glass: one . . . two . . . three.Four.I look down the bar and see Men’s Wearhouse and his business partners putting their best midlife crisis moves on the waitress — my waitress. Brown Suit stares at her chest while Blue Suit flashes a capped smile at her. She giggles and fusses with her hair, and fills their glasses.“Hurry back!” Brown Suit says, as she walks back up the bar.Five. I stare at the top of my beer. It looks like clouds over a black sky.“So what do you do?” she asks.” . . . I guess I’m a writer.”“You guess you are, or you are?”“I am. I’m blocked today.”“By what?”“The Bogeyman.”“What’s that?”“A convenient literary metaphor.”“You are a writer.”I laugh. “Yeah, I guess I am.”“Have you written anything I’ve read?” she asks. A loaded question.“Probably not,” I say, “I wrote one, and the people who read it seem to like it, and I’m working on another one.”“But you’re blocked today,” she says.“Yeah. This place is sort of involved in my career choice, so I thought I’d come here and try to break the block.”“How’s that working out for you?” she asks. A flicker of mirth passes her eyes.
“Well, at the very least, I’ll get a Guinness out of the deal.”
I want to hug that version of me, and tell him that, because of everything he’s enduring, because of everything he is doing to fight for us, I have a great life. He’s hurting so much, and he’s so afraid. He feels like giving up, all the time, and he often wonders if it’s all worth it.
It is.
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Wil, I remember back then when you were blogging and that particular Bogeyman (your wife’s ex) was making your life miserable. I even remember commenting (though it might have been emailing at the time), saying something like “Hang in… This will pass.” I’m sorry you had to go through that time, but you came out on the other side having taken care of your family and having survived the difficulty of being your younger self. I’m glad that you got through it, and that you’re still blogging. And I still enjoy reading your words, like I did then.
I, too, am glad that guy stuck it out. Life is better with you in it.
That’s a great piece. I especially loved the line “The stories sit cross a river of doubt and frustration, and the ferryman demands a payment I don’t have,” but the entire recounting of the bar scene is tight and engaging. It’s amazing that you were able to write so well when you were struggling with so much.
But I’m curious about “Hooters, where this whole journey began.” I’m missing that part. Maybe you posted about that before I started reading your blog. Would you tell that part or maybe give a link to that story?
Ruth
I too am curious about the beginning of the journey!
When I was in my early twenties, I went to Hooters for lunch, because I was young and male. At one point, the server interrupted her Hooters flirting with me to ask, “didn’t you used to be an actor? When you were a kid?” It was a knife in my soul, because a HUGE part of me knew she was right: I “used to be” an actor. At the time, it was so humiliating to me, because I was still trying so hard to convince my dad to love me and I thought that being a successful actor was the way to make that happen. (VOICE OVER: it wasn’t.)
So Hooters in Old Town Pasadena became this very important place up until around 2006 or 2007, because I viewed it as the place my writing career started. See, the day that server asked me that, I went home, went to Yahoo Geocities, and started my very first website and blog, because I wanted to speak for myself after not having my voice heard for my entire life to that point.
If you really want to read the whole story, it’s in Just A Geek, which is out of print, but can be found in digital form all over the Internet.
Thanks, I’m listening to it now
Or check your local library, it might have at least one copy. Mine does 🙂
Thank you for the rest of the story. What a painful moment, especially for someone in his twenties, even without untreated depression and anxiety. And again, it’s all the more admirable that you took that moment and turned it into a writing career.
I found a link to the original story! http://wilwheaton.net/2007/10/the-hooters-incident/
Wil,
Thank you! I found a copy of your book at Powell’s, but hesitated to order it now because a friend of mine who is a mail carrier has been telling me not to send for anything not essential because the carriers are overwhelmed and under-protected.
Great story. The charm and nostalgia of the beginning set off the moment of exquisite anguish that comes toward the end. It takes a lot of courage to tell a tale like that, and to re-invent yourself as you’ve done.
I believe you can check out a digital copy from your local library, too. And I did an audiobook a million years ago, which is on my Bandcamp.
Beautiful. Significant others help give us purpose in life. For those of us who have had a life of long-term loneliness, of rarely having someone to lean on, or protect, keeping up the spirit to not feel like a failure can be challenging. Unlike you, I still drink beer. Considering what you said yesterday about 1500 days, I’m curious about your closing line “Well, at the very least, I’ll get a Guineas out of the deal,” in comparison to the title “can’t see useless.” You always make me think and reflect. Thank you!
Beautiful words. Boingo reference?
Yep.
That album is so good. What a note for them to end on.
Thank you for these reflections today. And for having the strength to share your growth and changes with the world.
Hooters?!? Seriously? I despise that hell hole!
Anyway anytime anyone speaks blocked writer I instantly recommend the Artist’s Way Trilogy.
But did you know Julia Cameron also write another book. It is never to late to begin again!
https://a.co/btGM8AZ
-Buffy🤟✨💕
Love your writing! Thank you!
The you that you are would not exist if not for the you that you were and all the work He did. It’s a long, tough road but, if you’re very lucky (and you and I both are), you don’t have to walk it alone. Thanks for sharing.
This is great! I love the description of her smile not reaching her eyes!
I remember those days, when I wondered if you would make it through all your pain and insecurities and here you are. As someone who has a similar past, your writing helped me through some tough times as well. Thanks for that. Humans can get through much more than our mind thinks we can.
I’m 31 right now. I’m feeling creatively blocked and in pain and longing for a family I don’t have yet.
I like to think of myself, years down the line. After I adopted my kid (or two, I said I could take siblings once all my certifications are done and I move into a bigger placr). When writing again makes me share my weird, silly ideas with people without feeling a ton of pressure for stories I only promised myself. When the anniversary of my friend’s death (later this month it will be a full, entire, brutal year) isn’t about grief more than love and joy that I got to have his light in my life at all.
Thanks for sharing. And making me visualize those future days. I needed that today. virtual germ-free hug I’m glad things are better for you than they were. I hope they get even better. All the better. The bestest for you and yours.
Beth, you’re such a good person. Your future is going to be amazing.
JOSH! You’re always so nice! If I ever visit my friends in Kansas, I am swinging by your library for a IRL HUG! (this assume anyone can hug or travel ever again). CYOA friends for life!
You should definitely come to Kansas fir a visit! Or if I ever visit LA. I was thinking about it, since Southwest had some super cheap tickets, but then this whole pandemic thing popped up and messed with all of my travel and possible travel plans. #CYOA #CarlosIsThePrince
Well done, sir! I really enjoyed reading this. There are so many layers of meaning in the interactions. More please.
I’ve always loved “Just A Geek”-and I would like to tell that kid how proud I was of him then and now. You’ve outlasted the Bogeyman in more ways then one and now you deserve every good thing.
That’s good writing.
One thing I noticed was that the girl who served you pretty much Master Yoda’ed you. “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”
Also, I remember several years ago when I first found your blog, I read the post you had written about waking up with a Bon Jovi song in your head, and I thought it was hilarious. I commented something about it, and … YOU ACTUALLY REPLIED TO ME! I thought that was awesome! That this cool actor who I’ve known from Star Trek and some movies spoke to me. I remember my 10th grade English teacher, who was probably only 23-24 had us watch “Stand By Me.” I’m not really sure what that movie has to do with English instruction, though.
Of course, that was before I had ever been to a Star Trek convention, and met several actors from the shows, and realized that they aren’t actually the beloved characters. They are just people, like me. Except their jobs pipe their likenesses into my house everyday.
I met Michael Dorn for a few seconds for a photo. When I bought that ticket for that photo months before, I had expected him to greet me with a headbutt and a tankard of warnog, and we would sing songs of the glory of battles fought for the empire. Instead, he stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, said, “hello,” and offered me a curt nod. It was decidedly unworflike.
But then I met Admiral Nechayev in the vendor’s room. I greeted her with “Admiral!” She didn’t laugh at me and give me an Atomic Wedgie because I was yet another nerd pestering her about a brief role she played maybe 5 times on a show years ago. (That image is a comical one seeing how I am nearly a foot taller than she is and could bench press two of her in each hand.) She’s a sweet lady. We spoke for a few minutes and then I even got a photo the next day of both of us–with her in her Admiral uniform.
But I’m rambling. Anyway, Wil, I know you don’t do many Star Trek conventions, and I know that you AREN’T that character you played so long ago who will remain nameless. And I don’t get to attend many Star Trek conventions (because they make for really, really expensive vacations). But if I ever see you at one, I would like to meet you and get a photo, because that would be awesome!
I love everything about this post–the multi-layered observations that simultaneously tickle and sadden and raise the spirit in hope. Yes, you are a writer. Yes, it is worth it.
That piece is a fine piece of art, Wil. Thank you so much for sharing.
Wil, just awesome. I often remind myself that the suffering and endurances of my previous incarnations has brought me to the place I am today. Most interesting to me? I’ve made this observation regularly throughout my life and I am always just a step better than the last time that observation graced my day. There is comfort in knowing that today may seem hard or even impossible, but tomorrow it will seem a gift to help me be better at, well…being me.
Thanks so much for sharing. I have thought about that too…going back to offer encouragement to my earlier self.
Inner high five to Past Wil from Future/Present Wil.
Past Wil and Future/Present Wil go out for a drink of choice.
F/P Wil is able to give Past Wil the hope he needs, from the horse’s mouth as it were.
Past Wil is able to give F/P Wil perspective on how far they’ve come, mileage reimbursement for the heart.
They can hug for as long as they need to. There is enough love here for both of them.
I’m proud of you, human. I offer my love as a cohort in growth.
My boss’s boss told me it’s National Beer Day, so I had just opened a Guinness (the can with the nitrogen widget inside) when I read your post. I’d say he just punched a hole in that block. I liked the story. It ended well while simultaneously leaving me wishing for more.
Yep, you’re a writer. ⭐
I’m 34, and in a similar place as your 31-year old self was when you wrote this. Your current self having made things better lets me know that there’s hope for me, too.