Category Archives: writing

Power to the Players

[An interview with Warren Spector to coincide with the Game Masters exhibition at ACMI. Originally published in issue #228 of Hyper magazine, August 2012.]

“If I’ve done anything in my 29 years of making games, it’s that I’ve championed a single idea and been sort of bull-headed about pursuing that idea.”

Warren Spector – one of the most well-known, passionate guys in games development and with a head that is inexplicably not at all bull-shaped – is telling me about the various accolades he keeps receiving for his work in game design, the latest of which is the “Game Master” bestowed upon him by Melbourne’s ACMI. He seems a little confused by the fuss.

“It makes me feel uncomfortable, if you want to know the truth,” he continues. “I just put together teams that want to investigate my idea – that doesn’t seem like any particular genius or anything. I mean, I just find an idea that’s really interesting to me, and I manage to hire people way better than me to execute it.”

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Freeplay 2012: Legitimacy

I’m so incredibly grateful I got to be so involved in this year’s Freeplay Independent Games Festival, which concluded barely a fortnight ago. I was a speaker in the conversation session Games and Words, exchanging thoughts on the written word’s relevance to video games. On the panel Levels of Discourse, I contributed to a discussion of various aspects of games criticism. I was on the judging committee for the Freeplay awards, playing through dozens of excellent indie games from all over the world. I somehow even convinced director Paul Callaghan that it’d be a great idea to let me present an award at the Freeplay awards ceremony. (I hope he’s not too mortified I took the opportunity to slip the word “throbbing” into the script.)

I have a history with Freeplay, actually, and I’d say it’d played a pretty critical role in what I do now. At last year’s Freeplay I met a whole bunch of people I’d only admired from afar till then; now I consider many of them to be great friends, mentors, and alcohol suppliers of mine. The year before, at Freeplay 2010, I’d just begun writing about games, and it was all the cultural discussion at the festival that really guided the path my writing would take, each panel I attended and game I played at Experimedia shaping my path like wire on a bonsai tree – so being an actual part of the festival my third time around means an immense amount to me.

And this year, as in previous years, a lot of discussion was generated that has me thinking still, even two weeks later. Though the official theme was “Chaos and Grace”, I think several unspoken sub-themes also emerged in conversation, and there’s one I’d like to expand on today…

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Standing Up For Myself

I am adding a header image to this post for blog consistency. No! The game pictured is not the game in question! It's just random pretty E3 photo from my phone OKAY?

So I just got off a plane to this flood of tweets and messages and emails and urgh, I was already tired enough after spending fourteen hours watching old Futurama episodes with my kneecaps crushed against the chair in front of me. If you’re clueless as to why I might be on my blog instead of sleeping off the horrors of flying, I kind of wrote this article about PR sexism at E3 and it got a little attention. If you’re here for precisely that reason, cool! I want to address a few of the things that keep coming up in various comments, forums, tweets, and probably also hastily scribbled notes attached to the legs of the angry carrier-pigeons that will be arriving at my house in a couple of weeks.

Why didn’t you STAND UP FOR YOURSELF?

This is pretty much the most common negative response, and in hindsight, I wish I’d addressed it. I certainly thought of addressing it; what I didn’t think at the time was that it was apparently necessary. We already know well that women often don’t speak up. We should even know why – this article on “gaslighting”, which the entire internet read and linked and ranted about last year, illuminates the issue exquisitely.

In the first year of my games degree, I learned quickly to stay quiet in the face of male-heavy classrooms. I was never welcome; one guy said that this was a degree for hardcore gamers, and that I didn’t belong here, obviously being a player of the Sims or Farmville. In one of my very first classes, a guy raised his hand and said to the female tutor: “Hey, can we get a guy teaching this class?” I was always last choice for group projects, because nobody ever assumed a girl could know anything about games. Things got thornier when I tried to protest their stupid opinions of women’s abilities to play, develop, or analyse games. My gender was always used against me to shoot me down. “Nobody else has a problem,” they would respond. “Is it that time of month?” “You’re overreacting.” “You have an opinion, that’s so cute. Now get back in the kitchen.” From even more obnoxious classmates: “God, you’re a crazy bitch.”

It’s not pleasant to be the target of such language, and hearing it in such great volume – just for challenging a bunch of guys’ uninformed views – was exhausting in a way most can never fathom. Finally, worn down, I learned to say nothing.

But I also learned, in my final year at university, that writing was a fantastic release for me. It allowed me to finally enjoy games as much as any of my classmates did – in a far more productive way, and in what has generally been a much more supportive environment. My way of saying “fuck you” to the idiots of my uni was to advance in a field they didn’t believe I was capable of penetrating; to develop a career many of them only wished they could be a part of.

So the accusations of not “standing up for myself”, and the associated implication that what happened at that particular booth was somehow my fault, are both bemusing and frustrating for me. When you’re treated like that for years, it becomes really fucking exhausting to keep trying to speak up. You give up; you find other ways of dealing with the issue.

So what was my Kotaku post, if not retroactively standing up for myself to much greater effect?

Your little story means NOTHING unless you name and shame the guy!

For one thing, I don’t think the guy in question deserves to lose his job or be targeted by an internet mob. When these problems have been going on so long, I wouldn’t blame him for not realising that his behaviour wasn’t right. And following the embarrassment gamers made of themselves for the Ocean Marketing thing, I really don’t want to orchestrate another lynching.

For another – and I’ve said this several times and am getting quite tired of repeating it – this isn’t about the one goddamn guy. He’s indicative of a problem that’s deeply rooted in the industry itself. Naming him is treating the symptom of a disease, not the cause. We could all go and make his life hell with threats on the lives of his wife and kids and pet ferrets and whatever, but in two weeks things would be exactly the same as they were before. We would believe that the problem had been taken care of, leaving one guy bruised and broken while the true disease continues to manifest in the industry.

I think my refusing to name him is making people feel uncomfortable, because it prevents them from just blaming one person, destroying him, and then sweeping his remains under the rug. I mean, sure, I hope the PR rep in question has read my article and realises that what he did was wrong. I also hope that many, many others in the industry are also taking note.

And as a side note, I also don’t appreciate a fellow games journalist’s assertion that I am fearful of being blacklisted by the publisher in question. I mean, I’m not much of a reviewer; I have never done this for FREE GAEMZ, and the insinuation I’d care about that is a little insulting. If blacklisting is even a possibility, then I’d say that’s actually worth exploring as a real example of games journalism being broken – demanding that I name names is dodging the issue I’ve raised, and that in itself is pretty broken.

Fyi, everybody who visited booth X/played Y game was treated the same way as you.

That’s a real cute way of downplaying the issue. Nobody knows which booth this happened at, or what the game was. I’d also like to highlight a line in the article that everyone apparently missed: I looked down the booth and saw gamers at the other computers playing their own games, their own hands controlling the avatars.

At the time I visited, I was certainly the only one it happened to.

I’m a woman and it didn’t happen to me.

This kind of response has been incredibly disturbing to me. Besides belittling what I experienced, it’s also frustrating, because I kind of semi-understand the sentiment behind it. If this one chick comes out and complains about sexism, are people going to think all girls in gaming are like that? Gosh, how embarrassing for the rest of us.

I have trouble believing the problem was as isolated as many seem to be implying. Not when we still have Hitman trailers, not when ladies are still harassed online for the crime of having vaguely girly screennames. Maybe the specific PR problem didn’t happen to you. Maybe every one of the hundreds of people you met at E3 was unquestionably polite, and maybe not a single male attendee attempted to hit on you or check out your ass while you weren’t looking.

You might be incredibly lucky: none of it may have happened to you. But if it happened to someone else, it is still a problem.

Read that piece of yours for Kotaku. Katie, you’re better than Kotaku. They’re the Herald Sun of gamer news. You can do better.

This is a Facebook message from one of the aforementioned guys I went to uni with – and unfriended – years ago. I have literally no response to this. I’m just pasting this here because I actually find it incredibly hilarious, and I really need the laughs. I couldn’t think of a better place for my article to have ended up but at Kotaku – I’m proud it’s generated so much discussion, and has affected as many people as it has.

I’m going to turn comments off on this post, as I don’t particularly want to have to stay up all night, jet-lagged, moderating things on my personal blog. I hope the above has cleared some things up for people. If you’d like to discuss anything, email or tweet at me.

The word game, the dating game

Everything I do these days, it seems, is marked with inadequacy. I will claw desperately for something to busy myself with. Once I have it, I stare. I listen to the world fall away around me. I’m wrapped in inaction, fear moulding itself to me like gauze soaked through with anaesthesia and pressed unsympathetically to my skin.

I only know how to speak, and boy, am I good at it. “Fire away,” I dare. “Fire away.” I give nothing away. The future is ridged with the familiar regret of my being fucking stupid enough to let this happen again, again. The future is already my mistake. It bears down on me too fast, too harsh, and I do not move because I have long forgotten how.

It’s in an unlikely dating game that I find brief solace. It’s usually only my own face I examine in cruel mirrors, but here, I become accustomed to the curves, the elegance, and the wistfulness of typography. Letters present themselves to me, petals to be pulled from a flower to expose its sad, yellow heart.

I choose for myself Adobe Garamond Pro, my own High Renaissance man. I do not read his biography. I care not for his history; I care only if he can help me probe my own. I pair him with the backtalking Futura, who I imagine to be my achingly angular counterpart, dressed in thick black eyeliner and secret, sardonic angst.

It doesn’t work out.

“Sorry,” the dating game tells me. It never works out.

At this point, I have become accustomed to morphing into other people. I cut my own hair, watching flat strands fall unceremoniously into the bathroom bin. Reapply my lip gloss, let the cold clothe me. I shape the vessel but don’t know how to fill it. I fake life and I never quite rise.

And now, I am drawn to playing out numerous existences as the guts of words. I become a girl again, playing with dolls, matching together puzzle pieces, experimenting with shades of ugly. I marry the sickeningly girly Archer to Avenir’s fake grin and think, fine, have each other. The limbs of Glypha fit neatly, satisfyingly, into Univers’ straight spine. I engineer dreams of the heart and plot aesthetic nightmares. I think on how close I came to complementing so many people, and I marvel at the nature of things. You know how it works out, sometimes, so rarely in the areas you’d expect.

I see harmony in wine labels. Travel guides. Bed-and-breakfast signs, creaking quietly in strong rural winds. Clay cities melt, pleasantly, into the night.

“Fire away,” I whisper. “I have nothing.”

I don’t know how to play the word game in life. I have abandoned the dating game. But in these letters, in their imagined lives, I have found a brief escape from my own stiffening prose.

A link to other links

Oh, towards the end of 2011 I did a lot of forgetting to link to other stuff I’ve done outside of this blog. I let one or two articles get published without huge fanfare, felt guilty, and then decided to just wait for a couple more so I could eventually show off my angry, hooting article pile-up.

It’s time!

Firstly, I interviewed Davey Wreden, the developer behind Source mod The Stanley Parable, right here in Melbourne. At the Mana Bar, in fact, which features a bit in the interview content. What the final piece doesn’t include is Davey’s charming speech to my voice recorder.

“Hello, Future Katie!” he said. “Man, you know things that Current Katie just doesn’t even know, you’ve seen things she doesn’t know she’s going to see right now. You are so lucky.”

He quickly joked that he had recently been shooting for “awesome starts to interviews”, though this still stuck with me. A few weeks later, when transcribing that interview, I really did feel like a learned person, and lighter for it, too.

So, yeah, Davey is pretty awesome. Read the interview at Games.on.net.

Next is my first piece for Gameranx, something about, quite literally, the first ten minutes of Skyrim. I’m not usually a fan of fantasy, and it takes a lot for me to get into open-world games, so to have Skyrim grab me so suddenly was pretty incredible.

(Currently I plod through Skyrim at the pace of a drug-addled child, so don’t expect any further insight for quite a while.)

And then there’s the podcast at Critical Distance, which I enjoyed being on. Warning: its length is epic (though I duck out partway, due to Christmas things demanding attention at the time). Watch out for the site’s upcoming This Year In Video Game Blogging post, which I help prune links for. (There is a lot of game criticism out there, damn.)

Finally, the last is something I can’t really link to, but if you’re in Australia I’ve love for you to pick up the current issue of PC PowerPlay magazine, for which I got to review Dungeon Defenders (the colour explosion pictured above). In hindsight, I wish I’ve given it an even higher score because it’s crazy, the amount of fun I’ve been having with this game. I think my enjoyment really showed through in the way I reviewed it, too: puns and memes ahoy! And if you stick around, I also have something coming up in the next PCPP issue, #200, in which I wrote about one of my favourite games of all time. Guess what it is? :)

The Space Between

So a few weeks ago, I volunteered to do a post for Critical Distance. It’s a great weekly round-up of games-related criticism from blogs and websites, and while I’ve always skimmed its entries and clicked a few links – mainly those pertaining to games I was familiar with – I volunteered because I thought it could get me reading much more deeply into games criticism than I had already been doing.

And it did. I did the round-up again last Sunday, and while I was stressed out and barely had the time for it, I was fulfilled by all the great writing out there. It had me thinking miles a minute about games I had played and games I’d never even heard of.

It also had me thinking about the way that we use blogs.

It’s amazing what a person can achieve through something that sounds so inconsequential and ugly (seriously, say it to yourself: “blog”. Don’t you feel ridiculous?). Some use it as a diary of sorts of their gaming adventures, random thoughts and anecdotes collected in one space; others post veritable essays about very defined topics. It’s quite brilliant, looking at all the other bloggers out there, seeing how they’ve used the medium to carry their message.

It inevitably had me thinking about my own blog. What the hell is my message? I actually have no clue. I know that it took me two weeks to come up with a name for this thing, and that my mission was to have a site on which I could say, hey, I am capable of writing and thinking!

… But I don’t think the thinking part of that has come through very clearly. I was new to the games criticism scene a year ago, and pretty much blissfully blind to how volatile opinionated discussion can get. (You’d think this was politics, not video games.) While I enjoyed putting my thinking process here on the internet to begin with, I’ve been in enough heated arguments by now to need to think twice, thrice, and too many times again before stating anything that falls outside of popular opinion. Frustratingly, it’s been quite detrimental to my output, and you’ll notice how infrequently I update this blog. I play it safe now. Most of my recent entries have simply been links to my writing elsewhere on the web. I avoid stating certain opinions because boy, am I tired of arguing with people so set in their views. I avoid getting truly honest here because unlike a year ago, I have a few people watching this blog now, and revealing such honesty makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. I feel like my breathing room is limited so as to avoid offending anyone I respect and don’t want to damage relations with.

I’ve kept – and you’ll pardon the pun – my own critical distance from this blog. When it comes to writing, for some reason I feel that something huge but unknown is expected of me, and I’m scared that I won’t deliver. So I don’t. At all.

This is why I’m so grateful we have a place like Critical Distance, and that I get to participate in it. It makes me feel a little better about having a dissenting opinion sometimes, and it’s made me realise that I don’t necessarily need to write in an essay-like, emotion-free way to get a point across. There are so many bloggers doing such a good job without seemingly stifling themselves, and I envy that. I’d like to work my way up to it again.

So you might see some changes here at Alive Tiny World. I might get a little more ranty, a little more emotional, a little more personal. I have other interests I’d like to touch on now and then – fashion, travel, droning indie music (seriously, I’ve not listened to anything but a single Belle and Sebastian album for a month). I might even share some fiction, because fiction is, after all, what I started blogging with some ten years ago. How do these things even intersect with the nerd culture I’ve settled into? I don’t know, but it might be fun feeling out the corners of this strange space myself.

I’m sorry if it’s just the nerdery that you visit for, and I understand. In the end, though, I have this online space that I’d like to use a lot more, and I really do feel that honesty, flippancy, and I’ll-do-whatever-the-hell-I-like is going to help me improve, both as a writer and a critic.

But then there’s that other side of blogs. The public side, the fact that a blog is on the internet and open to readers and their interpretations. So to the few of you who read this regularly, I’d like to know: what do you visit for? What have you liked and disliked about Alive Tiny World? Where would you like to see this thing going in the future?

In any case, it’s been a great ride so far, and I’m appreciative of anyone who has stuck with me so far, even in spite of my inconsistency. If you haven’t already, hit me up on Twitter. Say hi. I’d love to get to know you. (And visit Critical Distance. It’s hyperlinked. Go!)

Peter Molydeux Interview, Part Deux

My interview with everybody’s favourite Twitterer of the gaming world, Peter Molydeux, is now up at Kotaku AU (and republished at Kotaku US, too).

Massive thanks go out to Action Journalist Tracey Lien for her guidance and editing work on this piece, as well as the friend who put me in contact with Molydeux in the first place (you know who you are, dude). This has been one of the most enjoyable things I’ve written so far, and it kind of kills me that I can’t thank Molydeux himself for it publicly.

Fun fact: Molydeux was the very first person I followed when I began twittering a year or two ago. And yes, I did initially believe him to be the real thing, despite it saying otherwise right there in the bio. I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve been fascinated with the character from the beginning; when I got the above @ reply from him a few months ago, I thought, dammit, I have to write about this guy.

I may have been rather enthusiastic in interviewing him. A lot of information didn’t make it to the final interview, but I thought some of it was too good to waste away unseen, so here it is. Click through to read on.

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Journey

My piece about player interaction in the upcoming game Journey is now live over at the Escapist, and I’d love for you to read it. Curious about how the game’s multiplayer system is going to work? This details my two experiences with other players in a game with no lobbies, voice chat, or even gamertags. My short time with the Journey beta was one of the most wrenchingly gorgeous gameplay experiences I’ve ever had, and I hope I did it justice with this article.

This is the second time I’ve written about Journey, now. If you’re a reader of Hyper magazine, you may have seen my four-page interview/preview piece in the September 2011 issue (with Dark Souls on the cover).

It's my most stunning article so far, visually. Unfortunately, I can't take credit for visuals. Bravo, Hyper layout design team! <3

Alice: Madness Returns

[Originally published in issue #194 of PC PowerPlay magazine, September 2011.]

Eleven years ago, American McGee’s Alice saw Lewis Carroll’s iconic children’s tale re-imagined as a surreal and gothic third-person platforming adventure, set in the recesses of a tortured teenager’s mind. Alice: Madness Returns broadly extends on the original game in every way, from the inventiveness of the level design right down to the tiresome combat.

With an even richer backstory than the first game, cutaways to dreary 1800s London reinforce ex-asylum inmate Alice Liddell’s urgency to return to Wonderland. Surreal, sketchy-styled cutscenes unravel key plot points; collectibles are echoing voices in Alice’s memories, filling the flesh of people from her tragic, fire-consumed past.

The aesthetics here are top-notch. Exquisitely ugly characters are animated smoothly and flawlessly; the delightful slicing and thwacking of Alice’s toys-turned-weapons, and her ability to quadruple-jump, float, or dodge (dissolving in a cloud of sapphire butterflies) makes the gameplay as gorgeous to watch as it is enjoyable to play. The soundtrack, ranging from bittersweet music-box melodies to thunderous, ominous drumming, always suits whatever nook of Wonderland Alice currently finds herself in.

The teeth-dropping monsters that pursue the waifish Alice are symbolic mashes of visions cribbed from nightmares, ranging from squelching leeches to pointy teapots with giant, bloodshot eyes; the upgradeable weapons she fights them with are powerful and darkly amusing, including the likes of a neighing hobby horse and an exploding rabbit.

Though the lock-on combat system allows for some interesting strategy, it’s let down by unintuitive movement controls and frustrating camera angle issues. Entering “Hysteria” at low health feels less like its intended murderous rampage than an anticlimactic and unimpressive contribution to damage. Despite the Cheshire Cat’s cryptic advice of choosing between “fight or flight”, most of the time you’ll predictably be forced to kill a large enemy in order to proceed. While the autosave feature allows for minimal downtime between deaths, you will sometimes respawn irritatingly far from where you died, which can prove particularly frustrating during difficult fights.

The combat is a minor flaw in the bigger picture, however. Though the same mechanics – such as hopping between platforms, and drifting on upward gusts of air – are employed throughout, the level design never feels old, thanks in part to the endlessly shifting locales. Shrinking not only enables Alice to fit into secret keyholes, but paints Wonderland in an even darker hue, revealing frenzied scribbles and invisible paths. Peppered throughout are a variety of minigames, from a Guitar Hero-style rhythm game to an admittedly abysmal version of pinball, played with a hairless porcelain doll’s head.

The gameplay may not be as polished or as comprehensive as its artistic direction, but that’s okay. Ultimately, despite any misgivings, you’ll find yourself absorbed in this Wonderland’s compelling portrait of insanity.

The New Vegas Diaries: Junk and Memories

It’s a little surreal looking back on the teenager I used to be. Like anyone else my age, I was insanely passionate about the things I did. I loved music and computer games, and was fastidious in keeping diaries of my every thought and experience. I was well-read. I was also lucky enough to have travelled, having lived in three countries and visited over a dozen more.

I’m in my mid-twenties now and I don’t travel much anymore. I returned to Australia after high school and have since grown comfortable here, maybe too comfortable. Unconsciously, I have built a home around myself from the bits and pieces I’ve picked up along the way – the stories I’ve heard, the things I’ve loved, and memories of the places I’ve been.

These mementos have become more burdensome to me through the years, however. A decade later, my once robust CD collection is now a cluttersome remnant of a dying passion for music, untouched and blanketed in dust. My cupboards overflow with unfolded, thinning clothing that I haven’t worn in years. I have slowly grown tired of the meaningless mess that stares me in the face, as it represents the kind of wastefulness that I’m beginning to feel embodies my life. Surely being able to revisit the memories in my head is enough. I find myself wanting to get rid of everything, wanting to start afresh so I can move on and find some new stories to tell.

This morning, determined, I slit the packing tape holding together a large box that I had filled and mailed to myself when I had moved back to Melbourne some five or six years ago.

Having lived without glimpsing its contents for so long, I knew well that the box did not contain anything essential to my life. I steeled myself, braced myself against the dust that I was unsettling as I lifted out old notebooks, photographs, pictures cut from magazines. I told myself that I had no need for any of this junk. I had a wastepaper basket at the ready.

But as I sorted through a thick envelope of old photographs, just to ensure its contents were worth binning, I hesitated.

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