Very few authors are able to connect with their readers, but Wil Wheaton is not like most writers. His words are like a sleeper cell. You have no idea they have penetrated deep inside of you, then they spring to life and attack your senses when you least expect it.
Probably the hardest part about reading any of Wheaton's books is that I'm constantly day dreaming while I'm supposed to be reading it. My thoughts drift because his words instantly trigger flashbacks and old memories. That's a powerful gift to have.
My only complaint was that the book was too short. I wanted more. I equate Wheaton's style to Hemingway in the sense that he has an amazing economy of words. The result is short but powerfully loaded pieces. Although the book physically contains only thirteen short stories, the impact is much greater. The stories, images, and memories that Wheaton stirs up inside your head continues to fester and entertain and inspire you long after you're done reading his last page.
Pauly is an inspiration to me, and I aspire to write as well as he does one day. His praise of my work means a lot to me.
I hear that a lot of the 300 are getting their books. This is awesome, and I'm happy to hear that those of you who've gotten your books are as excited to have them as I am for them to be in your hands. Because I've processed all the hardbacks out of the computer (the outstanding orders are just waiting to be sorted and filled with books), I was able to put softcovers back up for order again.
In non-HDoOL news, I just found out that a deadline was moved up from the middle of January to December 4, so I'm probably going to be AFK (well, AFB, anyway) for the next week or so, except when my brain demands a break from it all and forces me to come post psychotic ramblings in my blog about the time a Nosferatu became a Deadhead and lived out of a converted school bus for six years, tripping his fangs off by drinking the blood of spun out hippies in 1960.
. . . uh-oh. It's starting already.