Dealing with "Three Problems for Interactive Storytellers"

In an article I've written, I made mention to the problems listed by Ernest Adams in his great Gamasutra article, The Designer’s Notebook: Three Problems for Interactive Storytellers. It only feels appropriate if I actually list some of the solutions I personally came up with.

1. The Problem of Amnesia – I’ve taken a look at the way in which Chris Avellone writes his stories; specifically Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords (a both indepth and humorous LP and analysis can be found here: http://lparchive.org/Knights-of-the-Old-Republic-II/), and have adjusted the way I write dialogue so that the player is given short blasts of exposition from their main character themselves, which still gives the player the information they need, and it makes the player feel as though they knew what was going on the entire time. I also take the initial part of the game and stretch it out, giving plenty of time for the player to adjust and get comfortable with the way the universe works before they need to get involved in the central conflict, where a higher understanding of the universe is required.
2. The Problem of Internal Consistency – The idea here is that the player is going to play in a way that feels comfortable to them. Therefore, the game needs to recognise this, and should be designed with an edge of freedom. By offering multiple solutions to a single problem that still gel with the character’s personality (for example, Paragon vs. Renegade options in Mass Effect), we give the player room to explore the game in their own immersive way.
3. The Problem of Narrative Flow – The most important thing I’ve realised in terms of this problem is that the player will play and pace the story to their liking. For that reason, I try to make the story more modular (short missions with interchangeable dialogue that can easily be daisy-chained in any way that suits the player) and reduce the amount of alerts that the player should follow the main story; instead, I like to make all my conflicts/missions somewhat involved or related to the central quest. If I have a mission that should be played at a specific points for pacing reasons (for example, a really emotional sequence such as Thessia in Mass Effect 3), I can make a mission appear more relevant without railroading the player by playing radio messages, adding NPCs and elements to the environment that make the world seem desperate for the player to intervene, and also play with the size of mission icon on the map. Pathos is a great tool for convincing the player that they actually are playing a major role in this game world.

One should note that Problems 2 & 3 are both fairly similar, and they are less a problem for the designer, and more for the player. Our job is to make our stories interesting so the player would want to follow our lead, but we should never have to rely on railroading. To each their own.

Keep in mind, this is not a complete list, and one that I will likely often come back to and expand. As an interactive storyteller, I'm always looking for new methods to try and bring interesting stories to my players, and keep them immersed in the world. Hopefully though, this will give designers a bit of a head-start on finding solutions to these problems.

The Cycle

When I first heard Plato's "The Cave", I was confused by it. Only now do I begin to understand.

Birth.

We are completely defenceless. We know nothing, feel something, terrified of everything.

For the first few years, we remain completely dependent on the support of others. This is our most experimental phase. We try moving our arms in new ways, spit bubbles, bite fingers, try out our bladder functions and figure out what calls to use when we need different things. We learn some basic patterns, and begin to practice them so that we can keep living to the next day. Even though we don't know our purpose, we fight for survival nonetheless.

Childhood.

We are still weak. We know little, but we feel much, and our fears grow.

In this period, we become more independent, but we still rely on the support of others. We start to be creative with our experiments. We draw on walls, eat dirt, punch bugs, urinate everywhere but our "potty", and learn the right way to say "Mum" in order to get her attention. As our guardians teach us their versions of right from wrong, we update our patterns, and we start to learn new things about the world and the way it works. We begin to wonder just where our future lies, and we practice our ideas.

School.

Still weak, yet gaining strength. We see the world as more than just colour, express our emotions in new ways, and recklessly abandon our fears.

At every turn, we begin to fight for our independence, asking for help only when we appreciate what others can do for us. We start experimenting less, and we start acting within our accepted limits of behaviour more. We practice sport, learn our favourite foods, get in fights with other kids, leave the toilet seat up, and start to form solid connections with those around us. School begins to mould and shift our understanding of the world, and with innocence, we blindly accept "truth" as "fact". We begin to accept the idea that the week is just a loop of work and rest, and we imagine where we fit in the scale of society.

Teenager.

We act strong, hiding our inner-most weaknesses from everything that could exploit us. We believe we have it all figured out, we give in to our emotions, and fight fear with fire.

We embrace independence, and are willing to fight to the death for it. We no longer need to experiment, as we know all there is to know. We make up dance moves, shove our faces with cheap treats, use dirty tactics to ruin those we despise, practice our sexuality, and use every manipulative bit of language in our arsenal to get our way. After fighting through puberty, we become ignorant to protect ourselves from the fear of making the wrong choices, and we show the world just why we no longer need education. We realise, through religion, culture, arts, sports or work, where we belong, and like a giant puzzle, we begin placing our piece in the "right" place.

---

I could go on, but you should already know how the cycle continues. As adults, we begin to reject our emotions, and we lose our fighting edge. As we grow older, we regain our dependency, and begin to see the world in new ways. It ends with us in a bed, learning how to move our arms, feeling pain, afraid about everything. We return to where we came from, none the wiser, but certainly worse for wear.

Human life is all about the cycle, the pattern. We've been breed to be as generic as possible. There's a certain security when things are predictable. Even within our teenage rebellion, the term "special snowflake" becomes prevalent. We try to be individual in the same way as the many, and so we become lost in the sea of life.

In truth, I am afraid. Afraid that I will be one of the last to understand that life is more than just a food chain or a timetable.

I do not want to see the world as others say it is. Freedom is not a word to describe the relief of responsibility. I am not "crazy" for breaking free.

I see, therefore I become.

My Gaming Favourites - Introduction

Originally, this started as summary of thoughts about BEYOND: Two Souls, but it's quickly morphed into another mess of ideas and feelings, and I hope to be able to do a regular segment.

---

I've been told by people close to me that I'm too trusting.

Maybe it's because I've been hurt before. Maybe it's because I know that pain sucks, and I don't like to put anybody through it. Maybe it's all some subconscious desire to get an angle on everybody (and not to break off into this tangent, but needless to say I'm actually quite useless at this). Whatever happens to be the case, I think I can empathise well with people.

That's the reason I find it hard to be evil in video games, and as such I can use it as a judge of what games I like, and what games I don't. In my favourite games, I can actually feel the characters as people in real life, with real stories and emotional states (which is great, considering that games are state machines). Even to those background characters there to add ambience, I can just imagine the stories of the people and want to bring them no harm based on what could be. In the absolute best games, I have difficulty in killing the enemies as I imagine what it must be like to be just "doing your job". Dishonored was great at this, tying consequence to every death.

To take this even further, the best games I've played are able to hide everything. They lower my analytical defences and suck me right into the experience. Bugs and glitches suddenly become aspects of the world I just accept. The character's motives and missions match mine. For me, the best games will hide the fact that they're a game, and blur the line between the developer's created world and my own perceived reality, to a point where I can easily transfer the lessons between each. This is, in part, my mission; to create games that are able to suck players in, so that the practical lessons I want to teach hit that much harder and stay with the player for much longer.

I know I'd make a lot of enemies this way, but in terms of how I've gamed in the past, I've never been super fortunate. For most of my early years it was demo disks and budget titles. I managed to stretch a Windows 98 budget PC right up until about 2005/2006. Even with countless upgrades, I've still yet to have an incredible 60FPS, 1080p experience with maximum graphics that other PC gamers always bang on about. I'm one of the people gifted (or cursed) to be able to not have headaches with an inconsistent and/or low framerate, and I've never been really bothered by FoV (Side Note: In terms of development, I do really care about these things when making my own games for other people, but as a personal preference, it's not a big deal for me as an individual, so long as the game experience is brilliant).

For that reason, I think that's why, when I choose the games I want to play, it has less to do with numbers and stats, and more to do with design and concept.

People have berated me for every game I've ever liked, be it Ratchet & Clank, Sam & Max, Assassin's Creed, Heavy Rain, Uplink and far more. I've learned to ignore it, but with that said, I've still been left questioning...

...why do I enjoy these games? Not just the ones listed, but all the ones on my favourites list?

BEYOND: Two Souls is what started this chain of thought. In trying to platinum this game (I'd like to one day have a blog entry about Achievements, and how I think they can be made practical), during the many countless scenes I had to reply to unlock various trophies, I started to have conversations with myself. In all honesty, I found that BEYOND had great moments, and so many great elements. But there was things missing. Something that put it on the list of my "Liked" games, but not my "Favourite" games.

That's what I want to do, for the next few weeks. To trace my gaming history, and to find the games I love dearly so, and break them down. I need to discover what makes me love them, how I love them, and what lessons I can take away for design. If I'm really good, I might even answer two other questions; why did others not like these games as much as I did, and how would I fix them if I was given time and a big budget?

There's two last questions I'd also like to answer, and it's one that's far more personal.

"How has this game changed my life?" And if so, was that change more positive or negative? Just maybe, I'll be able to trace down why I'm so trusting, alongside why my narcissism is so bad among other personality flaws.

It'd be nice if people held me to some kind of rough schedule, given the fact I now find time slipping with all the other various bits and pieces of projects I'm working on in the background, but realistically, I will try and do right by my audience and be as orderly as possible.

As a final note, you might have noticed that all the games I've mentioned (with a few exceptions) are story-heavy and AAA. In the long run, I will absolutely need to discuss puzzle games and Indie games. The thing about puzzle games, however, is that since I'm a writer who wants to teach, and most puzzle games are designed to be time-wasting, many of the ones I spend a lot of time in go against my own principles I wish to live by, and as such I won't include in my favourites list.

The Nastiest of Us

"No matter what, you keep finding something to fight for."

-Joel, The Last of Us

 I said I'd write an article about The Last of Us. I don't really think this will ultimately count, but I need a scratch-pad for some heavy thoughts at the moment.

The Last of Us has been hard to analyse after finishing it. Not because the subtext is difficult, or because information is hard to find; there are just so many articles, videos and other content available on the web to process all kinds of useful information about the game. Actually, that part has been both fun and enjoyable.

I've mentioned a number of times before in my blogs the word narcissism. Truth be told, I am one. The ironic (or not so ironic) thing of it is that for most of my life, I always weirdly imagined I was in some way different; that I was some kind of new make of human or that I would have or would get some kind of super disease that nobody has ever had. A lot of my assessments were the first of their kind partly for the challenge, but mostly for the recognition; I had the first CGI animation for the HSC for example. It should be noted that none of this ever worked out, which is what scares me a little more.

Have you ever had somebody tell you that they think you're special? That you're the one they care about, or that they think you'll do great things, or just do well in life in general? Well, imagine being told that by yourself every minute of every day. Imagine that a simple compliment suddenly becomes a heavy drive, one that acts a bit like a virus. It's unhealthy to have extreme expectations and always fail at them. It's unhealthy to consciously or unconsciously manipulate circumstances to better suit your Id. It's unhealthy to bring yourself down because somebody did what you wanted to do first.

First is an interesting word, because it implies a lot about the people it's applied to. It can be used in both good or bad contexts. In the world of narcissism, it's generally bad. If you let yourself buy into your own hype, you move further from the real world, as if you become closer to sitting in front of a mirror each minute of every day. Sometimes we need to be last, in order to prevent bad things from happening.

Take, for example, my Dad. Today, he did his usual rant while at the dinner table, insisting that because I was playing video games, I am entirely a slacker, but moreover that me entering a game design course was secretly a plot so I could play video games all the time. One could argue that this is the first time I've touched a game in months, but I digress. If I had been the first person to truely study games and their indepth impact on human psychology, I wouldn't have been able to give him a satisfactory answer. Now, frankly, since I'm coward, I didn't give him much of an answer at all, but by being the last of us I had a much better constructed argument in my head that would have likely blown him away. The first attempts at things are usually of poor quality in comparison to what comes far further down the track.

While studying the games I've recently finished, including The Last of Us, Journey, BEYOND: Two Souls and Ratchet & Clank: Nexus (one of these is not like the other), I've had these two different viewpoints both try to chow down on each other, vying for attention. My narcissism is heavily tied into my emotions, and so I can get fairly deeply upset when I see other people take "my" fame for an idea that I probably wouldn't have constructed as well as they have, something that my rational side tries to argue. A lot of times I notice this; the rational side wants to bring up these brilliant arguments on why I should avoid/do certain behaviour and feel certain things, but I usually end up relying on my gut feeling and emotions to guide me, which is dangerous.

Narcissism isn't some special disease or something truly unique like I would have hoped. It's more of an indicator of how one values their own survival. To a degree, we're all self-centred, but some can overcome that easier than others. In the interest of appearing modest, I'd like to believe I can overcome my deeply rooted narcissism in order to help others, but sometimes I feel as though it's a challenge that I'm not quite ready for, still being young and whatnot.

The reason I mentioned The Last of Us in the beginning was not entirely for some silly little pun to lead into this big personal debate. There is in fact a point. The Last of Us, to me, was this very beautiful reflection of me. It's as if Neil Druckmann had taken out the most core elements of what make me who I am, and stick them into a world not far from utter destruction. The thing was, for most of the game it was subtle, and there were plenty of moments I disagreed with in terms of Joel's actions, but over time as I came closer to the characters, it really started to hit me on how close I could be to Joel.

Without spoiling the ending, that was the most uncomfortable, and yet more enjoyable (on a rational level) moment for me. It was 3 words said by two characters in the end, that without the rest of the game wouldn't have made sense, but having gone through it all, nailed the point. The Last of Us, in terms of what I'm taking away from it, is less about surviving in this dystopic environment, and more about the realisation of cause and effect, how scarily flexible human personalities can be in the correct scenarios, and most importantly, how narcissism really doesn't differ between the extremes of the cold and harsh workplace, and the cold and harsh wastes.

The Last of Us has made me question a lot. It paints a picture of how all human accomplishments can be made useless and forgotten, just through human nature itself, yet deep down "I" don't want to be forgotten. Isn't that the point, though? If you were truly successful, your lessons and tools will live on longer in memory than you do? That feels like one conclusion that could be drawn from The Last of Us, and in one final concluding strike, I'd like to try and apply it to something important to me.

Since 2013 I've had this idea. It's gestated a lot, and taken many different forms. It's been refined, modified, cut down and built back up. It is supposed to be this revolutionary game idea, yet it encapsulates everything I've spoken of in this entry. I think The Last of Us mirrors a lot of what is going on with this idea of mine and myself. There is a stubborn refusal to let go, and to allow my narcissistic traits to take over under the belief that what's good for me will be good for everybody. And at this point, despite having said all I have, I cannot bring myself to throw it away or to stop thinking about it. At this point, it's a bit like a daughter to me. Something I care about so ferociously, I'd be willing to sacrifice the world for it. And even though they are entirely different in every single design standpoint except for the fact that they're both games, I've come to the conclusion that it happens to be;

The Last of Us.

A Touching Story

There's so much on my mind right now.

ASIO attempting to pass new laws to essentially remove Internet privacy in Australia. The still ongoing drama in #GamerGate and the overwhelming amount of ridiculous back-and-forth between genders. My inability to stay focused long enough to be able to get important work, such as writing for employers and my own personal game designs, and unimportant hobbies, such as sorting LEGO and reading, done without drifting off into a world of wasted time and impossible dreams. My ex-girlfriend continually pushing forward new drama to the forefront. Family drama and upcoming commitments causing levels of stress and worry.

Things are a little busy right now.

So, what do I want to write about? I have this intense desire to get something out since it's preventing me from doing anything actually productive, but I don't want to touch on any of the issues I've discussed above...why not talk about my writing?

About 2 years ago, I likely wouldn't have considered myself anywhere near the level of a professional writer. I mean, technically speaking, I'm still not a professional, but I'm (hopefully) making content people enjoy which is public, so hopefully that counts for something. I don't shy away from criticism; rather, I try and seek it out. Not only does it help improve my writing, but it also makes me look a bit more modest. That's where the narcissism kicks in.

I think what's interesting about how I used LEGO was that I was less interested in how the smaller pieces fit together to make a bigger model, but rather how the big models fit together to make an overall scene. I still remember some of my first stories, such as the Alien Attack of LEGO City. Essentially, the Bionicle robots had arrived to destroy LEGO City, but were faced with great hardships, including betrayal, a lack of resources (known as potato chips) and even larger monsters there to defend the city. Ultimately the Bionicle forces learned the true power of friendship and gave up. All through reenacting the story, I had to give every character, including all of my generic little construction workers, a voice and some actions.

Now of course, I think we all did very much the same with our own toys. We created these vast worlds in our heads and played our action figures like puppets, but I believe the difference lies in the fact that I was always trying to weave these stories into one another, and play with even greater elements of the composition. As I got towards my pre-teens, I was setting up complex audio systems and creating these unique special effect moments (at one point I had to make an "airplane" that could explode but come back together as fast possible, just in case I missed my audio cue). Moreover, I know from what I've seen with most children who play with LEGO and what I've talked about with a few people in the LEGO community, a lot of other kids would be so obsessed with their own creations ("MOCs" being the technical term). I didn't care at all about what I had built; for me, the important bit was how well I could use something to convey a story.

I think I live in story. I've always argued that music can change my mood, and the reason for that I believe is that I am always pitching a story in my head to the rhythm of the music. Heavy dubstep? A trailer for a video game. Sweeping and sad orchestral themes? I'm witnessing a character's undoing. The music from Indie Game: The Movie? I'm now adding voice-overs to whatever is currently going on in my life, so as to really dramatise my own story. Even without music, I still find it incredibly easy to imagine myself or other characters doing all kinds of weird things. I'm usually pitching to myself these really abstract ideas. There's even been times where I've designed blog entries such as this, but as a sort of story within the subtext. I've never really been able to replicate these imaginary entries, but in my head they were examples of perfection.

So, now that I've done plenty of gloating about how I'm so incredible for living in a world of story, let's try and shape this entry into a nice, arrow-headed point.

Living in this world of story sucks. Sure, there's plenty of drama and tension that we all so desperately crave in our subconscious, but it's not real drama and tension. It's unrealistic expectations. A lot of what I imagine and write about is things that I wish would happen.

Well, maybe I don't exactly want an army of giant killer robots to fly down from the sky and then protest that they love, me, but the point is that these stories all seem to deal with themes such a ambition, popularity, love, success, braveness and so on, so forth. Things I don't necessarily have a lot of at the current moment.

Living in a world of story is a lot like becoming so engaged in your phone on the bus, that you don't notice the poor single mother with her child in a pram wanting to use the disabled seat that you are hogging. You begin to distance yourself away from these real conflicts, and instead of striving to take them with stride, learn from them and incorporate the feelings and knowledge into your writing to make better stories, you purposely handicap yourself to avoid the unknown.

I spent writing this entire blog looking for something to teach, and hopefully this can be it; for story-writers it is the utmost important that we never shy away from reality. We are the ones that have to get punched in the face, thrown in the mud and taken for a drive in the boot of a stranger's car.

There was an article on a gaming blog site (I think Polygon) which covered this idea that game developers need to distance themselves from their main hobby, the video games, in order to make better games. At the time, I didn't want to read it. Weirdly, I knew how true it was, but there was this fear. Fear of giving up this sense I had always had, this ability to throw myself into my own story-world whenever I was uncomfortable. Fear of the unknown.

In an attempt to appear civilised, I shall attempt to link in that list of distractions I posted at the top. Right now, I don't feel stressed about these because they are painful or because they can seriously damage my future if things go wrong. I'm stressed because, in order to conquer them, I really need to experience them, and set aside my fake story world. I'd need to conquer the fear of the unknown.

I call my ability to come up with stories in an instant my "6th Sense", because it's always taken elements from the world around me and parts of my memory to form something that can distract and entertain me, and up until now it's helped me to some degree. I don't think I should completely give it up, nor do I think that I could. What I really need to do, however, is find some way to exert more control over it, to become more focused, and use it only when it will help, not hinder me.

I know this entry was long, but hopefully a hidden message has become clear. We are each held back by common themes in our lives. Once we identify the problem and the fear it's caused by, we can work towards solving them. My hope is that you will leave this, thinking about your life. What's preventing you from being the best you can be?

How much is going on in your mind?

Being Drunk on the Education of Life

I'm always been told that college is "the best years of your entire life". I'm very much inclined to believe them, most of the time. Sometimes, however, it takes a serious amount of perspective to make things turn right around.

I regularly flip a coin inside my head. It's a heavy coin, and sometimes it manages to get stuck on its side, and I'm not really sure how I want to deal with it. See, this coin represents what some would consider a "simple" choice; it's me deciding to call myself either a 'Teacher' or a 'Game Designer'.

What's in a name? All so much, and that is why this is the biggest hurdle for myself.

I've already discussed how Video Games are some of the greatest teaching tools on the planet, using the brilliant research of Raph Koster and all of those whom he researched, and I believe I've made it quite clear I want to use games to help people. So what, therefore, is the problem? Can't I just say I want to be a teacher and move on?

You can't really call yourself a teacher if all your designs/classes to date have not given one single important lesson to their intended audience. Moreover, there's this perspective that anything "educational" will be boring, repetitive and cheap, with as much passion put into it as the people who sit in the top levels of administration have for their educational practices.

I want to teach, but what? What on Earth could I possibly bring to the table that hasn't already been said, done and learnt far better by other people with much more experience than I have? Do I even have a chance to suc...

Hold on.

"Experience".

Life is all about experience.

I've never really lived a "normal" life, if you go by the standards set out in the media. Unfortunately, my weird little life hasn't necessarily been all that exciting and interesting, either. I think that grants me a certain level of fresh experiences that most people have not had, and a differet perspective that really help and change lives, if put to good use.

For example, I had my first experience being properly "drunk" (or something close to) last night. I had nearly a full bottle of Whiskey, and it certainly whisked my ass in the end. I remember the dizziness, the fuzziness, the lack of restraint, and the euphoric feeling. I was kind of lucky, I had many good people nearby to me, I drunk plenty of water to prevent a hangover the next morning and my iron stomach kept its contents. Now, certainly, I'm not the only one who experienced their first drunken night like this, so it might be a bit of a bad example to demonstrated how my life is somewhat a "weird normal", but what I want to focus on is the teaching, so please stick with me.

What could I teach in a moment like this? Well, considering that this was an overall success since nobody was hurt, most of all myself, it looks like I have found potentially the best circumstances to put yourself in when faced with a big bottle of cheap spirits, and while most of us will have greater judgement, what about children who've never even had a drop of liquor in their lives? Surely by presenting them a game that could allow them to design the first time they get drunk, and watch it play out, that may have some positive effect in the absence of guiding morals that this current education system seems to lack? Of course, there are other factors, such as what type of drunk you are (your psychology), but it seems that even on a simple scale, the key lessons can be retained.

How about something else? My first kiss. It was horrible.

I actually did make a "game" about this. A game with no goals, no interactions, just a simple linear walk through several museum exhibits. Weirdly, it actually fit the exact feel and meaning I was going for, but that doesn't change the fact what I made was disrespectful to the very lessons I bring forward to you in my blogs today.

In short, it was a terrible kiss that essentially marked the beginning of the end for a trial period between myself and a friend. I felt uncomfortable for most of it, and it made me a bit sick on reflection afterwards. Now, that's all fine and dandy, but where's the lesson in that?

Maybe the problem wasn't the kiss itself, but everything surrounding it. My preconceptions and my expectations, the environment, and the events that had preceded the kiss. Maybe this is what I could make a game about; fighting off the very orchestrated notions that media has put into the heads of the younger generations about love. You could be yourself, trying to save a Prince or Princess, but everything goes wrong along the way. Or does it?

I know the idea sounds very abstract at the moment, but that's because fleshing this out is beyond the scope of this blog entry. The point of writing, for me, is to rubberduck my ideas, and hopefully come to a conclusion that solves one of my problems, and creates another to solve. I think this blog entry was successful. It wasn't successful at solving the Coin Name Dilemma, but it's shown me I can in fact draw on my experiences to teach those who I feel could benefit from the lessons.

Maybe the thing to take away, overall, is that labels can only serve as a generic placeholder where it must be taken upon the reader to research, and get a far more indepth profile of the subject. The differences between a teacher and a game designer only seem to rest in their core audience and their application of technology, and the later is being changed the further we move into the digital revolution. I for one look forward to exploring what I can do and what I want to solve, but what I know now is that labels cannot define my mission which defines me. I am more than a product of generations of preconceptions.

I am a meta-teacher.

Upcoming Blog Entry: The Education System: A Phoenix Before The Ashes

I don't like doing these personal blog entries, but sometimes I just have to get the words out.

I really do regret leaving so soon and not talking to the teachers and students I knew, but it wasn't my event, so it's probably best that I give them the space they deserve, just like when I went through. What I'm talking about is the Year 12 graduation that happened tonight, which my brother was in. Fairly straightforward mass with some extra bits here and there, you all get the point. This blog entry isn't about them, though. Rather, it's about things I've been thinking about which got touched on a bit during this mass.

I've stayed rather quiet (except for a bit of conversation in the Skype chat) over the Mojang-Microsoft buyout. It is what it is, and I'm going to continue to remain silent on it, because I don't think there will be any major effects from it that affect me. Except one.

http://www.theverge....-goodbye-letter

Notch's words are really poignant for me, because it really digs deep down into some stuff I've been thinking about heavily over the past few weeks, and watching what is essential an industry idol bring himself down like this...even without knowing the man personal, I'm still moved.

I know I'm not really touching on the issues just yet, but I want to describe the circumstances and the context first, because it's important to understanding why the issues matter. One of the biggest contextual events I have to be thinking about right now is my internship prep. Next term, if my timetable is correct, I will be preparing for my Internship. In order to do this, I need a portfolio, which doesn't exist as of the moment. Moreover, it symbolises the start of my 3rd year of college, and the beginning of the end of my entire education experience.

If you're not really getting the picture, I think the word "change" might be enough to guide you to my viewpoint. I'm not ready, but so very quickly I'm being thrust into it. Very soon, there will be no more support, no more assignments, no more teachers, no more anything. I'll be a free man. And that prospect scares me.

I've become very accustom to the idea of having someone always direct me to something. I don't like it, but it is what it is. The reason I don't like it is because I never really want to take responsibility for my time. It leads to laziness and ultimately not achieving anything, because I always like to assume that somebody else will automatically make me into a superstar in good time, so I don't have to do a thing. Again, I hate this, but it's become the norm, and very soon I need to snap out of it, or I'm completely screwed.

I've had to really think hard about what I want to do once I leave college. Most people probably already have their entire lives worked out. They'll instantly get a great job, maybe get married down the track, and die happy. For me, though, I really don't know. I want to make games to teach. I want to do public speaking. I want to be independent, but I have no money, and I'm scared that I won't be able to make a fun game and that I won't achieve anything. What sucks most is that I'm supposed to be past these fears by now, but they keep lingering the closer I get.

I don't know what it is about the thought of my Major Project, but now it seems like I daydream about it more than ever. I'm always imagining the huge amount of effort I put into it, and I can see people happy with the end product, but I can't see what it is. It's exactly like that dream Homer from The Simpsons had, where he had an incredible invention in his dream, but he woke up before he saw it. I think what's most scary is that I'm always having ideas for what my major could be, but I'm really unsure what it should be.

I'm passed the halfway point, now. 1.75 years done. That makes me uncomfortable. It's gone so fast. The thing is, college life is far more dramatic than high school or primary school life. I can look back over the past 1.75 years, and see way more things which have happened than my previous 13 years of education. College is like an addiction; it's crazy, wild, fun, but it also passes fast, so you need to get more. I don't know where to get more, though. I don't even if I can, or if I should.

When I started writing this, I opted to just spit words out, and see what happens. Looking over it, I'm still not really sure what I want to achieve in this moment, right now. Maybe that's exactly it, though; I'm tired of this lack of direction. Everything so far has been going with the flow, and while I do make plans, they're usually very short-term, and to avoid some kind of pain, and not to better my position or achieve some awesome goal. it's kind of pathetic, really.

The Priest's Homily during the graduation mass tonight had two important things I thought about, but I want to specifically touch on one. Normally I fade out completely during these things, but he grabbed my attention as he told the story of a kid who managed to put together an image of the world, which he had never seen before as a picture, by looking at the back and seeing a man, and constructing the man. The point illustrated is that you have to fix the man if you want to fix the world.

In a draft of this, I had a long section about how I didn't think my "talents" were really talents, just a bunch of skills I've cobbled together so I can at least have a tiny shred of self-worth. I think a lot of the reason I do this is I don't want to be caught bragging. I'd rather appear modest and down about myself than feel like I'm being very pompous and arrogant. Moreover, being in a design college, every day you meet people whose skills far outrank your own. The simple fact is that speaking and writing, two things which I may be good at (even though I'm not so confident with either) don't stand up to other arts, at least in my opinion. We're visual creatures. Art, photograph, web design, that whole category. I see a lot of that, and the people who make it, and I cannot compare. Nobody wants to read. Even if they did, my content is nowhere near as interesting as something like the Game of Thrones novels. And what is speaking going to do if I have no experience to actually speak about?

I don't know how to fix the man. Lazy, incompetent, scared, blah blah blah. The situation right now appears to be a lot more grim than it actually is, though. I have food. Shelter. Friends. Family. Job prospects. LEGO. You get the picture. I shouldn't have the right to complain, but this is what spending hours a day on public transport does to you. The point is, physically, the situation is fantastic, but mentally, the situation is going very far downhill. Let's just hope I can pull a miracle out soon. That might make me feel better.

Maybe.