When I walked Marlowe this morning, I thought about what I was going to write here, and how I was going to say the stuff that I want to say about my podcast. I had to remind myself that this has existed in my mind and in various stages of not-quite-done for almost two years, and that my strategy is to allow it slow and organic growth, so it can find its audience. It’s only been one week, but early response and early reviews are enthusiastic and positive, and all signs are pointing in the right direction for me to keep doing this.
It’s so wonderful, and I’m so excited, I have this strong impulse to jump to the end, to the part where I find out if there is an audience out there that’s big enough to make this a self sustaining project that goes on for years. But am doing my best to stay in this moment, enjoy this moment, without letting expectations get in the way. I am trying my best to listen to something I have told my boys since they were little kids:
Never trade the journey for the destination.
Don’t skip past the joy of playing because you only care if you win.
Doing the thing is an incredible feat and achievement on its own. You did the thing, and you deserve to enjoy the thing. If the thing grows and grows and turns into A Thing on its way to being The Thing You Dreamed Of, then enjoy it! But if that doesn’t happen, it was still great that you did the thing, and aren’t you grateful that you enjoyed it at every step along the way?
Like, that’s pretty solid Dadvice, if I say so myself, and I’m doing my best to hear it.
So with that in mind, here’s my introduction to this week’s It’s Storytime with Wil Wheaton. José Pablo Iriarte tells a beautiful story that landed in me in such a specific and heartbreaking way, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to narrate it without being overcome.
I love a good quest. The hero’s journey to find the golden fleece and bring it home has been a cornerstone of storytelling for all of recorded history for a reason. At some point in our lives, each of us will hear the call to adventure and set out on a quest of our own. A lucky few even manage to complete their quests, sometimes against incredible odds.
Some famous quests are for knowledge, power, or even to save the world, but we are about to embark on a quest for something far more intimate, far more personal, and elusive: it is a quest for connection, and redemption. And it can only be found using Proof by Induction.
It was a challenge, but I did it, and I am so happy with everything about it (though I discovered, to my horror, I mispronounced “Euler” and we all missed it. Use this note to help you imagine a little audio kintsugi, if it helps.)
One thing before I go, the Big Thing that I probably should have opened with.
I would love it if this podcast became my full time job. As I’ve said elsewhere, I have loved doing other people’s work. Ready Room was one of the greatest experiences of my life, and we should be doing more episodes for the upcoming season of Strange New Worlds (which looks AMAZING), but I don’t think we are, for the dumbest reasons imaginable. And it breaks my heart. Like, I have physical pain in my chest and very real sadness, I feel a tangible sense of loss, because I only get to be the host of The Ready Room, and all the other wonderful stuff that comes with that, when someone from Corporate gives me permission to do it. And if Corporate is like, “Nah, because of reasons, and also who are you?” there’s nothing any of us can do about it.
I don’t want to feel that loss again, or at least as infrequently as possible (it’s a fair price to pay) so I’m REALLY hoping that the podcast takes off and it’s this joyful act of creativity that continues as long as I want it to. t’s only one week old, just two episodes in, and we are already fielding requests for sponsorship and ad sales. That’s a positive indicator that our growth is along the line we’re all hoping for, and it also opens me up to the inevitable complaints about ads.
I get it. I always hoped I would have this High Class Problem, so from the very beginning, we’ve planned to have a Patreon with no ads and extra material available for subscribers. We’re offering a five dollar tier and a ten dollar tier. Both offer an ad-free feed, and some other cool perks, including recordings of my reflections on the story immediately upon finishing it. I loved it when LeVar would talk about the themes and the style and how he interpreted and felt about what he just read to me. I wanted to do that, myself, but I felt like it didn’t fit into the main feed. But it’s exactly the sort of thing that is perfect for Patreon subscribers. I have some other ideas, too, for fun stuff that I can’t do at scale, but can absolutely do for a smaller subscriber community.
When I was a child actor and my mom was forcing me to do all of the child actor things, she was obsessed with my reviews. She made me feel like they were a test that I had to pass. I had to make the reviewers happy, so the audience (“your fans”) would remain happy. She relentlessly drilled into me that nothing was more important than what other people thought about me and my work, that I should be terrified of this audience that simultaneously hung on my every word (“your fans”) but was also so fickle they’d abandon me the instant I upset them.
That wasn’t how anything worked. It did not reflect reality at all, but it was an extremely effective method of control. After Roger Ebert gave The Buddy System (a bad movie) a fair review (It’s a bad movie), I was distraught. He said something about how I played a brat in the film (I did) but what I heard was “Wil Wheaton is a brat”. All the fear and anxiety my mom had poured into me threatened to drown me — did I mention I was ELEVEN? — so the only way I could manage to fight back was to just completely reject the whole notion of reviews. I remember telling people that I just wanted to let the work speak for itself, and I didn’t want to be out there talking about it. I didn’t have the awareness I have now to understand I was crying out for my family to notice me as a person, instead of the thing that paid for their stuff and made my mom feel important. I knew in my heart the next review would be the bad one that my dad would shove in my face as evidence that I deserved his rejection, that I wasn’t good enough to be worthy of his love and attention. Over the decades, I decided it was better to just ignore all the good ones, because I knew in my heart I’d only listen to the bad ones. And it’s all subjective, anyway. It can’t be about an artist’s inherent worth or value as a person and creator.
(It breaks my heart that younger Wil carried that burden as long as he did, and as a parent, I can’t comprehend doing anything that would make my children feel about themselves the way my parents made me feel about myself. It’s why, when someone in my Reddit AMA asked me what’s one thing in your personal life that you’re proud of?, I said “I am the dad I didn’t have.”)
In about 1986, my mom realized that teen magazines were always thirsty for me. Before too long, their editors realized that she was thirsty for their approval. Thus began several years of me being forced into endless photo shoots and choreographed encounters with other teeny bopper magazine kids. It all felt like I was just being used by everyone involved, and I couldn’t say no to it.
For the longest time, I didn’t grok that all press isn’t the same, that some press can actually work against my career goals (like being in every teen magazine in the world when you’re trying to be taken seriously as an actor), and that there is press that can make all the difference. My experience was warped because the press my mother prioritized wasn’t the kind of press I learned how to do when I was promoting my book, and now my podcast. It wasn’t press that was coordinated and targeted to give the work the best chance to find its audience. It was almost always attention for its own sake, another way for my mom to put me in a place where I was on display while she gorged herself on the attention I didn’t want. I hated it. I hated that it was more important than literally anything about me as a person or a son. So I frequently chose to give bad interviews, rarely took them seriously, and was pretty crap at the whole thing. If you’re one of the people who had to interview that kid, I’m sorry. He’s struggling like you wouldn’t believe and doesn’t have any support.
I always felt like it was speeding up the countdown clock on my fifteen minutes. After Stand By Me, it sent this message that I was the teeny bopper flavor of the month, and River was the serious actor*. When I was put in front of the photographers and stuff, I felt like a piece of dry bread, being pecked to death by birds who didn’t care who they were eating, as long as they were fed.
Starting with Tabletop, my attitude about press and promotion began to change. I began to see it as a necessary part of the whole thing, that didn’t have to be gross. In fact, I learned that it wasn’t inherently gross — that was my mom — unless I chose to talk to a gross outlet, which I haven’t done since I was in charge of my life. Doing interviews with Felicia, I began to see press as something that could be fun while it was helpful. I realized that nearly all the people I’m talking to are also just people who are doing their jobs. I’m sure there are countless entertainers who treat press the way I did when I was a kid, and I’m sure working with them (or that version of me) isn’t great. So I choose to be as close to great as possible when I have the chance. I’m going to honor their time and their audience’s attention, and I’m only going to say yes to people I actually want to talk to.
I took all of that energy into the promotion of Still Just A Geek, and I think it’s a big part of my book becoming a New York Times bestseller. So OBVIOUSLY I’m going to continue down that road as I promote It’s Storytime with Wil Wheaton.
This is where I stop to make sure you know that I don’t hate any of what I’m doing now. I love all of it, and I’m grateful as fuck for everything that’s in front of me right now. This is where I think for a long time that I’m going to delete everything I just wrote and get to the thing I sat down here to write about in the first place.
…but I feel like that context is going to make the thing I wanted to write about in the first place a little more poignant. So. Thanks for your indulgence.
This is where I get to the actual post, and you realize that everything you’ve read to this point isn’t really the post, for some reason.
Before I walked Marlowe this morning, I was doing some administrative podcast work with my team. Our launch last week was met with enthusiasm that vastly exceeded my expectations, and we have way more media requests in five days than I thought we’d get in the whole first season. Yay! Go us! More people will get to find out we exist!
I’ve always planned for this podcast to start small and grow slowly. If this is going to find a large audience, it’s going to be because people who listened to it told their friends about it, who told their friends about it, and so on. It’s the only way I can compete for time and attention in a crowded marketplace.
This is a very important distinction I want to make about that phrase: I’m not personally competing with anyone in any kind of zero sum contest that will define our worth. I don’t feel like I need to prove to anyone that this is good enough (or that I am good enough) to justify their time; I just want to ensure that any person who will enjoy what we are doing knows we exist. And I hope those folks will choose to give me some of their time, once a week, until the heat death of the universe or I retire, whichever comes first.
As part of this discussion, my producer asked me if I’d looked at any reviews. I most certainly had not, for the reasons I wrote about (and nearly deleted) above. Well, I may want to, she told me, because they were entirely positive. Not mostly positive, mind you, but entirely positive**. I did not believe that was possible, so I went ahead and peeked through my fingers at the Apple Podcasts page for my show.
And, uh, well … yeah. The audience that listened to episode one and left reviews seems to have loved listening to it the way I loved narrating it.
Holy crap that’s incredible. It looks like what I worked to put into the world and what these people heard ended up being the same thing. That’s wonderful and so exciting!
Oh, also, I was going to put this into its own blog, but it can go here: I don’t watch myself often, but when I do, I’m always looking for what I did wrong, where I fumbled my words, what I forgot to say, all the ways I sucked, etc. Because I am the executive producer and primary force behind this whole thing, I felt like I needed to watch myself on KTLA, the way an athlete looks at tape from the game, in case I am invited to be on other broadcasts or whatever.
Crying, yawning, laughing, are all ways our body reregulates our nervous system from an activated, fight or flight state, into a resting, parasympathetic state. My body had a lot to release, it turns out. Tears poured down my face and I felt all this tension in my chest and shoulders soften and release. I noticed that so much of the worry and weight of the possibility and hope I’m afraid to embrace wasn’t as heavy.
I was so happy to see that guy be happy. I was so happy to see that guy genuinely enjoying the opportunity in front of him, and I was so happy that he could receive the sincere interest and kindness of the hosts.
And that guy was me! I’m that guy!
There’s a version of me who doesn’t do The Work I have done and continue to do, and I don’t know that he even tries to make It’s Storytime. He doesn’t believe in himself, and he’s terrified to take chances. He is convinced that his dad is right about him. I want to gently hug that guy and show him what’s possible when he does The Work. I want him to know — I need him to know — that he can do it, because if I can, anyone can. Everything worth doing is hard, including The Work. That version of me — all versions of me — are worth it. I’m so grateful to be a version of me who never gave up when it was hard. I’m so grateful that I could see and feel and BE that version of myself.
To bring this back around (I love a good bookend***): I rarely read reviews, and when I do, I’ve always struggled to take anything away from them other than “well, 500 people say you’re awesome, but this one dude who can’t spell says you suck so he obviously sees through your facade and you should quit because you’ll never be good enough.”
I’ve done so much work, healed so much trauma, grown into something that looks an awful lot like what I hope my best self looks like, and that means I’m in a place where I can accept that the audience I hoped to reach is finding the thing I made, they are enjoying the thing, and telling other people about the thing. And not because they feel sorry for me or want something from me, but because they liked the thing I made and want to share how it made them feel with other people. That means everything to me.
It’s my understanding that the reviews and ratings y’all are leaving on the show are all very helpful for our discovery and growth. So I appreciate you all so much. I think we’ll have a good sense of the size and retention of the audience in about two weeks, and we’ll know if we can start ramping up for another season.
Thanks for being part of this, and coming on this journey with me. As I will continue saying, I’m so grateful you are here, and offering me a chance to entertain you.
*That’s not entirely inaccurate, but not because of any choices I made, or anything inherent to me.
**I realize that this is begging for a review bombing.
***I need it to have been a true Oner, don’t you? Either way, it’s amazing, and they even told us where they could have cheated, but she said it was a true Oner with no cheats so … I choose to believe that it was, even though I know how unlikely that is.
Hi friends! I am so excited to announce It’s Storytime with Wil Wheaton, my new podcast. Our first episode drops on March 26th.
This idea emerged from my creative self the same way that Tabletop did. It spung, fully-formed, into my face when my friend who has been writing since we were in high school told me that he had finally been published.
I was so excited for him, and I loved his story so much, I thought it would be cool to narrate it for him, one friend to another, in celebration of something that’s been such a long time coming. As I pulled my mic out of the closet, and opened up Audacity to do one of my signature DIY, lo-fi thingies, a voice in my head said, “Hey, man. I think this could be the basis of a podcast. Hear me out: you’re a respected and acclaimed narrator. What if you looked for new works from great authors who haven’t yet found their audience, and narrated them? What if you used the privilege you have earned to help boost other people’s creative voices and careers?”
This was a good idea, I thought. But I didn’t know that anyone else would agree, so I attempted to tackle it entirely on my own.
Two miserable, frustrating months later, I concluded that I am not cut out to be a slush reader, or a content editor, and if I was going to move this from idea to thing, I needed help. So I asked some friends who had relevant experience, and built an all-star creative and technical team to do all the things I couldn’t, which allowed me to focus on narrating the stories, which is the part of this I know how to do.
I’m going to yadda yadda over the next year, which was marked by starts and stops, enormous technical challenges, and lots of very good work that kept me going through all of it, and jump ahead to last summer, at the Burbank airport departure terminal A.
I was there with LeVar Burton, waiting to board our flight to a convention.
LeVar had just finished his podcast, which I loved and listened to regularly. When I went looking for a similar podcast to replace it, I couldn’t find one that checked all the boxes that his did … and that’s when I realized I was making the podcast I wanted to hear, profoundly inspired by him and all of his work. I absolutely wasn’t going to move forward without his blessing; he’s family and I’m not going to step on his toes.
So I told him all about it, and asked him if he was cool with it.
To my utter delight, he was as excited about it as I am, and he encouraged me the way a loving parent or family member encourages their kid to follow their dream. Even if this podcast doesn’t find its audience, and only lasts one season, that moment will stay with me for the rest of my life.
You may recognize Wil Wheaton’s name from his acting work in television shows like The Big Bang Theory, Leverage, and Star Trek: The Next Generation, or 1985’s timeless classic, Stand By Me. You may recognize his voice from one of the many audio books he’s narrated, including number one New York Times bestseller, Ready Player One, John Scalzi’s award-winning Collapsing Empire Trilogy, or even his own bestselling memoir,Still Just A Geek.
Now, Wil brings you It’s Storytime, with Wil Wheaton, a weekly audiobook podcast, featuring stories that Wil loves, pulled from the pages of Uncanny, Lightspeed, On Spec, and others. You’re going to meet authors you don’t yet know you love, including some who are being narrated for the very first time. Listeners will travel through time, meet some gods, watch people fall in and out of love, and more, brought to life by Wil’s remarkable narrative voice.
It’s Story Time With Wil Wheaton is available wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes drop every Wednesday, beginning March 26.
I hope you’re as excited about this as I am, and I hope you’ll help me let other people who would enjoy this, know that it exists. The easy part was narrating all these stories and writing all the stuff that went with it; the hard part is helping it reach its audience.
I’ll be checking comments for the next few hours, if you have any questions.
In a wonderful little neighborhood called Larchmont, there’s a wonderful little bookshop called Chevalier’s.
A friend of mine ran into Patrick Stewart there today, and when my friend mentioned that to me, I was reminded of the day a few years ago when Patrick saw my book there, and he texted me a picture of it, because he was excited for me. I’d misplaced that memory, and I’m so grateful that I found it today.
This isn’t Chevalier’s. This is Vroman’s in Pasadena.
I was going to post that on Bluesky, but it was too long. Rather than break it up across posts there, I took it as a reminder that my blog exists for a reason, and this is absolutely a lovely little memory that I can share on at Friday afternoon.
While I have your attention, I want to share some stuff that’s come across my event horizon recently. It’s on the other side of the thingy.
Four years ago, I recorded and released narrations of short material that I pulled from the public domain. I did my best to release one a week, as an experiment. I wondered if I could, one day, so something like this that actually paid some bills.
I had fun doing it. I picked pieces that were interesting to me, and didn’t spend any time at all trying to master perfect audio. It was a deliberately DIY effort. The audience wasn’t huge, but the people who listened to it really liked it. At some point, I even got a few requests, including this one.
