Same Address, Different Location

For those of you who find this page by clicking through from somewhere on the web, this is not the blog you were looking for.  This is the old blog.  I switched hosts a while back and this is what's left to host pictures and stuff.  Please click through to the real Geekcentricity here.

Thanks!

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Beginning the Wild Rumpus

Hang on tight, because this is going to be a wild ride.

It didn't take me long after I started this blog to realize that my chosen blogging platform and host (chosen because of prior familiarity) were going to limit what I was able to do here.  Still, once the mistake was made, I had to ride it out.  It is not legal to transfer a domain name such as geekcentricity.com to a new host for a minimum of sixty days.  So I waited.  I bided my time.

The sixty days ended in early May.  But I had "irons in the fire."  I had "things going on."  The "timing just wasn't right."  I got my domain unlocked about a month ago.  Still, I waited.  I didn't want the down time on the site.  Also, I couldn't find a wordpress theme that I liked as much as I like the current theme here at good old Blogger.  Today, I found a theme.  It was difficult.  I really wanted to keep my current logo and color scheme.  So I couldn't use any old wordpress theme.  I had to find one that was either set-up for the current color scheme or could be customized to that color scheme.  My new theme is ready to roll.

Now that I'm giving more time and mental energy to my non-blog writing, the timing is right to make the move.  This post is to warn you that you may see some strange things here at times over the next few days.  Once or twice (hopefully not, but the possibility is there), you may not see anything related to Geekcentricity.  As soon as it smoothes out, I will get the word out through Twitter and Facebook.  I am keeping the same domain name, so once things come back up, you won't have to change anything rss feed or bookmark related.  Please wish me a smooth transfer.  This space should be back to the new normal within about 72 hours.  I'll see you then.

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Yes, I'm Propositioning You

It's been over a week since I last filled this space.  It's a shame too, because I was averaging an all-time high in page views per day and when I disappeared, that fell off a cliff.

Where have I been?

If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you have some clue about how I've been filling my days without filling these screens with funny little characters that string together to form funny little words that mean something to us. If you don't follow me on either of those forms of social media, the briefest synopsis I can offer you is this: Work called.  I answered.  I'm going to spare you the details of most of it.  Let it suffice to say that the responsibilities of my day job temporarily far exceeded my time allotment for it.  It spilled over into everything else.  Those responsibilities grew like kudzu in the southern heat and I had to grab a machete and spend some time hacking it down.  Okay, so a machete and a flamethrower.  My writing related activities have been almost non-existent for the past week.  My sleeping related activities even suffered drastic cuts.  I can't help it.  I need my job and the money it provides us to almost-but-not-quite meet basic necessities every month.  But I'm back in the writer's saddle again.

One of the activities that forced me to unplug from the matrix for a bit was a camping trip.  Yes, the outdoor kind.  With tents.  And fire.  Ooooh, pretty colors.  Wait, what?  Sorry.  So, I went camping.  In a tent.   On the beach.  On the hottest day of the year so far in coastal North Carolina.  Believe me, it was definitely not by choice.  It was a work thing.  It was organized as a stress release by and for my colleagues and I.  It wasn't bad.  Compared to taking a knife in the eyeball.  It was hot.  There were lots of small biting insects that seemed to know how to squeeze through the netting on my tent.  There were a lot of people drinking tremendous quantities of alcoholic beverages (THIS is phenomenal with juice).  Did I mention that it was hot?

The whole trip did remind me that my wife and I used to go camping.  When we were younger, we'd load the tent into our van and drive to the mountains of North or South Carolina and spend a night or three.  Now, we've been thinking that we should do that again.  Except, our giant two room plus screened porch extremely expensive cabin tent is mysteriously missing its poles.  And an air conditioning unit.  Seriously, I can't figure out what happened to those poles.  I had to borrow a tent for the trip.

When I returned to the real world and plugged back into the matrix, I was reminded by a friend on Twitter that I had missed the release of some phone that came out last week.

For those of you who are regular readers, if any of you are left, you remember that I wrote some flash fiction for a couple of contests over the last few weeks.  I've decided that I'm going to be posting more fiction in the near future.  I am going to have to decide first what is the most appropriate venue for said fiction, but I will be sharing more of my writing with you as soon as I figure it out.

Here are my three options:

1. Continue posting fiction here.  This allows it to be seen by a larger number of people who visit here, but tends to crowd out the other content (news about that will be later in this post).
2. Start a fiction blog.  This option allows me to get a clean start for a blog, but will require setup and design work, as well as the marketing work to get people to go there and read.  I'm not sure I have the time for that effort.
3. Start an online fiction magazine/community/blog beast.  This is my favorite option.  If I could find a few other aspiring writers who want to share writing duties on a fiction blog/online magazine, it would be a great opportunity (I think) to get short fiction out on the web for people to read and critique.  It might also give some other new writers a chance to get some exposure and confidence.  I wouldn't mind designing a wordpress (NOT Blogger) site to host this.  I just don't have the money for the hosting or domain name right now.  The basic premise would be that a group of writers, myself included, would each retain administrative access to the site and each of us would post one piece of short fiction (typically 1,000 words or less - but if it runs long, hey it would be our site, damn it!) each week (serial works are also acceptable).  We would also invite others to post their original works to the blog (as guest writers), showcasing original talent.  I'm not attached to setting up/maintaining this, so if someone else has a burning desire to do that, it's fine, but I'd be more than happy to do it, allowing others to just be responsible for their writing.

Please give me feedback on the above ideas.  If you are interested in #3, please let me know!

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I also have a proposal to throw out into the void of cyberspace regarding this wonderful place I call Geekcentricity.  I think that the wide variety of interests and pursuits that are geekcentric offer an excellent opportunity to cover more aspects of geekdom than I can possibly cover alone with my interests and limited time (remember, I'm in the "Learn My Craft" phase of my very own Operation: Awesome, so I need to have time to write other projects - my game, The Broken Veil, has suffered a horrible lack of attention of late). 

With this in mind, I am initiating my own contest. More like an open call.  Here's the deal: If you have an interest in some geekcentric topic (video games - console/pc/mmo/whatever, board games, ccg's, pen & paper rpg's, photography, technology - phone/computer/whatever, geek-related pop culture, whatever - the possibilities are staggering) and a desire to share your knowledge/passion/expertise with the wider world, then I have an opportunity for you!  Here's what I need:

1. Comment on this post and tell me that you would like to write for Geekcentricity (it is totally voluntary for you, just like it is for me - I have no money to pay anyone). 
2. In your comment, include the type(s) of topic(s) you are interested in writing about.

That's all!  I will contact you and we will decide on a topic and when the post will be finished and ready for posting.  I will retain editorial control (but will let you know in advance about any major revisions) and will set up access for you to post your content here as a guest blogger.  If it works out and you enjoy it, then we can talk about continuing the process, but writing a single post in no way obligates you to any long term commitments.  The way I see it, if you're interested in geeky stuff and enjoy writing, this gives you the opportunity to share that with others without having the responsibility of coming up with daily content or dealing with the setup, marketing or maintenance of your own blog.  It also helps Geekcentricity gain more content and the perspective of fresh minds and voices.  Have a video game that you loved/hated?  Have an rpg you want to pimp?  Got a book you want to tell people about?  Cool iPhone app whose features you want to share?  Awesome new video card coming out that you think would be perfect for gaming?  Want to share the joys and trials of raising a little geek in today's world?  All of those things and more would be perfect!  What do you think?  Is anyone interested?

Okay, there are some things I need your feedback on peeps!  Help me out here.  Drop me some comments.  I'm waiting with bated breath.  Or at least a trickle of drool on my lip.

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Casa Diablo

First of all, thanks to all of you who voted for my story in Chuck Wendig's "I Wanna Do Laser" flash fiction contest.  My piece finished second in the voting against some tough competition.  What follows is my entry for another contest, this one sponsored by Julie Summerell at her blog.  It weighs in at 1,498 words.  Thanks in advance for reading.  I hope you enjoy.

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             The left rear tire of the Buick disintegrated about six hours after Armando shot the state trooper.  They were out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and now they were without a ride.  Armando kicked the car door in frustration and settled on the hood while Carter paced along the dusty shoulder beside the car.  Jennings was still in the back seat.  The temperature in the damn car must be at least 120 degrees easy, but that crazy fuck was still back there.

            Jennings chimed in from the back seat "Hey Armando,  have I told you how in-fucking-credible it would be if that smart ass statie you capped back there would've been a sheriff?"  Jennings cackled like a hyena on speed.  The guy was wearing on Armando's nerves, and fast.  He'd used that same line about 40 times now. If the count got up to 50, Armando was gonna drag the crazy fuck out into the desert and beat his brains out with the tire iron.

            The irony of having a tire iron and not a spare wasn't lost on Armando.  It was Carter who had come up with the idea to leave the tire.  He'd figured they needed some of the goodies the cop had in his cruiser.  Shotgun, laptop, road flares.  Carter took the spare out of its nest in the trunk and repacked everything,  including the tire iron.  Then Armando drove the cruiser into a nearby ravine with the dead trooper's body in the trunk.  Somebody would find that cruiser soon, if they hadn't already.

            In the movies, Armando thought, this would be where we'd see a plume of dust and the glint of glass and chrome headed our way.  It was as if his mind called it into being.  "You seein' this, or is it one of them mirage things?"

            Carter broke out of his reverie and glanced down the road.  "Fuck. We're toast, man.  I'm bettin' that's one of them staties lookin' for our asses, so he can have himself a little fun with us for what you did to his colleague."

            "What I did to his colleague?"  Armando was getting sick of taking all the responsibility for this entire situation.  He felt like the motherfuckin' babysitter here.  "If I remember correctly, it was you who put the crystal in the glovebox with the registration.  If I didn't shoot him, your ass'd be playin' pincushion in a local jail by now!"

            Jenning decided to join the conversation, "You'd be on the receivin' end of of some local hokey's pokey, Carter!  And that ain't what it's all about."  Another raucous cackle.

            "Just play it cool guys."  Armando was thinking now.  He always worked best under pressure.  He could already see that it was an old stake truck on the road and not a police cruiser.  Of course that didn't mean that the driver hadn't heard a news story about a cop with half of the left side of his had blown off found taking a long snooze in the trunk of his own cruiser. 

            In the car, Jennings launched into some Bob Marley.  Forty-one.  "Carter, I don't care if you gotta stick your corn dog in that guy's pie-hole, just SHUT HIM UP!"

            The old stake truck had more desert on it than paint and as it slowed to a dusty stop next to the Buick, it looked like the front fenders were going to shake themselves loose.  The driver, afine looking blonde, leaned over the passenger side of the ruptured bench seat.  "You gents in need of some assistance?"  

            Things had just gotten interesting.  Armando had been running with the movie script version of events, so he fully expected the driver to be an old codger headed into town for food for whatever kind of animals farmers kept out here.  And while she was indeed headed into town, this driver was definitely neither old nor a codger, whatever that was. 

            Armando tried to sound homey, "Why yes, ma'am.  My friend there," he pointed at Jennings in his Buick cocoon, "his mom took real sick, so we're takin' him back home to Bakersfield to visit with her one last time.  We sure could use a lift into town."  Armando didn't have a clue where Bakerfield was, but he hoped they were headed in its general direction. 

            "I'm headed into town on my way to work," the driver motioned towards the back of the truck, "but you guys just hop up in the back and hold tight.  This truck's faithful, but she bucks like a wild stallion on this shitty excuse for a road."

            Carter led a miraculously quiet Jennings out of the car and into the truck.  It wasn't until he climbed up into the back and looked at the Buick that he burst into song, "You picked a fine time to leave me, loose wheel..."  If Jennings knew more of the words, Armando never found out.  He was asleep before the girl forced the truck into drive.

            When Armando woke up, it was night.  Carter and Jennings were still snoring.  The truck was parked outside of some dingy roadside diner.  He spotted their driver working behind the counter.  Armando wasn't sure if she had left them asleep out of kindness or a hope that she wouldn't have to deal with them again.  Oh, she'd deal with us, he thought.  But for now, they had time to kill.  Armando chuckled at the thought and kicked at his two compatriots awake.

            After hashing out their plan for the girl, they took stock of what they might find to occupy them until the diner closed.  The town consisted of  no more than a dozen buildings clustered in a few blocks of scant sodium light as if they were scared of the dark expanse of desert.  It was Carter who spotted the strip club.  Armando thought it looked like the place in that old Tarantino vampire flick, but there were a few bikes in the lot, about a half-dozen dirty pick-up trucks and even a couple of big rigs snoring side-by-side under a large flashing sign.  Casa Diablo.  Fitting name.  It might a decent enough place to blow a few hours and some of their stolen cash.  If they could score some cute strippers, it would be a bonus.

            As their eyes adjusted to the dim haze of the club, Armand saw his hopes  evaporate.  There wasn't a female in the place who had even recently been considered young.  The "girl" who was lethargically working a pole on the main stage had visible needle tracks and a large purple bruise on one cheek.  And stretch marks.  The place was like Shrivel Tits' House of Chicks Who've Bred.  But they needed to kill some time, so they kept buying table dances for Jennings, who actually seemed to be enjoying himself.  At least he wasn't singing.

            After Jennings returned from a stint in some nether room of the club, Armando decided it was time to finish the business with their driver.  The three men were hiding themselves the best they could as the diner's lights shut down and their driver emerged.  Armando congratulated himself on his sense of timing.  She didn't even bother to check the back of the truck before climbing into the cab and starting the engine.

            It was at least twenty minutes before the truck turned off the main road and onto a trail through the desert scrub.  Armando saw a farmhouse bounce past as they slowed. The girl brought the truck to a stop inside a barn before she cut the engine and jumped down from the cab. As she walked along the side of the truck,  Armando and Carter were waiting for their moment to pounce.  They had planned this before the Casa Diablo.  Jennings was asleep again.

            As they jumped down from the truck on either side of her, the girl sighed. "I sure am glad you boys decided to come home for a visit with me tonight."  As she spoke, her form seemed to lengthen in the darkness of the barn.  A large dark pair of leathery wings unfurled from behind her as a pair of dark bony horns split the skin on either side of her forehead, sending a trickle of blood curling seductively down each side of her face.  Her fingernails lengthened.  She glanced at Jennings, still sleeping in the back of the truck, a slight smile on his idiot face.  "I see my daughters treated your friend well."

            There was no chance to run.  One moment she was speaking; the  next, she had her fingers in Carter's chest, digging out his heart meat.  Armando saw her take a bite out of Carter's still quivering heart even as she advanced on him like a storm across an open field.  His bladder let go as she closed the distance.  Her talons sliced through muscle and bone with ease.  Her impossibly red lips, beautiful and terrible, followed him into perfect darkness.

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Big George

First of all, Happy Fathers' Day to all of you geeky dads!  I have a few words to share about my own dad, who's not geeky at all, but he did raise me, so he deserves a medal or something.  But first, if you read the piece of flash fiction I posted the other day entitled "That Golden Day" please go vote for it over at Terrible Minds.  There are a lot of excellent pieces of extremely short fiction over there, so I encourage you to read them all and vote for the most deserving entry, even if it isn't mine.  Of course I'd love for you to vote for my entry (which is Fathers' Day appropriate in a dark sort of way), but like I said, there are some great pieces on the list, written by some incredibly talented writers.

Okay, commercial break is over.

Fathers' Day is one of those holidays that brings out some seriously mixed emotions in people.  Actually, most holidays have that capacity, depending on the circumstances of your life.  For me, July 4th is a pretty depressing day, being the anniversary of my brother's death.  Fathers' Day just tends to dredge up old memories and stir some pretty strong emotions about your paterfamilias.  Many of the bloggers I read are writing about their fathers today.  As expected, they run the emotional gamut.  From Chuck Wendig's heartwarming story of forgiveness to Maggie Carroll's heartbreaking example of parental denial.

What about my Dad?

"In telling the story of my father's life, it's impossible to separate fact from fiction, the man from the myth. The best I can do is to tell it the way he told me."
     - Will Bloom, Big Fish

My wife and I took my dad to breakfast this morning at a local diner.  Breakfast has always been my father's meal.  Most people take their fathers out for dinner for special occasions, but cholesterol and quintuple bypass surgery be damned, breakfast is his special meal.  He has ordered the same thing for breakfast any time he goes out for that meal for as long as I can remember.  Two eggs over light, home fries, Taylor ham (if the place has it - since we moved south, he can't always get that, so he'll order bacon or sausage if necessary) and buttered rye toast.  With coffee.  He's actually the only person I've ever heard order their eggs "over light" and I think it's just a fancy way of saying "over easy" but he swears there's a difference.

When I was growing up in New Jersey, I didn't really understand my dad.  I know, what kid does?  But still.  He was never home unless he was sleeping.  When he was home sleeping, my brother and I were under strict orders not to make any noise or do anything that would wake our father.  He caught his sleep whenever he could and usually only a few hours at a time, so waking him was punishable by a beating.  Just making enough noise that waking him was a possibility earned a swift, but quiet, reprimand from our mother.  Sometimes accompanied by a smack or a spanking.  We were reminded frequently that he worked his ass off so that we could have nice things and a good roof over our heads.

When I was young, we lived in an apartment on the second floor of the town annex.  The town held important meetings and other functions in a large meeting hall just below our kid feet.  "Be quiet!  There's people downstairs!" was as much a mantra in our house as "Be quiet, your father's trying to sleep!"  Our backyard was bounded on the opposite side by the town fire department, which was right next to the police station and town hall.  It was actually the "Borough Hall" because technically that's what our town was legally considered.  We didn't have a front yard.  In its place we had a grocery store parking lot.  Across that parking lot was a grocery store, a fascinating place to my young imagination called Kilroy's Wonder Market.  There was also a warehouse for the grocery store and, beyond that, a gas station.  We lived across the street from a large town park, which was a paradise for my brother and I, even if our mom had to walk us across the busy street.  During summers, we had a travel trailer at a campground up in the mountains in Sussex County.  My mom and I, and my brother until he turned 16, stayed there all summer.  My father, and later my brother, joined us when he wasn't working back home in Glen Rock, about an hour away.

I was too young then to understand or appreciate the life that my dad led.  All that mattered to me was that I never got to spend any time with him.  I think it affected my brother, who was 9 years older than me and suffered from bi-polar disorder, more than it affected me because he went through his teen years and his descent into the hell of mental illness while our dad was keeping these crazy hours.  My dad felt guilty about it later and tried his best to make it up to Scott after he retired, but that led to some crazy situations where my dad was more of an enabler for my brother's mental illness than anything else.

When my father was working as a department manager at a local grocery store, one of the town cops used to come in when it rained and wait for his wife to bring him his rain gear.  My father, never one to let such a ripe opportunity for sarcasm to pass him by, teased that officer mercilessly every time.  "Awww.  So nice of your mommy to bring your rubbers."

Eventually, weary of my father's sarcastic comments, the officer gave him a browbeating.  He lectured my dad on the demands and hazards of police work and did something you should never do to a Dutchman as stubborn as my father.  The cop dared him.  With my dad, it doesn't even need to be a triple-dog dare.  The poor guy told my dad that he could never make it as a cop and he dared him to try.

My dad, "Big" George Miller, spent the next 25 years of his life serving the borough of Glen Rock as a police officer.  On top of that, he kept his job as a grocery store department manager.  And those weren't the only two jobs he held.

My dad was a master storyteller.  When he launched into a tale, everyone around gave him their undivided attention.  His stories, and stories about him, were a staple of my formative years.  There was one story about my dad that I didn't hear until after I was grown and married.  The details change depending on who's telling the tale, but I've heard it from multiple sources and the details have remained fairly consistent:

There was, in the town, an elderly woman who had recently lost her husband.  Before his death, she didn't get around town much, as her husband did the shopping and ran most of the errands while she kept house and took care of their children.  After his death, she received flowers from loved ones and, on at least one occasion, my father drove up in the florist's van and delivered them to her.  When she was going through his things, she found a pair of his shoes and his old trumpet.  She wanted to have both of them repaired to give to one of their children.  One day, while she was downtown, she took the shoes to the local shoe store, where my dad took them from her, wrote up the ticket and placed them behind the counter.  A few days later, when she came upon her late husband's trumpet, she took it to the local music store, where my father repaired it for her.  At this point, she was becoming suspicious.


Another day, the old widow called the appliance repair shop and asked for someone to come and pick their old console television for repair.  You guessed it.  My father was driving the truck.  By this point, the poor woman was getting paranoid, convinced that my dad was stalking her.  A few days later, a neighbor drove her to the grocery store to get milk, which was handed to her by the nice gentleman who was stocking the dairy case.  My father.  When he turned to hand her the milk, she nearly ran from the store.  The neighbor drove her home, but she was becoming unhinged by this point, so after a few hours of stewing about what to do, she asked her neighbor to drive her to the police station so that she could file a complaint against this man who must be after her.  My dad was manning the desk.

I can't vouch for the truth in that story, but does it matter?  With my father, the tale has always been about more than the truth.  It is about the story.  And the story today is about fathers.  My story is about my father.  One of the hardest working men I've ever met.  He may not have always been the best father in the world, but he always did his best to provide for us.  And he's always been larger than life.  Thanks, dad.  For everything.

"A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him. And in that way he becomes immortal."
     - Will Bloom, Big Fish

Note: All photos in the links are copyright David Tanner, 2003.
The photo at the top is my dad and I at the Catskill Game Farm, taken some time in the late 70's.

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Moving the Ball

Last week, I wrote a post about my process of re-inventing myself that ostensibly began a few years ago, but ran afoul of life and what James Scott Bell calls "The Big Lie."  Since I wrote the post (June 9th if anybody is keeping score at home), I have concentrated on moving the ball as much as possible on as many of the writing  projects that I'm tossing around as possible.  The day I wrote that post was the day that Jason L. Blair inspired me to actually make a plan and start making some concrete steps towards accomplishing my re-invention as a writer.  He detailed his steps in his post on his own "Operation: Awesome."  I have been running on a crazy manic of excitement ever since.

My own version of "Operation: Awesome" involves similar steps:

1. Start thinking of myself as a writer:  I thought when I ended my career a few years ago and started my first blog that I had this covered, but it didn't take.  I was still under the influence of "The Big Lie."  Now, I have that one behind me.  My bio here on Geekcentricity begins with my conception of myself as a writer.  I have business cards made up and have actually had occasion to hand out a few.  James Scott Bell said that the first thing he did was "buy a black coffee mug with Writer written in gold across it."  I have always been a believer in visualization and learned from Dr. Tim Lautzenheiser that in order to accomplish something, you have to consider yourself as already having accomplished it.  In order to become something, you have to see yourself as the thing you want to become.  I restarted this step in earnest when I started Geekcentricity.  I just wasn't exactly sure how to accomplish the next step, or even exactly what it was, until Jason helped me out.
2. Learn the craft:  I have always had a natural talent with words and creating stories.  That, along with a buck seventy-nine, plus tax may buy me a cup of coffee.  I had taken some writing courses in college and was encouraged by a professor that I discovered way too late in my days as a college student, but I really found that I didn't know shit about the meat and bones of a story.  I had been getting by, or actually not getting by, on talent.  You can only go so far with that and I recently realized that I was pretty close to my ceiling.  I knew that I couldn't afford to take writing classes or seminars right now and I didn't know where else to turn.  After reading Jason's post, and how he learned how to write screenplays from Blake Snyder's Save the Cat! series, I started digging around for some books that could teach me more about the craft of writing.  I eventually wandered over to Writers' Digest (thanks Jane Friedman) and discovered their Write Great Fiction series of books.  I clicked my way over to Amazon and discovered that they could be purchased quite affordably, so I bought them.  They arrived today.  Today is the day I launch this step of the process!  I'm so excited!
3. Writing and selling myself:  I've already started this step, so I guess this list is out of order, but I think you have to write as you learn and learn as you write.  I also believe that you have to start selling yourself as a writer from day one.  Jason includes steps related to defining himself as a writer and doing research, but I already know what type of writer I want to be.  I also have already started researching, since I started defining some projects I wanted to work on very early in the process.  The "selling myself" step will no doubt intensify once I actually make some headway into actually getting published, or at least have hope of getting published.

Like I wrote in my list above, I have a short list of projects I am concentrating on writing.  The main two are the tabletop role-playing game I am working on (working title: Breaking the Veil) and a novel, which I now have a title for: Breeders.  I am really picking up steam on that one and I'm excited about where it's going.  I'm sure I will pick up other projects along the way, like the flash fiction piece I recently finished for Chuck Wendig's contest.  I am also leaning towards submitting something for Julie Summerell's flash fiction contest.  Stay tuned for that one.

With all that said, Geekcentricity is a little lower on my priority list right now.  It will still see new posts, but they may be shorter, and with my vacation time coming to an end at the end of this week, they definitely won't appear every day.  I think a reasonable frequency is 3-4 posts per week.  Which is about what I've been doing the past few weeks.  I will also be updating on the progress of these projects, posting game reviews as I can, and generally continuing to run this place according to the status quo.  Please keep visiting, reading and commenting.  Without you, my readers, this is just me talking to myself.  Right?  Is this thing on?  What do you think?

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That Golden Day

If you're a regular reader of Geekcentricity, you know that every now and then I post some of the strange search terms that people have used to arrive here.  Nobody gets stranger search terms than Chuck Wendig over at Terrible Minds.  Well, nobody that isn't running a fetish porn site.  A really bizarre fetish porn site.  His "Search Term Bingo" always makes me laugh my ass off, which is what inspired me to share some of my strange search terms.

Now, one of the more ridiculous search terms that some poor soul probably typed into the computer in his basement apartment in his mom's house, only to arrive at Chuck's blog, has inspired a bit of a writing contest.  The 996 word piece of flash fiction that follows is my entry into that contest.  I was going to wait until later in the week to post it.  That was my strategy, damn it.  But I lost my cool.  I decided to get it up here (stop thinking that way) before somebody else pulled my story out of the ether and wrote it themselves (which happens).  Here is my entry.  I hope you like it.  If you don't, blame Chuck.

---

That Golden Day
by Darren G. Miller

             September 3rd.  Jaydon's 5th birthday fell on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend last year, so we decided to throw a huge combined family reunion/birthday party hybrid thing.  It was awesome.  There were people there that I barely knew.  Family that had never seen Jay before.  Brenda's dad kept hauling Jay up onto his lap.  Every time he got up there, Jay would yank on his beard like he was a department store Santa and it was going to come off or something.  He took it well, always giving a deep belly laugh and saying, "My beard" in a high pitched voice like Curly from the Three Stooges.  There's a picture in my wallet of Jay up on his grandfather's lap, happy in a way that only little boys can be, Spider-Man t-shirt already dirty from a busy day of being a boy. 

            At one point, my aunt Bernice leaned down to tell Jay what a handsome boy he was and Jaydon, my boy, looked up at her and said, "So fat," before scurrying away, giggling.  Kids say the damnedest things.  Bernice wasn't quite as amused as everyone else was.  She stewed over by the food tables with a couple of the other old aunts and uncles for most of the day.  Truth is, she really was fat.  Bernice passed away six months later when her heart gave out.  I got some leave to come back to the funeral and couldn't help thinking of Jay's words  when I looked at her in the coffin.  I had to stifle a quiet chuckle as I gazed down at her in final repose.   I'm surely going to hell for that.

            The day of that party sure was beautiful, though.  We'd even gotten one of those outdoor laser tag companies to come set up a course in the field beside the house.  I remember thinking that Bren was going to have to hire someone to cut all that grass after I deployed.  Most of the kids played laser tag all afternoon.  Jay put on the smallest vest they had and wore it pretty much all day after that.  It was really too big for him and the damn thing kept sliding off to one side, one of Spider-Man's eyes peeking out from beneath.  But he sure loved running around out there with all the bigger kids, pointing and pulling the trigger.  Shouting, "You dead.  I kill you with my laser!"  Seemed like every few minutes, or at least every time I sat down with a cold beer, Jay would run over with his vest all crooked, shouting for me to come play laser tag with him.  "Daddy, come on!  I wanna do laser!"  Every time, I left my beer, put on a stupid vest, grabbed a plastic gun and joined the game.  I wasted a lot of beer that day.  What can I say?  I love my son.

            It was a golden day all around.  A picture book day.  It was one of those days that gets you through the harder ones.

            Today was one of the harder days.  We were pulling presence patrol duty in some province I couldn't pronounce even if I'd cared enough to try.  Some locals motioned for us to drive over, waving their arms and calling out in whatever fucking language they spoke.  That was when the world came apart.  Must've been a roadside bomb.  One of those fucking IED's.  I think it was wired to the old sand-covered car that was next to us.  That car looked like it hadn't moved in years until it moved in every direction at once in a burst of flame and hot metal.  My ears were still ringing from the explosion.  My vision was shit.  The whole world had gone fuzzy and red.  One of the locals who'd been calling us over was screaming and grabbing at his beard, which was on fire, along with whatever he was wearing and most of his lower body.  I couldn't hear what he was screaming.

            I was having trouble moving.  Fuck.  Stop denying it.  I was having trouble breathing.  A piece of something, looked like a piece of the armor sheeting that was supposed to protect us from shit like this, was stuck into the ground through my left shoulder.  There was blood everywhere and a smell somewhere south of roasting meat.  I raised my right arm and wiped my face.  I had a beard of sand and shattered glass and whatever the hell else was stuck to my face.  As I tried to wipe it off I thought of my son pulling on his grandpa's beard that golden day.  "My beard..."  I wondered if that's what the burning guy was screaming as he grabbed at his flaming chin.

            Burning guy crumpled into the dust just as a large local woman, a relative perhaps, arrived on the scene and started beating at him half-heartedly with a rug.  As I watched her futile efforts, eyes failing, I thought, "So Fat!"  I chuckled, or tried to chuckle, through the blood in my throat.  Definitely going to hell for that.  Or maybe I was already there.

            "Daddy, come on!"

            I heard the words clearly despite the ringing in my head that was still the only other thing I'd heard since the explosion.  It took most of my strength to turn my head and look to my right.  Towards my son's voice.  A few feet away, the sand of this desert hellhole ended and turned into the lush green grass of the field beside our house.  My son was standing there, with his arm outstretched, waiting to take my hand.  He was wearing that too big laser tag vest that was still sliding off to one side, with Spider-Man peeking out from underneath, just like that day last fall.  His birthday.  He looked at me with his big, beautiful eyes and said, "I wanna do laser!"

            I set down my beer and took his hand.

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Alpha Protocol: A Geekcentric Review

A few weeks ago, I brought you the first Geekcentric video game review.  I am please to welcome you to the second in my ongoing series of Geekcentric video game reviews.  This one is the new espionage rpg Alpha Protocol by Obsidian Entertainment/Sega.




A Geekcentric Review: Alpha Protocol Edition


I've been waiting... anticipating Alpha Protocol for well over a year now.  I put my reserve down on it after reading the first feature on it in Game Informer magazine.  As a fan of rpg's, I was down with an espionage role-playing game, a rare enough bird in its own right, that purports to have character archetypes modeled after three of the greatest icons of the genre, whose names all began, the designers noted, with the initials J.B.: James Bond, Jason Bourne and Jack Bauer.  Any game that has the kick-ass-factor of any one of those three bad-asses is a good game in my book.  Now this game comes along and claims to have the kick-assitude of all three of them?  How could you go wrong?

After a number of delays, Alpha Protocol finally hit stores on June 1, 2010.  After I finished exploring Bright Falls with Alan Wake and spent some time riding around the scrublands of Red Dead Redemption, but before I fired up the bizarre world of Deadly Premonition, I decided to step into the shoes of rogue agent Michael Thorton.

The Story:  The protagonist of Alpha Protocol is agent Michael Thorton who, like most espionage genre protagonists, is soon betrayed by his country and disavowed by his agency.  He becomes a rogue agent on the run, trying to figure out what went wrong and bring those responsible to justice.  In place is a love interest or three, starting with Mina Tang.  There is also a departmental nemesis in Sean Darcy.  Playing the role of the evil corporation is Halbech (sounds like Halliburton) Industries (there's even a W reference or two thrown in just in case you didn't get the satire).

The Graphics:  I have to be honest here and say that those first few minutes I spent with this game were almost painful.  I was fresh off two excellent games with beautiful graphics that blew me away, when I seemingly stepped back in time to the not so beautiful 1st generation XBox days with Alpha Protocol.  The graphics are definitely one of the weak points of this title.  From blank pixels to the laughable dead fish death animations, I was shocked that a game this hyped could look this bad.  If you're one of the people who needs state of the art photorealistic graphics, then this game is not for you.

The Controls/Gameplay:  Despite my initial disappointment, I stuck with it.  The dialogue mechanic in this game is not bad.  I like the timed conversations and the dialogue prompts related to attitudes, such as suave, dismissive, or professional.  Also, the execute prompt is great for those long dialogue scenes that just don't seem to be going anywhere.  The controls for other actions are also pretty well done, if somewhat confusing at times just due to the sheer number of options available.  The closest comparison I have here is one that I have heard often about this game: Mass Effect.  Just not as polished.  I also like the min-games here (always better than blatant contextual prompts) and enjoy hacking computer terminals and picking locks.  The weakest part of the control scheme is the cover system, which usually misbehaves, while the weakest gameplay components are the inane AI and the overall glitchiness (nothing like being stuck in a room when the game glitches out each time you approach the exit, only to restabilize as you get farther away from it).

The leveling aspect of this rpg is not as robust as I would like, with too few options and a path that becomes even more limited as you progress.  I definitely recommend selecting Freelancer and Operative as your Agent History and Specialization to give you the most options for customizing your character.  Even with some weaknesses here, if the gameplay and graphic were as good as Splinter Cell: Conviction, but the Alpha Protocol rpg and attitude-based dialogue systems were left intact, this game would be likely in consideration for Game of the Year.

A word on boss fights.  The way this game handled boss was annoying.  It broke me out of the otherwise narrative structure of the game, much the way bad contextual prompts do, and reminded me that I was playing a game.  Alpha Protocol handles these battles in much the same way it handles graphics.  Like a throwback to games of 5 or more years ago.  I had to pause one boss fight just to laugh at the way the graphics switched to cell shading in the middle of the fight.

Soundtrack:  Most of the time, I wasn't really conscious of the music in the game.  Most of it just isn't that memorable.  There is at least one notable exception though.  The cheesy 80's music (Autograph's "Turn Up the Radio") that plays when you encounter Russian hoodlum Konstantin Brayko was catchy (for all the wrong reasons).  This scene was reminiscent of the farm scene in Alan Wake.  If you've played both scenes, you know what I mean.

Overall:  I won't include any spoilery stuff here for those of you who may not have finished the game (like me).  I'll just close by saying that Obsidian has brought us an extremely uneven game here.  It has some big, ugly warts that definitely detract from gameplay, yet I can't stop playing it to see what impact my decisions have on the outcome of the story (I've already caused the death of one ally because I held duty above friendship).

If you've played this game already, what do you think?

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Re-Invention

I'll be honest with you.  Re-inventing yourself is a bitch.  Seriously.

If you've known me for a while, then you know that I set out to re-invent myself a few years ago.  To make a long story as short as I can make it, bad shit happened.  It freaked me out.  I mean, it literally caused me to completely doubt life as I'd known it up to that point.  It illuminated me to the fleeting nature of our existence and all that.  I went through some seriously rough times.  In short, somebody died.  I blamed myself.  I decided I could no longer live within the status quo.  I struggled with how to change the status quo while being too scared/stressed/whatever to think rationally.  I jumped into the first escape pod I could find.

"Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death."
- Anais Nin

If you've ever undergone a major life re-organization, you understand.  If you've ever gone through post-traumatic stress, you understand.  I was there.  I was trying to figure out how to get out of being something I no longer wanted to be, while figuring out what I wanted to be... hell, what I could be.  I believed, at the time, that the job I was in contained my only marketable skill set.  That was a huge obstacle.  What I really wanted to do...  What I had always wanted to do, was write.  I have always considered myself a writer, even when I hadn't created a single piece of writing not directly related to my job for quite some time.  Yet, I did write things for my job.  So, I was writing in some form.

I decided that I wanted to re-organize my life so that I could begin to pursue life as a writer.  I started a blog for the dual purposes of getting my thoughts and feelings out there in front of me and to get used to writing every day, whether I felt like it or not.  I got a job in the video game industry, albeit in retail management, but still working with video games.  There I was able to combine my love for gaming with my years of leadership experience.  But things got complicated, as things often do.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped writing.  I got sucked into the daily grind and lost focus.  It's easy to do.  There are bills to pay, family and friends to spend time with, there is work to be done.  I took me almost two years to discover that I had lost the path again.

Now, I'm back.  I may not be completely on the road yet.  I haven't gotten to the point of publication yet.  But I'm at least headed back towards the right road.  I'm writing again.  I can't say for sure that life won't bite me in the ass again.  It has such sharp teeth.  I am trying to avoid being pulled back towards the old status quo.  I'm trying to focus on my goals.  I am visualizing the outcome.

I am (and I can't stress enough how important, how vitally essential this is) surrounding myself with people who have their eyes on a similar prize.  Sure, right now the contact is all online.  I am following them on Twitter.  Some of them are following me on Twitter as well.  I need this community in order to see that it can be done.  They have already given me so much, mostly without even realizing it.

Yesterday, this community gave me several things.  If you aspire to be a writer, as I do, or any sort of creative artist, from musician to graphic designer, you need to check out these links.

Daniel B. O'Shea is writing a serial novel on his blog.  This is amazing.  Yesterday, he wrote about moving the ball.

Jason L. Blair, creator of the Little Fears role-playing game, told us about Operation: Awesome.

Author and game designer Jess Hartley shared some inspiring news with the world yesterday.

These stories tell me that it can be done.  It's just up to me.  I have to keep moving the ball.  I have to keep putting the pieces into place and not let myself get discouraged with the pace of my progress.  I have to start my own version of "Operation: Awesome" and set measurable goals.  I have to apply myself and get words on pages, no matter what it takes.  But first I have to educate myself on process.  And I have to also find time for reading and research (which does include video games, especially in the genre I'm going to be writing, horror/thriller).


Here's to moving the ball.

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The Rationale for Simple

I know.  I know.  The last word in the title should be "simplicity" but "simple" is just so much more... simple.

I've been thinking a lot about the objectives of the game I've been working on.  Which I am calling The Broken Veil.  At least for now.

Anyway, objectives.  What do I want the game to accomplish?

• Atmosphere - I want to create an atmosphere of dread and horror.  I want the players to be scared.  I want the game to have the feel of a gritty survival horror video game.
• Easy-to-Learn - I want the core mechanics to be easy to learn.
• Quick Yet Robust Character Creation - I want the players to be able to quickly create a character that they can identify with and customize.
• Dramatic Support - I want the system to support the atmosphere and drama, not take the players out of the game.

With that in mind, I'm giving strong consideration to reducing the number of Attributes to 3 Core Attributes:

• Body - This attribute represents the character's physical abilities, from strength to agility to endurance.  
• Mind - This attribute represents the character's mental abilities, including intelligence, reasoning and wit.
• Spirit - This attribute represents the character's social/emotional strength, resilience and flexibility.

In addition to an adjective-based rank in each of the three attributes, the player would select a primary and secondary attribute, with the remaining attribute becoming the tertiary.  Skills associated with the primary attribute would be easiest to learn and advance, with secondary being next easiest.

Following the adjective-based theme of character creation, the prime Skills are also descriptive.  The player would write down a number of descriptive phrases for the character, based on the Skills she wishes to possess.  For example: Player 1 is creating a character named Justine, who is a reporter for the local newspaper (cliched, but this is an example).  He decides that she is going to be "witty" "flirtatious" and "easy to talk to."  These are the Skills that are going to help her get the good stories despite not being the best writer at the local rag.  Perhaps the Justine is "agile" as well.  Depending on the number of points the player wants the spend, the the character gets a rank in each of these Skills from Mediocre to Excellent (the default level for a character who doesn't possess the Skill is Poor).  Note that these names are not written in stone.  I am working on the names of the Skills I plan on using.  In addition to Attributes and Skills, there are also Gifts and Faults.  Gifts and Faults aren't ranked.  The character either possesses them or doesn't.  

What do you think of a system that keeps the required Attributes simple, but allows the player to customize characters through skill depth?  

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In Space No One Can Hear You Game

If you know me well as a gamer, you know that my gaming preferences lean away from sci-fi gaming.  This goes not only for tabletop rpg's, but also video games.  Sure, I've played some Mass Effect.  I've played most of the Halo games (though I am considering trading them in... GASP!).  I've played Dead Space.  I've loved me some Fallout 3.  When I was younger... okay, much younger, I played a tabletop rpg called Gamma World.  Does anybody remember Gamma World?  I think WotC did a 3E/D20 remake of the game that never really took off (there were actually 5 editions of the game), then it was lumped in as a campaign type for D20 Future.  Now, they're actually re-booting the game again for an October, 2010 launch.

Also, if you know me well as a gamer, you know that my above mentioned discrimination against the sci-fi genre actually bothers me.  I've explored it numerous times, prodding it with sharp sticks.  Picking at it like a scabbed-over, weeks-old sore.  I've squeezed the icky pus out of it.  I've tried to figure it out.  I have conclusions.  I'm not sure if they're final conclusions.  But they're what I have at this point.  I'll still keep prodding at it.

What brings me to write about this today, you ask?  Okay, so you didn't actually ask.  Actually, my last few in-post questions have gone unanswered.  But I'm stubborn.  I'm a persistent bastard.  I'm going to keep at it, because that's what I do.  What brings me to write about this today is a short post over at Gameplaywright where Will Hindmarch asks a seemingly simple question.

"Why don't sci-fi games sell like fantasy games do?"

There it is.

Will got me picking at that scab again.

Will has a good point.  In order to try to sell sci-fi games, especially of the tabletop rpg variety, the designer mixes in strong elements of fantasy.  Gamma World did it.  Warhammer 40K is an excellent example of the phenomenon.  D20 Modern/D20 Future were redolent with fantasy elements (doesn't help that they were WotC products).

There are some excellent comments on Will's short post.  Rob Donoghue mentions the lack of a "shared shorthand" akin to fantasy's "Tolkien standard."  Several others talk about the fragmentation of the sci-fi fan base.  There are several other great ones to read if you click the link.

For me, the conclusion I have come up with thus far is fairly simple.  It's space that does me in.  There's just too damn much of it.  Justin Alexander writes that "Sci-fi games are often guilty of selling the setting instead of selling a game."  He's right.  The infinite boundaries of space are an attractive selling point.  The writers plug in some cool weapons and some neat looking alien races.  They throw in some spaceships and a backstory for the world that is supposed to draw the consumer in and give them plenty of room to customize the setting, bt then they drop the ball.

The truth is, there's just too damn much space to fill in... well, in space.

If you look at the sci-fi games I've played and enjoyed, video or otherwise, most of them are pretty tightly focused.  They aren't concerned with the infinite expanse of space, but rather with the human (or inhuman) drama of fairly tight locational boundaries.  Whether they are a single spaceship (Dead Space's Ishimura), a single city (Fallout 3's DC Wasteland), or a single planet (as in Gamma World or Borderlands), the focus is tight enough to provide a large enough setting to encourage diverse encounters and scenarios, but small enough to provide boundaries.

Sometimes, a canvas can be too large.

Giant empty swaths of blank space to fill can be intimidating and stifle creativity.  Sure, we love Star Wars and Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica, but we aren't creating those settings as we play.  We're just partaking in someone else's creation as we watch the movies, or expanding on it slightly as we play the games (but gaming in those settings is still too limitless for me).

An example of a focused sci-fi game (so far as I've seen it) is David Hill's Maschine Zeit.  I've written a bit about it here previously.  It does feature a setting where space travel is a given.  But it concentrates that setting on the human and inhuman dramas that play out in focused, if not confined, locations.  David has done a good job of setting specific areas of exploration and interest and encouraging play in manageable bits.

My idea for a sci-fi game?  Take sci-fi back to its roots.  Focus on a single planetary system.  Make space travel limited.  Short distances are possible, but the longer the voyage, the riskier it is.  Exponentially.  The traveling fleet is old and unreliable.  Something happened in the past that has taken away the money or incentive to build new ships.  Maybe this is a somewhat post-apocalyptic game.  The characters are in an outpost system, far from the space traveling civilization to which they once belonged.  Some war or other catastrophe has caused most, if not all, of the military and space-worthy crews and vessels to have been long since redeployed.  Now, this small outpost is cobbling together some ships for bold adventurers to take huge risks to attempt to explore nearby planets and learn what happened, or just gather resources and pool knowledge.  Star Trek was once described as "Wagon Train to the stars." I think that this brings us back to a limited, focused setting that feels more true to that concept.  We're in a lawless frontier.  Scope is manageable.  As characters become more accomplished, enterprising GM's may wish to introduce technology that can expand the world.  It's like a space western.  I like it.

Damn.  Now I have more ideas on my plate.

What do you think?  Feel free to post your thoughts about any of this.

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Making a Good Bad Guy

Take your average hero.  I don't care if it's Neo or Luke Skywalker, Harry Potter or Batman.  Now set him down in a peaceful, quiet town and watch what happens.

What happens?

Neo continues to work at his day job, while doing small-time hacking on the side.

Luke works on the farm and on weekends races stock cars on the local dirt track.  He keeps talking about joining the air force, but there's always some piece of machinery on the farm that needs his mechanical skills.

Harry Potter continues to study magic and is one of the brightest pupils in his class.

Batman doesn't even exists.  Bruce Wayne is the founder and CEO of one of the largest corporations in the world.  He does his job, donates to charities (including the Fraternal Order of Police), and sleeps soundly at night.

Wait... isn't there something missing?

Damn right there is.

Heroes are easy.  They're a dime a dozen.  It's the villain that makes the story.  Without Hans Gruber, John McLane is just a wise-cracking cop with relationship problems.  Neo is lost in the Matrix.  Luke Skywalker is just a farmer who likes to drive fast.  Harry Potter is a nerd with funny glasses who studies magic.  Batman doesn't even exist without a villain to cause Bruce Wayne to put on tights when he gets home from his day job.

The tricky part is, what makes a good bad guy?  Or, what makes a compelling villain?

It's not enough to just be evil.  There's evil all over the place unworthy of being a foil to one of the above heroes.  Does a villain have to be strong?  Smart?  Cunning?  What is it that makes us love to hate them?  Or hate to love them, as the case may be.

Let's look at some of the greatest movie villains of our time.

One of the most memorable movie villains ever started out as a whiny teenager who thought the world owed him something.  He was seduced by a power he didn't understand, and crippled while losing a fight to his former teacher.  He wasn't particularly smart.  He was just seduced by power.  His name?  Darth Vader.

Another of the most memorable movie villains of recent times is The Joker.  Whether portrayed by Mark Hamill, Jack Nicholson or Heath Ledger, this guy is a lunatic.  He is driven by a love of chaos.  He isn't particularly intelligent, just cunning, crafty, crazy like a fox.  He isn't attractive or strong.  But he drives the Batman nearly insane with his clever morality traps.

My favorite movie villain isn't even a person.  He/It is a computer.  Or, more correctly, a Heuristically programmed Algorithmic computer.  You can call "him" HAL 9000, or just HAL for short.  HAL isn't necessarily evil.  He isn't seduced by power or driven by greed.  HAL is just trying to stay alive.  He's basically just Johnny 5 (from the movie Short Circuit) with an attitude.  HAL is a computer that has developed sentience and is trying to keep from being, in Johnny 5's words, "disassembled."

So, what makes HAL, or any of these villains for that matter, so great?  So memorable?  So... hero-worthy?

For one, they all have extremely engaging personalities.  So, is that the key to writing a good villain?  Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I submit to you one Agent Smith.  This guy has less personality than the box that my breakfast cereal was packed in.  Nope.  It isn't personality.  Or at least, not entirely personality.

Are you ready?  Do you want me to give you that magic ingredient for creating the best villains?

Well, I don't have it.

That's right.  I don't know exactly how to do it.  It's not a precise formula.  It's more of a guy thing.  It's more of the interaction between the hero and "his" villain.  Like Ledger's Joker says, they "complete" each other.

I can tell you one thing that all of these villains have in common, though.  To their respective heroes, they're all completely alien.  No, I don't mean they come from outer space, though to be fair, Darth Vader does.  But that's beside the point.  What I mean is, the villain is something that the hero, the protagonist of the story, cannot relate to.  The villain's drives and motivations cannot be comprehended by the hero.  Sure, Luke Skywalker knows what power is, and definitely comes to understand how a person can be seduced by the promise of it, but until he learns that he is a simple farmer with a taste for adventure.  John McLane has arrested his share of criminals, but he has never been in such close proximity to someone so truly mad and devious.  Harry has no concept of how someone can be as twisted and evil as Voldemort.  Bruce Wayne has to never encountered a force of chaos quite like The Joker.  Neo begins by not even knowing that the Matrix exists and must learn the nuances of the program that is Agent Smith in order to even consider eradicating it.  And Dave?  The protagonist of Kubrick's masterpiece can program a computer, but has no concept of what it would be like to actually be one, and be threatened with destruction.  Ironically, in sequels, Dave and HAL form a symbiotic relationship of part man - part computer.

Is that the magic trick?  Alienness?  Is that even a word?  No, it's just a potential first step to creating a memorable... a worthy villain.

What do you think?  What are your favorite, your most memorable villains?  What do you think are key ingredients that go into cooking up a good villain?

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Shepherd's Pie: Fourth Helping

Everybody knows what a link dump is.  Well, almost everybody.  I assure you it's not a bunch of turds all hooked together and floating in the porcelain pond.  Though I did have Turd Pudding a few weeks ago.  One blog I read calls its weekly link dump post "Applesauce."  Chuck Wendig's "Painting With Shotguns"  paints a much more gruesome and catchy title.  Pun intended.  Deal with it.  I call mine Shepherd's Pie.  Everything, all the week's awesome goodness is thrown in and mixed around.  Sometimes it comes out pretty appetizing and sometimes it just looks like puke on a plate... or on a page, as the case may be. It looks like Wednesday has become the de facto Shepherd's Pie day.  At least on Wednesdays that I decide it is.  Otherwise, it's luck of the draw.  I can do it on Saturday if I want.  It's my place.

And you're my guests.

Welcome to the 4th helping of Shepherd's Pie.

I'll keep it short, sweet, and to the point today. If you love dice, or playing love games with dice, and want to write about a dice-centric topic, Gameplaywright is hosting a Blog Carnival to commemorate the release of The Bones. There's a lot of discussion going on about the role of "just having fun" in role-playing games.  Will Hindmarch shared an excellent quote from that discussion that really spoke to me.  Here is a link to it, but I am also posting it in its entirety here:

"Because a game is about much more than 'fun.' Game play is a meaningful part of our culture. Game play engages a significant part of our personalites. Competition, strategy, puzzle-solving, collaboration, fairness, uncertainty, risk, reward -- these are elements of games that make them fun. When we play a game, we enter a special mental space, separate and different from all others in our lives. We agree -- explicitly or implicitly -- to abide by the rules so that all of the players can engage with the activity in a fair and reasonable manner. Now, 'fair and reasonable manner' can mean that I get to shoot you in the face during the game -- and you have to leave the field when I do -- but once the game is over, there's no more face-shooting.

Thus in roleplaying games, we engage with a system that challenges us. We use a set of rules that forces us from our comfort zone and encourages us to think and act in a manner we would not otherwise. We play the game. We don’t need the game to have fun. We can have fun anywhere, any time. Rather, we use the game to create unanticipated, unexpected results. We use the game to give everyone at the table a role in play. And we engage with that game as a neutral arbiter, to ensure that play is fair."

I think this is a key thing to remember.  Balance in gaming, as well as in any other facet of life, is important.  It's vital.  I'm not talking about game balance.  I'm talking about social/emotional balance.  If you feel you need the game to have "fun" with a particular person/group of people, you should take a step back.  You should be able to have fun playing the game with these people and you should be able to have fun doing other things with them.  Ideally, they should be your friends.  If every gathering you have with them is "gaming only" then why is that?  Whenever you get together, do you only play, or talk about, the game?  Do you get annoyed when people in the group want to do other things or have other interests or commitments?  Do you ignore anything they say that isn't about the game?  This seems to me to be a balance issue.

A few days ago, I shared an amazing piece by Jesse Burneko.  Well, Jesse's at it again.  He and Justin Achilli always seem to challenge me and make me think about games and my views on games.  For that, I thank you both profusely.  I have had my fair share of games that have ground to a halt or collapsed.  I think Jesse's nailed it again when he says that a major contributing factor in this phenomenon is the lack of a clear objective in the game.  He says that most role-playing games (he uses GURPS as an example) are toys.  I prefer to think of them as toolkits or frameworks.  A working game has to be compiled from this framework.  He's correct when he says that most games cannot be played straight out of the box without a lot of customization from the gamemaster.  Most of the time, the gamemaster writes plot hooks, defines characters, creates of fleshes out a game world, etc.  Rarely does the gamemaster, at least in my experience, set out a clear objective for the game.  And Jesse's right, "Have fun" is not a clear game objective.  If you read the above link, you know that everyone's definition of "fun" is different.  One paragraph in particular of Jesse's article resonated with me, because I have seen it happen at my table several times:

"In our Diaspora game Will, as the GM, was operating under the assumption that the game was fairly episodic in structure. He assumed the object of the game was to deal with a string of sci-fi space encounters as you moved relatively quickly from place to place. I, on the other hand, assumed the object of the game was to pursue my character’s personal goals (my default assumption and preference when the game fails to tell me otherwise). Since we were playing towards two different objectives the game ground to a halt. Will kept considering things done and resolved while I was considering those same situations just the tip of the iceberg."

I own this situation.  This is my fault.  The only thing that really matters is, "What am I going to do to make sure it doesn't happen again?"

I finally started playing Rockstar's Red Dead Redemption yesterday.  The game is even better than I thought it would be. I've been calling it "Grand Theft Horse" for weeks, but let me set the record straight.  This has so much more depth than a Grand Theft Auto game.  There are lots of cut-scenes, clear cut objectives, a ton of story.  John Marston is an engaging character with superb voice acting.  On top of that, the world is huge and beautifully rendered and exists with minimal loading screens.  The graphics are far better than even GTA IV.  This is a beautiful game.  I strongly recommend that you check it out.  I'll be writing a more thorough review when I get farther into the game.  I've played for about 8 hours and have barely scratched the surface.

If you have anything to share about any of these topics, please comment.  I loves me some commentage.  Also, check out the links.  There's good stuff there.

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The Tearing of the Veil: Another Option for Gamemasters

About two weeks ago, I wrote a post outlining one possible explanation for the bizarre conditions that exist in the world of the game I am writing.  I am still working on the game, poring through mechanics and solidifying the pre-game story of the world.  I am also still working on a title and am leaning towards something like: Through Broken Veil or The Broken Veil or something.  Who knows.  It will change again.


For now, I would like to throw out another teaser.  Much like Star Wormwood and the Hopi Prophecies of the Fifth World, here is another option for the gamemaster on how the world of the game got to be the way it is, how the Veil Between Worlds came to be torn, causing the Shift.

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule-
From a wild clime that lieth, sublime,

Out of SPACE - out of time.
- "Dream-Land" by Edgar Allan Poe

It was hard to believe that it was already April.  Nazi Germany was losing the the war on all fronts.  This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.  Heinrich Himmler and Lanz von Liebenfels had made fantastic promises of an unlimited supply of fresh troops to fight for the Reich.  They claimed they knew how to access Ultima Thule and call forth the guardians of the place, those ubersoldat of lost Atlantis, to fight for the glory of the Fatherland.  He had done everything they had asked.  The castle at Wewelsburg had been prepared according to their specifications.  The mosaic and the twelve columns had been meticulously put into place.  He had financed the Schafer expedition to Tibet to find the Black Sun Artifact, which they had taken to Wewelsburg.  He had annexed Austria and transferred the Hofburg Spear to their possession.He had publicly renounced the teachings of Liebenfels and "banned" him from publishing his works. He had even publicly severed all ties with and formally disbanded the Thule Gesellschaft.  They told him that this was necessary to prevent the enemies of the Fatherland from learning of their true plan.  In reality, Liebenfels, through Himmler, was one of his closest advisors and the Thule Society was secretly alive and well.

Himmler had come to him with the plan more than eight years ago and had not embraced it at first, but when they told him about tearing open the Veil and gaining access to Ultima Thule and its armies of ubersoldat, when he learned of their knowledge of these things, he agreed to give him the resources necessary to carry out the operation.  Delays.  There were always delays.  The Veil was supposed to have been torn years ago.  Time had grown short.  But still, they  had come through enough times to warrant his continued support.  After all, last July they had come to him with the news that there would be an attempt on his life, but not to worry.  They said that "the Horseman" would save him from death.  "The Horseman" turned out to be Heinz Brandt, who moved the bomb just in time to save him.  Brandt, a former equestrian gold medal winner at the 1936 Olympics, had died from injuries sustained in the blast, but "the Horseman" had done exactly as they had said.

Now they had told him that it was his destiny to cross the Veil and lead the Atlantean Armies to victory alongside the German Wehrmacht.  They asking him to make the ultimate sacrifice.  In order to step through the Veil that had been torn open, he would have to take his own life.  His armies had held the barbarians back from the gates as long as they could.  They were frighteningly close now, but the time was upon him.  The time was upon them all.  When  Himmler had first told him of the need to sacrifice himself to accomplish their plans, he had called his guards in and had Himmler arrested.  Now, it somehow seemed less crazy.  Tonight was Walpurgis Night.  A night when it was even easier to pass through the torn Veil.  Using the Black Sun artifact and the Spear of Destiny, it was his time to become "Der Neue Messias" the New Messiah.

---

When it was over, Liebenfels claimed that the ritual was unsuccessful.  That Hitler was of racial stock too inferior to have been selected as Der Neue Messias.  Still, there were signs that at least some parts of the ritual had been effective.  The Veil was still slightly torn.  The sacrifice had apparently not gone unnoticed.  If someone brought the Black Sun Artifact and the Spear of Destiny back together, it might be possible to complete the ritual and tear the Veil open wide enough to pass through into Ultima Thule.  As long as his calculations had been correct...

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