Look, I cherish a deep and abiding love for Weird Al Yankovic, and I laughed when I saw his Emmy performance last night, but man, I felt bad for George R. R. Martin when Andy Samberg ambushed him with that typewriter at the end of the Game of Thrones song last night.
I’m as rabid to read The Winds of Winter as any other Thronie, but dude. I mean, it’s bad enough to be a writer and always be thinking “I should be writing.” In fact, it’s bad enough to have writer friends who take you to task constantly for not writing. (“Why are you on Facebook/Twitter/outside/buying groceries? You should be writing.”)
But for Martin? The world has become his obnoxious writing group. He can’t even watch his creations win Emmys without being handed a typewriter.
I mean, I know he’s achieved a ridiculous amount of success and this is part of the price for that, but still, I don’t envy him this.
Maybe I’m a little sensitive to his plight because I also can’t finish my final book in the Resistance Cycle. More on that later.