WIL WHEATON dot NET

I was about six steps through the door when Amber approached me.
“We have completely sold out of your book!” She looked concerned.
I took a moment to digest this exceedingly good news. I’d just walked into my very first in-store book signing. I didn’t know what would happen . . . but a sell-out never entered my mind.
“That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, as I took my iBook bag off my shoulder.

Pasadena, 30 hours eariler
I’m packing my bags for the trip to OSCon. Ferris lays on the bed, looking at me with her “I see the suitcase, so I know you’re going to be gone” look.
I fold some pants and The Shirt 2.0. Anne walks into our room.
“Are you taking any extra books?” she asks.
“No, I don’t think so. Powell’s already ordered a ton of them. I think I’ll be okay.” I put my folded shirts into my bag.
“You should really take some extras, Wil,” she says.
Ferris sighs and rolls onto her side. The tip of her tail wags against my cat, Sketch.
“I really don’t think there are going to be that many people there. I don’t want to schlep a bunch of books up there and back,” I tell her. “Besides, my bag is full.”
She looks into my suitcase. Sketch meows at Ferris and jumps off the bed.
“You’re taking two pair of shoes for a 36 hour trip?”
“Well . . . yeah.”
“Why?”
I resist the urge to shout, “I learned it from you, okay?! I learned it by watching you!!” Instead, I say, “Dress shoes for my reading, and Converse for the rest of the time.”
“If you take your dress shows out, you can lose your dress pants, too. Just take your jeans and wear your converse. You can put books in the extra space.”
“But I think I should look nice for –”
“You’re going to a computer convention, dork. You’d be better off wearing your Trogdor shirt.”
I’ve already packed it, but I don’t tell her. Ferris exhales loudly and stretches out on her back. Riley walks into our room and sits at Anne’s feet. She looks up, expectantly.
Anne pets her and says, “You’re going to regret it if you get there and you don’t have books for everyone. You’ll feel bad, and you’ll lose sales. Just take a few.”
I’ve learned something in the seven and a half years I’ve known and loved her: she’s always right about this stuff.
“Okay,” I say. Riley thinks I’m talking to her, and jumps on the bed. Ferris flips over and snarls at her.
I end up packing an additional 47 books.
Riley jumps off the bed.
I put my bag on the counter.
“This is the biggest crowd we have ever had at this store. For anything,” she said to me.
“Really?!” I said.
“Yes! And we’ve never sold out of a book before. Usually, we’ll sell about ten or so.”
“Oh my god. This is so cool!” I said, as I opened my bag, “it’s a good thing I listened to my wife!”
She was visibly relieved when I began putting small stacks of books on the counter.
“I’ll take all the books you have in there,” she said, “and we may even have to issue rain checks.”
Rain checks?! I thought, Holy crap! This is so cool!!
I gave them to her, and she began putting stickers on them. There were two other authors there, too, so I snuck away to a back room to prepare while they talked about their books.
Even though I’ve read these stories countless times, and even though I lived them all, I feel a need to familiarize myself with them before I perform them. Even though this book is doing unbelievably well in terms of sales and audience response, I’ve been nervous each time I take them before a crowd.
Last night, I had some giddy excitement to go along with the nerves. I felt good. I was marking a significant waypoint on my journey from actor to author. I was taking my work to an audience that was NOT at a Star Trek convention. There were lots of non-Trekkies in this crowd. This was a big test for me.
The other authors talked for about 30 minutes, and then it was my turn.
I read two selections from Dancing Barefoot: Inferno, and a selection from SpongeBob Vegas Pants. I had a really good time bringing my memories to life (especially “Inferno,” because I was staying in Portland with my friends Steve and Julie, who I know from high school. They both know my best friend Darin, and Steve knew Misty, who are both characters in the story.)
When I was finished reading, I looked up to thank the crowd for coming, and saw that it had grown substantially since I began. I was elated. All these people came, and stayed, and listened to me, and shared in this experience with me for almost an hour. I earned their time and attention. I earned it with my words. I passed the test. It was a wonderful feeling.
I sat down at a little table they’d set up for me, which had a laminated “Meet Wil Wheaton, author of Dancing Barefoot” sign on it. The crowd transformed itself from a mass to a line (like Optimus Prime, but without the cool sound effects) and I began to sign books.
I signed for people from just about every demographic you can imagine. Many of them had their own copies of my book, that they’d bought online or earlier in the day from Powell’s. They complimented me on my website, on my performance, even on my cool shirt.
I signed a girl’s celebrity bible, right there next to Dr. Demento, and I met the project lead for Quanta Plus, a web development application that I love and use regularly. Eric Raymond, author of Cathedral and the Bazaar, and major force in the Open Source movement also came and listened to me read. He even sat right in the front. He had several kind words for me when I was done. It was awesome.
When I was just down to my last three books, a guy walked over to me, and extended his hand.
“Hi, Wil,” he said, “I’m Tim O’Reilly.”
My brain screamed at me, “HOLY MOTHER OF FUCKING SHIT WIL!!! IT’S TIM O’REILLY!! HE CAME OUT TO SEE YOU!!!”
Before I could scream out, “I KNOW!!! I KNOW!! I KNOW!!!! GREAT GOOGLY MOOGLY!!” my brain said, “Stay cool, Wil. Don’t geek out.”
I was grateful for all those times I didn’t stab my brain with a key, and listened to it.
“It’s really nice to meet you,” I said. I was very proud of myself . . . and kept my geeking out to a minimum. “Your books have made my life much easier, and much more interesting.”
Check me out. I totally behaved myself.
“Nicely done,” said my brain.
He said something about how he’d heard good things about my book, and thanked me for coming to OSCon. (He thanked me for coming!)
“Would you like a copy of my book?” I asked him, “I have an extra one that you can have if you want it.”
“Sure,” he said, “but I’d rather buy it.”
So that’s what he did. Tim O’Reilly bought my little book. Randal has a picture of our meeting, wherein I recalibrate the scale for geeking out — but only on the inside. (I do that a lot, I’m discovering.)
Shortly after that, I sold my final book.
That’s right. I sold out all my books at OSCon, including the additional books I brought with me. Then I sold out all my books at the store, including the additional books I brought with me.
It’s a good thing I listened to my wife, eh?
I packed up my bag, and said good bye to Randal. He pointed at the little laminated “Meet Wil Wheaton, author of Dancing Barefoot” sign.
“You should take that, Wil. It’s from your first signing. You’re going to want that someday,” he said.
I picked it up off the table, and when I held it in my hands, I knew that he was right.
If you are reading this, and you were at the signing last night, I want to thank you again for being part of a significant moment in my life. Signing books, in a book store, and selling them all out . . . it’s better than the first time I got to sit at the helm of the Enterprise . . .
. . . because it was real.

In the Flesh?

You see a turtle in the desert . . .

OSCon Day 1.1

OSCon part 1

[wil@home]$ mv wil /oregon/portland/oscon