Every day, I sit here at my desk, and stare at the empty space.
Every day I struggle to find something to put into the empty space.
And every day, after hours of frustration and false starts that lead nowhere, I close it.
I hate this. I hate this so much. I used to get stuff done every day, even if it was only a few hundred words, but this whole fucking year I keep feeling like none of this matters and none of this is worth the effort and nobody cares and there’s just no reason to do any of it.
A few months ago, our friend, Kari, had a birthday party. She encouraged all of us who attended to come in some kind of 70s or 80s tacky prom outfit. Because most of us at the party are actors, writers, directors, or some other type of creative storyteller, we didn’t just show up in costumes … we showed up in costumes with backstories. It’s important that you know that none of these stories — or the existence of the backstories at all — was coordinated or even encouraged. It’s just a thing that happened, because when you get a bunch of creative people together and give them an excuse to let their imaginations run wild, you just strap in and feel the gees.
I don’t have a picture of Anne and me together, but our characters were the high school senior (her) and the creep who graduated three years ago, will never move out of their small town, and is dating her because he’s a total loser creep (me). She’s looking for a way out of her parents’ house, and wants to get back at her father. They’re using each other, are doomed to end badly, and we just hope that they don’t drag any children into their dysfunction. He will get drunk and throw up on her dress before the night is over.
I mean, maybe we put a little too much into it but — wait what am I saying. We put exactly the right amount into it.
While we were at the party, Anne took this picture of me (that’s below the jump). In this picture, I am a totally different character. This guy is legitimately cool, and dates women who are age appropriate. He’s going places, just as soon as he saves enough money to get out of this town. He’s an honest man in a dishonest world, doing the best that he can. And he’s a hell of a good pool player…
The outfit was a leather vest and pants, gold cuban boots, and that cotton shirt. I didn’t wear a gold chain, because I felt that would have been too much.
I know that a lot of you are incredibly creative people. So your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to photoshop this into a movie poster, album cover, VHS box, or something like that. You can host the files at Imgur or whatever, and link them here. You can submit them to the Photoshop Wil Wheaton Tumblr, too, if you want, and I’ll reblog them there.
ORrrrrrrrrrrrr, if you aren’t interested in photomanipulation, you could add to his story! That could be fun.
It was an incredible honor and privilege to contribute a story to this anthology. We were given the opportunity to write a story about a minor character in the Star Wars universe, and I chose the guy who watches ships fly away from the rebel base.
My editor pointed out that one of the guys (who I call Rebel Base Bucket Guy, because that amuses me) is already named, so my Rebel Base Bucket Guy is a different guy. I have to point this out, because the Star Wars Nerds are going to force choke me if they think I renamed their canonical Rebel Base Bucket Guy.