Tiny W often makes me think of that Discworld line that goes something like, "Susan listened, not knowing whether she wanted to take pity on the thing, or, and this was a developing option, to tread on it."

Insofar as he represents the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein, I want to make him some cocoa and sit him down in front of a marathon of Technicolor musicals and tell him to stop beating himself up so badly just because human beings communicate poorly and probably always will. Insofar as he represents the part of my brain that seems to have given up so thoroughly on any endeavor in my life having any interest or value to other people that I have my first major fiction collection in thirteen years coming out in a month and I have done almost nothing to promote it beyond mentioning its existence once or twice on this journal, I want him to drop dead.