And, if I do say so myself, the typography is gorgeous.
As you can see, I’ve shifted things around a bit.
I’ve been wanting to do this for some time, inasmuch as my old site—lovely as it was, to be sure—had a few key limitations, namely:
- being Wordpress
- being exclusively gamery
- being dated
- being boring
And so. Because I am a geek, I have made things as complicated as I possibly can without having my wife kill me.
It’s been a busy morning over at Kill Screen.
Three cheers for Kill Screen for being awesome and making this possible.
Recently, I was fascinated by Brainy Gamer Michael Abbot’s response to Heavy Rain designer David Cage’s talk at this year’s GDC. Unlike Abbott, I did like Heavy Rain, although at times I found its interface maddening, and I felt like there were a lot of untapped possibilities in the story. The game was rich, though, in what I value about gaming, which I have talked about at length elsewhere in other games: empathy, shared subjectivity, difficult non-binary choices, moral and ethical ambiguity, and origami.
Recently, I had a conversation with Ryan Kuo of Kill Screen on the question of whether or not it made sense for KS to review games that are less than timely. Would it make sense, for instance, to review something like Angry Birds? The game has been around a while, and is hugely popular, but it’s easy to see why a review would be less than fruitful. Everybody already knows what Angry Birds is, and whether it’s worth buying.
I’ve got a new essay up at Kill Screen. Check it out.
The holidays have taken me away from the blog, but there is good news to be had: I’ve started doing some work for Kill Screen online. I’ll post here when my pieces go up there. The new website looks great, and I’m excited to be involved with it. My first piece, “Here I Am, All Dressed in Drakeskin” may look familiar to readers of this blog, but the next one will be brand new. Check it out.
I have made several attempts at writing this post; this is the first I have deemed an adequate answer—or a beginning to an answer—for the question. As a dog returneth to his vomit, so I return to this question.*
Sometimes—when I get rejected by a mainstream journal with a note like, “Loved the essay, too much video game stuff,” for instance—I see myself through the eyes of my non-gamer readers. I see a competent writer who, for reasons incomprehensible, devotes himself to writing about a hobby that is immature at best and an active waste of time and talent at worst. They likely see it as uninteresting or irrelevant to the interests of readers who are not gamers, and I can empathize. I imagine some readers of this blog, too, sometimes ask the damnable question I ask my students all the time: why is this worth writing about?
Anhedonia is one of my favorite words. It’s a symptom of depression, generally speaking, but it’s such an elegant word for such a specific concept that I can’t help but love it. Anhedonia: the death of pleasure. It describes the feeling of no longer enjoying something you once enjoyed. This is how I feel about Crackdown 2.
I have been playing Fable III, lately, and I really can’t get over how extremely short the game seems to fall of its goals, at least as expressed by this interview with Bit-Tech (discovered, and post in part prompted, via The Brainy Gamer). Abbot of the Brainy Gamer says it this way: “In Fable III, Peter Molyneux wants us to feel loved.” The game is supposed to be about connection, about relationships, about choices that affect our ability to live in the world of Albion, and most of all about people. But whether because of technical floppery or design misunderstanding, the very attempts the game makes to be personable for me make it emotionless.
I feel compelled to comment on this series of tweets from Kate Beaton (utterly fantastic webcomic artist and one of my favorite tweeters), and on this tumbld response from a reader, because I think I feel like the latter is missing a key point about feminism that is worth elaborating on. It’s something that’s easy to forget when thinking about feminism, and even when thinking as an aspiring feminist: even if men and women are equal in every form of capability, men and women are not the same, because they have different histories.
This post over at GameSetWatch lays out some of the basic arguments we can expect to hear from the EMA side of the table (i.e., in context, the good guys). One of the “vagueness problems” Smith mentions is that the law in question “limits restrictions to games that ‘as a whole … lack serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value for minors.’”
This is an epic assertion. Count ‘em, folks: there are four good reasons for a videogame. As I’ve blogged before, there’s not even uniform agreement as to whether games are capable of being artistic or literary, though my own views on the matter are more certain. To me, the problem extends well beyond “vagueness.” Questions about “art” and gaming run into the same problems that all questions about “art” do—problems of canon, which are problems of audience, which are problems of race and class.
There exists some question as to whether or not I can be a feminist, so prior to writing this post I had the following conversation via GChat with my wife (who definitely is one):
me: Do you think I’m a feminist?
(No wrong answer here, and feel free to not answer. Just have it on the brain.)
Not a hard question.
Which I guess means it’s okay for me to comment on this post about the new game Hey Baby. The game’s premise is simple: wander around the city being harassed by male hecklers, jeerers, catcallers, and wolf-whistlers, and then kill them all. My first reaction—for which you may be justified in stabbing me in the eyeballs—has more or less held since watching the trailer: they should really be marketing this to men.
1Although, this of course raises the question of “what is an essay.” To which there is no good answer, and to which there are many good answers.1a, 1b, 1c, 1d, 1e
1aA good essay is like a lonely cat: it rubs up against everything, until it finds something warm.
1b Or a good essay is like Thomas Edison, playing with filaments until something lights him up.
1c Or a good essay is like an unremembered injury, which seems to throb only until its cause is remembered.
1d Or a good essay is like your mom.1d†
1d† Or a good essay is really like your mom: warm and loving an comforting, but resolutely insistent that you own your shortcomings.
1e Or a good essay is like a writer with no paper and no shoes: too many footnotes.
Working with the tutors at the Writing Center I coordinate this week, we came across the perpetual and exhausting question of what to do about student writers who come to us for help, but then immediately get defensive of their writing. I’ve worked with a lot of these students myself, both as a tutor and in workshop. We talked about the issue as a tutorial problem—how do we facilitate a productive session in that context?—but since then, I’ve started thinking about it from a writerly perspective. What do I do when I realize that I am that writer?
Good news: an excerpt from my essay “Completion,” published in Ninth Letter, has been posted on their blog. Check it out here.
Kill Screen Issue #1, featuring my essay “King of the Ogres,” is available now. Check it out.