I've started showing up at the Windstorm Campus around 6:30 or 7:00 pm to watch the crows. Or ravens. I'm not sure which they are but they're huge, black, loud and breath-taking. They show up just before the sun disappears past the horizon when the sky is blue-gray or indigo. Year round. A whole flock, like I've written, a murder of crows. They call to one another, deep, baritone calls, and the normal sounds of Blue Jays and Flickers and Junkos are suddenly absent. It's as though the other birds huddle in the dense trees, silent, allowing the crows to reign for their twenty minutes of so, until they vanish into the shadows of the encroaching night.
I was sitting on the edge of the raised planter around the base of the courtyard clock. The giant sunflowers (fifteen feet tall) and the teddybear sunflowers (eight feet tall) were tumbled down around me. I'm silent, head tipped back, watching the sky. Watching the silhouettes of the crows move across the circle of sky bordered by evergreens. In black Levis, black, steel-toes boots, and a black T under my black leather riding jacket, I feel a little bit like one of those inky crows. The wind blows my dark hair around my shoulders and I can almost imagine flying with them.
Who is the God of the future? When we get to a point where we can map our minds and create smart, self-adapting programs, clones of ourselves not encased in skin, what then will be our God? How will we know our souls? If the deciding factor of "life" is the ability to reason, to be self-aware, to be protective of the self, who then will be granted "living" status?
If I can gaze at an empty sky and conjure from my memory crows, conjure from my memory the awe and power and loneliness that I feel when I watch them, then project them across my own field of vision. Will I then be seeing crows? If I can feel the wind across their wings, will I then be a crow?
To know God, we must know ourselves. Those Big Questions -- what is the soul, what is the meaning of life -- the ones that are written off as impossible to answer, become mandatory prerequisites. If we map our minds do we map our souls? Is the soul required? Is the soul empathy?
Who will answer these questions before the future is upon us? Is it now?
E.J.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Out There, Listening
I’m standing alone on the Warren Avenue bridge. The sky is indigo and darkling. The car lights blur with sound, speed and shadow. The day was warm, that clean warmth of early autumn, but now, with nightfall, the wind has risen off the water, bringing me the salt of the Puget Sound and the hint of Cascadian snow.
Tonight I want to be mountain climbing. I want to be romancing a lover with deep brown eyes and a voice like a hot cup of chantico. I want to be some where, any where but here.
Not sure what it is. Not sure what’s wrong. Just feeling like my skin is too tight, like a child forced to wear last winter’s jacket. Want to lift myself up on the railing, a hundred plus feet above the black water. Want to walk the rail, want to jump and neither fall nor fly but just stand, held perfectly by the invisible hand of God. Touching nothing and no one. No noise. No color in the night. I become air. I become breath. I breathe me in. Like cedar and cinnamon. Like the scent of nutmeg and cloves or subtle rose petal candles.
I am transported and free.
E.J.
Tonight I want to be mountain climbing. I want to be romancing a lover with deep brown eyes and a voice like a hot cup of chantico. I want to be some where, any where but here.
Not sure what it is. Not sure what’s wrong. Just feeling like my skin is too tight, like a child forced to wear last winter’s jacket. Want to lift myself up on the railing, a hundred plus feet above the black water. Want to walk the rail, want to jump and neither fall nor fly but just stand, held perfectly by the invisible hand of God. Touching nothing and no one. No noise. No color in the night. I become air. I become breath. I breathe me in. Like cedar and cinnamon. Like the scent of nutmeg and cloves or subtle rose petal candles.
I am transported and free.
E.J.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
What You Want
I’m on the phone with the manager of my marketing campaign, J. Ryan DiMassa, another spicy little Italian number in my life (gotta love it). Ryan (I have no idea... yet... what the “J” stands for but I’m working on her) has this accent that’s a cross between something you’d hear in Sicily and something you’d hear in New York City. Suffice it to say I could listen to her talk for days without sleeping.
We’re talking about how the blog is doing and how it’s all translating into sales and building a “knowledge base.” The KB we’re talking about is the sheer number of people interesting in adding their creative ideas to the Mardi Gras 3000 universe. Like, even if you have only one tiny teeny idea, if you posted it on the forum and I was like, “Wow! That’s perfect!” then the universe is that much more smarter and richer than it was before your idea. It’s a creative collective. We are the united borg mind... only, uh, without the nasty assimilation tubes... and, sadly, without Jeri Ryan (or Patrick Stewart). Damn. Our collective may never be whole without them. Sigh.
So you go into a movie and you’re sitting in the dark with a bunch of strangers because your ratty friends bagged on you and you’ve got only your jumbo, extra butter, double the trans fat popcorn and a mega stack of peanut butter cups that have never even brushed up against a real peanut. You’ve never seen the movie you’re about to see and neither has anyone else in the theatre but, somehow, as the movie unfolds you find yourself able to second guess major and minor points of the plot and characters. You can tell you’re not the only one with the sudden ability to know the future (minus the ability to paint it onto canvas ala a certain “Hero”) as all around you strangers are groaning at the predictability.
Robert McKee wrote about it best (“Story: Substance, Structure, Style and The Principles of Screenwriting” which every novelist should be forced to read before subjecting their manuscripts to over-worked, under-paid editors). When sitting together in a darkened theatre, the audience has a kind of collective mind. All the movies we’ve seen, all those darkened rooms and theatres, we’re reminded of them all. The environment being the same or similar opens up all those passageways of memory and we find ourselves watching the new film while remembering all the prior films. Like those kick-butt SF authors I was talking about earlier, we’re building on our previous knowledge (our nifty prior art) and our minds are actually making connections and assumptions much faster than the film maker can lay out the images and block the scenes.
The point? The collective mind is always smarter, sharper, more creative, and just damn faster than the singular mind. “What?!” you scream. “You telling me that ‘Mona Lisa Overdrive’ would have been better if Gibson had been the Gibson Collective?! Are you insane, woman? Sexy, sure, but are you truly insane?” In short? Yes. Not ‘yes’ I’m insane, but ‘yes’ a collective mind would have been incredible.
An author puts out a framework. Asks questions. Starts the conversation. Let’s say that four hundred creative individuals start bouncing off these ideas, asking their own questions, adding to the conversation. Twists that perhaps a single mind might not have come up with are introduced. In addition, ideas from all the masses will inspire other flashpoints in the focused and creative mind of the original author. Just as reading a science magazine or a bunch of patents (okay, I’m a geek, so sue me) inspire me, reading the threads of thought from a dozen or a hundred individuals also gets my gears going.
Think of the potential when you focus that many minds on a single topic or universe. Think of how that universe grows, builds and is enriched. No one has to have their mind on the very end product except the original author. Everyone else can just go wild—share everything, share shoe size, share sky color.
What do you want from the blog, sweet reader? Heck, I don’t know. You want to know what I ate this morning? A Clif bar and a cup of coffee. What I’m wearing? Levis and a pumpkin-colored tank. Perfume? Patchouli. Shoe size? 6. Sky color? Newborn blue. Or do you want to know what I want from you?
I want your mind.
Wanna share?
E.J.
We’re talking about how the blog is doing and how it’s all translating into sales and building a “knowledge base.” The KB we’re talking about is the sheer number of people interesting in adding their creative ideas to the Mardi Gras 3000 universe. Like, even if you have only one tiny teeny idea, if you posted it on the forum and I was like, “Wow! That’s perfect!” then the universe is that much more smarter and richer than it was before your idea. It’s a creative collective. We are the united borg mind... only, uh, without the nasty assimilation tubes... and, sadly, without Jeri Ryan (or Patrick Stewart). Damn. Our collective may never be whole without them. Sigh.
So you go into a movie and you’re sitting in the dark with a bunch of strangers because your ratty friends bagged on you and you’ve got only your jumbo, extra butter, double the trans fat popcorn and a mega stack of peanut butter cups that have never even brushed up against a real peanut. You’ve never seen the movie you’re about to see and neither has anyone else in the theatre but, somehow, as the movie unfolds you find yourself able to second guess major and minor points of the plot and characters. You can tell you’re not the only one with the sudden ability to know the future (minus the ability to paint it onto canvas ala a certain “Hero”) as all around you strangers are groaning at the predictability.
Robert McKee wrote about it best (“Story: Substance, Structure, Style and The Principles of Screenwriting” which every novelist should be forced to read before subjecting their manuscripts to over-worked, under-paid editors). When sitting together in a darkened theatre, the audience has a kind of collective mind. All the movies we’ve seen, all those darkened rooms and theatres, we’re reminded of them all. The environment being the same or similar opens up all those passageways of memory and we find ourselves watching the new film while remembering all the prior films. Like those kick-butt SF authors I was talking about earlier, we’re building on our previous knowledge (our nifty prior art) and our minds are actually making connections and assumptions much faster than the film maker can lay out the images and block the scenes.
The point? The collective mind is always smarter, sharper, more creative, and just damn faster than the singular mind. “What?!” you scream. “You telling me that ‘Mona Lisa Overdrive’ would have been better if Gibson had been the Gibson Collective?! Are you insane, woman? Sexy, sure, but are you truly insane?” In short? Yes. Not ‘yes’ I’m insane, but ‘yes’ a collective mind would have been incredible.
An author puts out a framework. Asks questions. Starts the conversation. Let’s say that four hundred creative individuals start bouncing off these ideas, asking their own questions, adding to the conversation. Twists that perhaps a single mind might not have come up with are introduced. In addition, ideas from all the masses will inspire other flashpoints in the focused and creative mind of the original author. Just as reading a science magazine or a bunch of patents (okay, I’m a geek, so sue me) inspire me, reading the threads of thought from a dozen or a hundred individuals also gets my gears going.
Think of the potential when you focus that many minds on a single topic or universe. Think of how that universe grows, builds and is enriched. No one has to have their mind on the very end product except the original author. Everyone else can just go wild—share everything, share shoe size, share sky color.
What do you want from the blog, sweet reader? Heck, I don’t know. You want to know what I ate this morning? A Clif bar and a cup of coffee. What I’m wearing? Levis and a pumpkin-colored tank. Perfume? Patchouli. Shoe size? 6. Sky color? Newborn blue. Or do you want to know what I want from you?
I want your mind.
Wanna share?
E.J.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Q&A ASAP
Some bloggers fall victim to quizzes ("Best Friend: uhh, gee, I don't wanna make any1 mad at me ::pout:: ::hair twirl::"), I fall victim to direct email. A quick punch on the virtual calc tells me that 42% of the viewers of this blog have emailed me directly. Hm. Feel the love. Seriously, though, most of the mail is really welcome. I *want* to be accessible. My email isn't a click away from this blog (on my website) by accident. I mean, we're supposed to be building a world here, right?
Not many game designers have ever turned to gamers and authors and said: "Okay, here's the framework. Let's go at this together!" I like that approach. Even if it does mean that I need to devote extra time every day to answering or redirecting email. I like to know that you're all out there. (And, seriously, I do feel lucky and even blessed that a lot of you weren't play testers and have never actually seen the CCG!)
So unlike those... interesting... questions I blogged about earlier, here are some questions I've gotten more than once and they warrant some good public share time:
1. "Where can I respond to your blog, Darling?"
Love this question. Respectfully, kinda sexy, kinda sweet. Smart, too. Starting today, you can go on over to http://mardigras3000.forumup.com/ and click "Your Lair." You'll find a thread just for you, a place to talk about my blogged rants and raves. I'd love to hear from you. The only reason I don't have the blog itself set up for responses is because it would be too time consuming to patrol (you know, keep free of ads, porn, rude and mean people). I need to carve out *some* time for game design, no?
2. "What games are next?"
I do touch on this answer over at http://www.windstormcreative.com/angel/develop.htm but I think gamers, in particular, want a little bit more, yes? So, okay, here goes:
I now have four games under contract with IDP (that includes MG3K). One is for pre-teens+ and has an anime feel. It's a science fiction game with a humorous bent. The goal of characters is primarily collecting with a secondary goal of battling "level" bosses. Second game is also SF and utilizes an anime style. It's for teens+. Main idea is to gain powers, build your team of characters, and then rumble. Third new game ties into the MG3K in that it is a prequel set before the life of Christ.
3. "Would you ever sell out to the corporate machine?"
Weighty question but I have actually thought about this. I think I've mentioned somewhere (blog or forum) before, that to me, loyalty is dominate to all else. My loyalty to the DiMarcos, the two women who've run Windstorm Creative for seventeen years, is prime, a real given. I want to help them get their gaming division (Immortal Day Publishing) off the ground because the had a great run for a lot of years and then opened their doors to a gamut of allies and the division bombed. This was during the time I interned with them and it was ugly. Back lash has been stupid from people fed half-truths. Now that IDP is only working directly with game designers again (like in their heyday), I want to be part of that rebirth. But here's the kicker: Jennifer is the O.S. designer for all my games, right? So, if I were to accept an offer for a mass-market version of one of my games, then it would be me and Jennifer together accepting that offer. So the sales from that mass-market edition would benefit her (read: Windstorm). That being the case, I'm totally game for whatever comes my way. I'm willing to consider anything. Is this "selling out" or just being sneaky?
4. "Are you single?"
Yes, to the question you're asking. No, to the question you aren't. ::kisses::
5. "Why do you think there aren't more women in (CCG) game design?"
Because they get asked question 4 more often than they get asked question 2. Also, because women who are both sexy and smart (which, hey, you absolutely have to be in any male-dominated market) tend to go on to work for Donald Trump (that is, until he fires them. Hey, Donald? Two words, sweetheart: Big. Mistake. Her brand was way sexier--and much smarter--than your brand. She added class and an honest amount of savvy sass to your org. What *were* you thinking?!)
6. "Will you help me break into the business?
Will you buy my game first? Yeah, I know, I'm a capitalist. Here's the deal. This is my job. You want a good word in at IDP for you? You want me to play test your game and critique it? Sure. I'll do that. But show me some love first. How do you know that my opinion is worth anything if you're never played one of my games? Do you want my help, or just *anyone's* help?
It's kind of like when Windstorm asks authors to actually read some of their books before submitting a manuscript. About twice in every hundred unsolicited authors write back and say, "My teacher at the community college creative course I took told me publishers like you--who force authors to pay to buy a book before getting published--are scams. You suck." Wow. Okay. No one said to buy the book--you can borrow it from a library. But here's the deal: Do you even know what Windstorm does if you've never read one of their books? Do you know if their editors are any good? That their layouts are smooth? Do you want *Windstorm* to publish your book or just *anyone* to publish your book? (Also, an average Windstorm book costs $12. Used $3. Starting marketing budget is $50,000. That's a pretty good return on your investment.)
7. "You have the patience of a saint, Ms. Angel. I couldn't do it."
This isn't a question, I know. But it is a repeat message. Am I patient because I'm cool with forum members dissecting my ideas? Am I patient because I get a lot of weighty and blunt questions in email? That I don't mind building a career in a difficult market? That I want perfection and am willing to wait for it? Who knows. Maybe I'm patient with life and the people in my life because I'm not a Terrapyre or a Celestial or any type of superhero. I'm human and I remember that the people around me--no matter how intelligent or driven--are only human as well.
E.J.
Not many game designers have ever turned to gamers and authors and said: "Okay, here's the framework. Let's go at this together!" I like that approach. Even if it does mean that I need to devote extra time every day to answering or redirecting email. I like to know that you're all out there. (And, seriously, I do feel lucky and even blessed that a lot of you weren't play testers and have never actually seen the CCG!)
So unlike those... interesting... questions I blogged about earlier, here are some questions I've gotten more than once and they warrant some good public share time:
1. "Where can I respond to your blog, Darling?"
Love this question. Respectfully, kinda sexy, kinda sweet. Smart, too. Starting today, you can go on over to http://mardigras3000.forumup.com/ and click "Your Lair." You'll find a thread just for you, a place to talk about my blogged rants and raves. I'd love to hear from you. The only reason I don't have the blog itself set up for responses is because it would be too time consuming to patrol (you know, keep free of ads, porn, rude and mean people). I need to carve out *some* time for game design, no?
2. "What games are next?"
I do touch on this answer over at http://www.windstormcreative.com/angel/develop.htm but I think gamers, in particular, want a little bit more, yes? So, okay, here goes:
I now have four games under contract with IDP (that includes MG3K). One is for pre-teens+ and has an anime feel. It's a science fiction game with a humorous bent. The goal of characters is primarily collecting with a secondary goal of battling "level" bosses. Second game is also SF and utilizes an anime style. It's for teens+. Main idea is to gain powers, build your team of characters, and then rumble. Third new game ties into the MG3K in that it is a prequel set before the life of Christ.
3. "Would you ever sell out to the corporate machine?"
Weighty question but I have actually thought about this. I think I've mentioned somewhere (blog or forum) before, that to me, loyalty is dominate to all else. My loyalty to the DiMarcos, the two women who've run Windstorm Creative for seventeen years, is prime, a real given. I want to help them get their gaming division (Immortal Day Publishing) off the ground because the had a great run for a lot of years and then opened their doors to a gamut of allies and the division bombed. This was during the time I interned with them and it was ugly. Back lash has been stupid from people fed half-truths. Now that IDP is only working directly with game designers again (like in their heyday), I want to be part of that rebirth. But here's the kicker: Jennifer is the O.S. designer for all my games, right? So, if I were to accept an offer for a mass-market version of one of my games, then it would be me and Jennifer together accepting that offer. So the sales from that mass-market edition would benefit her (read: Windstorm). That being the case, I'm totally game for whatever comes my way. I'm willing to consider anything. Is this "selling out" or just being sneaky?
4. "Are you single?"
Yes, to the question you're asking. No, to the question you aren't. ::kisses::
5. "Why do you think there aren't more women in (CCG) game design?"
Because they get asked question 4 more often than they get asked question 2. Also, because women who are both sexy and smart (which, hey, you absolutely have to be in any male-dominated market) tend to go on to work for Donald Trump (that is, until he fires them. Hey, Donald? Two words, sweetheart: Big. Mistake. Her brand was way sexier--and much smarter--than your brand. She added class and an honest amount of savvy sass to your org. What *were* you thinking?!)
6. "Will you help me break into the business?
Will you buy my game first? Yeah, I know, I'm a capitalist. Here's the deal. This is my job. You want a good word in at IDP for you? You want me to play test your game and critique it? Sure. I'll do that. But show me some love first. How do you know that my opinion is worth anything if you're never played one of my games? Do you want my help, or just *anyone's* help?
It's kind of like when Windstorm asks authors to actually read some of their books before submitting a manuscript. About twice in every hundred unsolicited authors write back and say, "My teacher at the community college creative course I took told me publishers like you--who force authors to pay to buy a book before getting published--are scams. You suck." Wow. Okay. No one said to buy the book--you can borrow it from a library. But here's the deal: Do you even know what Windstorm does if you've never read one of their books? Do you know if their editors are any good? That their layouts are smooth? Do you want *Windstorm* to publish your book or just *anyone* to publish your book? (Also, an average Windstorm book costs $12. Used $3. Starting marketing budget is $50,000. That's a pretty good return on your investment.)
7. "You have the patience of a saint, Ms. Angel. I couldn't do it."
This isn't a question, I know. But it is a repeat message. Am I patient because I'm cool with forum members dissecting my ideas? Am I patient because I get a lot of weighty and blunt questions in email? That I don't mind building a career in a difficult market? That I want perfection and am willing to wait for it? Who knows. Maybe I'm patient with life and the people in my life because I'm not a Terrapyre or a Celestial or any type of superhero. I'm human and I remember that the people around me--no matter how intelligent or driven--are only human as well.
E.J.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Satire is the Highest Form of Flattery
Yipee! I’m accepted!
There’s this great Pacific Northwest SF/F convention called RustyCon. They aren’t huge but they’ve survived over the years and I like the feel of a convention under 50,000 people. People tend to be friendly and fights rarely break out on the panels. Yeah, there are egos and politics (like any con) but the art show is always beautiful, the panels lively, and the special events are worth the price of the weekend admission.
Year ago, RustyCon was the first con to have Windstorm staff panel and host special events (like Jennifer’s killer “Pitch It!” sessions) and I enjoyed seeing my friends in their element dissecting the corporate machine and refusing to go all Klingon or Borg to win over the Fab Geek demographic. (Plus, Cris looks hot in a tie and when Jennifer wears her spicy little Hawaiian dress... well, let’s just say that fences are jumped.)
Hm. Where was I?
The relationship between RustyCon and Windstorm goes back about six years or so. When I interned at Windstorm, all the staff spoke highly of the convention. I think it was fitting for them to always root for the local indie, you know? About two years ago, Windstorm started doing these anthologies with conventions. The convention picks a theme, Cris (as Senior Editor) reviews all the story submissions that come in, and then the convention supplies the artwork for the cover and the best stories are published. Their first one was “Northwest Passages” with a convention called Cascadia. In my opinion, it’s a great anthology with some really excellent stories though I don’t care for the cover very much. Luckily, the stories totally make up for it.
Then Windstorm worked with some writers groups to publish collections of members stories. That was cool too. After a few of these came in (to be published at the end of this year), Windstorm approached RustyCon about an anthology with a Windstorm/RustyCon shared themed: Slugs. See, RustyCon has long had rainy day feel and a slug mascot. Windstorm also has a slug mascot (this is the Pacific North*wet* after all) named Carl... including a plush and an eight foot long, four foot high have-slug, will-travel version. So the anthology developed into a collection of science fiction and fantasy (SF/F) stories with one requirement: They must feature a slug (the creature). The stories could be funny or serious.
Now, because RustyCon is smaller, and its up to convention to pay the contributors (Windstorm pays royalties to the convention, though subsidiary rights are split with the contributors), the pay for contributors wasn’t so high. Also, not everyone has a SF/F story with a slug sitting unpublished in a drawer or just waiting to be written. I believe the Cascadia anthology (that paid pretty darn well) wound up with more than 1000 submissions. Amazingly though, according to the chart on Windstorm’s wall, the “Tales of the Slug” anthology received more than 300 submissions!
One of those submissions, postmarked in Seattle, Washington (not Bremerton), with a Seattle return address and the name Patricia Kellsey listed as the author, was entitled “The Starship Expendable.” Ms. Kellsey listed her email as a hotmail account that included a string of random letters and numbers. Yesterday, Ms. Kellsey signed in to her inbox... and there was a message from Mari Garcia, the director of Windstorm’s legal department, delightfully informing Ms. Kellsey that her story had been excepted.
Heh heh heh.
I wanted my story to be judged on its merits. I know Cris would never publish garbage but I wanted a truly cold read. I even threw Cris off by reading her a faux story over the phone as if it were the one I was working on for the anthology. Again, I *know* Cris is fair but I had something to prove.
As a game designer, what I do is about back story and concepts. I don’t create the artwork. I don’t layout the cards. I didn’t design the O.S.. I don’t find writing easy. I don’t believe in doing things half way. It either has to be excellent or I don’t do it at all. I labored over “The Starship Expendable.” I wanted to write a humorous, exciting, Star Trek-send up with lots of in jokes, great characters, a sexy undertone and tons of far-future tech. I wanted characters that weren’t white. A ship that wasn’t out to save the galaxy. And slugs. Not talking slugs or glided slugs. I wanted slugs. Brownish, yellowish, black-spotted banana slugs. The kind that eat the hostas in my yard by the leaf-load peacefully knowing that I planted them just for the sticky little buggers and I’ll plant more when they finish those off.
I wanted to be accepted as a creative force. Maybe not a force to be reckoned with, but at least a force to be acknowledged on the planet.
You want a sneak preview? All right. But just between us friends, okay? To get the rest of the story, go over right now (watch me be shameless like never before) and pre-order a copy of “Tales of the Slug” at http://www.windstormcreative.com/fandom/20856.htm.
* * *
“The Starship Expendable”
by E.J. Angel
Copyright July 1, 2006
Space. The final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Expendable. It’s five hundred fourteen year mission: To find new worlds, explore uncharted space... to make a crap load of maps for the Intergalactic Map & Chart Co., Ltd., LLC, (c), TM, Patent Pending.
Bren Torros took off her ear and stuck a microspanner into her head. Using the reflective surface of the egg-shaped portal window, she cycled her irises from brown, to gray, to green.
“Hot date, Torros?” A gray-clad crewman brushed past her in the narrow corridor, not breaking his stride as he gave her a smirk.
“Biosuite duty, smart ass,” Bren shot back. “Green is my pollen guard.”
“Nature finds a way, Torros!”
Bren flipped her retreating friend an interstellar bird and snapped her ear back on.
* * *
What do you think? Read the rest in January when “Tales of the Slug” ships to hosta-filled yards every where.
E.J.
There’s this great Pacific Northwest SF/F convention called RustyCon. They aren’t huge but they’ve survived over the years and I like the feel of a convention under 50,000 people. People tend to be friendly and fights rarely break out on the panels. Yeah, there are egos and politics (like any con) but the art show is always beautiful, the panels lively, and the special events are worth the price of the weekend admission.
Year ago, RustyCon was the first con to have Windstorm staff panel and host special events (like Jennifer’s killer “Pitch It!” sessions) and I enjoyed seeing my friends in their element dissecting the corporate machine and refusing to go all Klingon or Borg to win over the Fab Geek demographic. (Plus, Cris looks hot in a tie and when Jennifer wears her spicy little Hawaiian dress... well, let’s just say that fences are jumped.)
Hm. Where was I?
The relationship between RustyCon and Windstorm goes back about six years or so. When I interned at Windstorm, all the staff spoke highly of the convention. I think it was fitting for them to always root for the local indie, you know? About two years ago, Windstorm started doing these anthologies with conventions. The convention picks a theme, Cris (as Senior Editor) reviews all the story submissions that come in, and then the convention supplies the artwork for the cover and the best stories are published. Their first one was “Northwest Passages” with a convention called Cascadia. In my opinion, it’s a great anthology with some really excellent stories though I don’t care for the cover very much. Luckily, the stories totally make up for it.
Then Windstorm worked with some writers groups to publish collections of members stories. That was cool too. After a few of these came in (to be published at the end of this year), Windstorm approached RustyCon about an anthology with a Windstorm/RustyCon shared themed: Slugs. See, RustyCon has long had rainy day feel and a slug mascot. Windstorm also has a slug mascot (this is the Pacific North*wet* after all) named Carl... including a plush and an eight foot long, four foot high have-slug, will-travel version. So the anthology developed into a collection of science fiction and fantasy (SF/F) stories with one requirement: They must feature a slug (the creature). The stories could be funny or serious.
Now, because RustyCon is smaller, and its up to convention to pay the contributors (Windstorm pays royalties to the convention, though subsidiary rights are split with the contributors), the pay for contributors wasn’t so high. Also, not everyone has a SF/F story with a slug sitting unpublished in a drawer or just waiting to be written. I believe the Cascadia anthology (that paid pretty darn well) wound up with more than 1000 submissions. Amazingly though, according to the chart on Windstorm’s wall, the “Tales of the Slug” anthology received more than 300 submissions!
One of those submissions, postmarked in Seattle, Washington (not Bremerton), with a Seattle return address and the name Patricia Kellsey listed as the author, was entitled “The Starship Expendable.” Ms. Kellsey listed her email as a hotmail account that included a string of random letters and numbers. Yesterday, Ms. Kellsey signed in to her inbox... and there was a message from Mari Garcia, the director of Windstorm’s legal department, delightfully informing Ms. Kellsey that her story had been excepted.
Heh heh heh.
I wanted my story to be judged on its merits. I know Cris would never publish garbage but I wanted a truly cold read. I even threw Cris off by reading her a faux story over the phone as if it were the one I was working on for the anthology. Again, I *know* Cris is fair but I had something to prove.
As a game designer, what I do is about back story and concepts. I don’t create the artwork. I don’t layout the cards. I didn’t design the O.S.. I don’t find writing easy. I don’t believe in doing things half way. It either has to be excellent or I don’t do it at all. I labored over “The Starship Expendable.” I wanted to write a humorous, exciting, Star Trek-send up with lots of in jokes, great characters, a sexy undertone and tons of far-future tech. I wanted characters that weren’t white. A ship that wasn’t out to save the galaxy. And slugs. Not talking slugs or glided slugs. I wanted slugs. Brownish, yellowish, black-spotted banana slugs. The kind that eat the hostas in my yard by the leaf-load peacefully knowing that I planted them just for the sticky little buggers and I’ll plant more when they finish those off.
I wanted to be accepted as a creative force. Maybe not a force to be reckoned with, but at least a force to be acknowledged on the planet.
You want a sneak preview? All right. But just between us friends, okay? To get the rest of the story, go over right now (watch me be shameless like never before) and pre-order a copy of “Tales of the Slug” at http://www.windstormcreative.com/fandom/20856.htm.
* * *
“The Starship Expendable”
by E.J. Angel
Copyright July 1, 2006
Space. The final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Expendable. It’s five hundred fourteen year mission: To find new worlds, explore uncharted space... to make a crap load of maps for the Intergalactic Map & Chart Co., Ltd., LLC, (c), TM, Patent Pending.
Bren Torros took off her ear and stuck a microspanner into her head. Using the reflective surface of the egg-shaped portal window, she cycled her irises from brown, to gray, to green.
“Hot date, Torros?” A gray-clad crewman brushed past her in the narrow corridor, not breaking his stride as he gave her a smirk.
“Biosuite duty, smart ass,” Bren shot back. “Green is my pollen guard.”
“Nature finds a way, Torros!”
Bren flipped her retreating friend an interstellar bird and snapped her ear back on.
* * *
What do you think? Read the rest in January when “Tales of the Slug” ships to hosta-filled yards every where.
E.J.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Can’t Copyright the Future, Baby
I don’t think I’ve ever read an original novel set in the future. I’m not knocking SF authors here, I’m actually commending them. More than in any other genre, SF authors build on one another. Instead of creating a whole new world from the core out every single time, there are various givens of the genre (including the given that readers will be hip to the latest developments in real science and tech) that lead to a kind of Genre Knowledge (read: Racial Knowledge or Species Knowledge) as well as an elaborate lexicon and root system that allows authors to effortlessly utilize words like “metapolitics,” “slashdotted,” “computronium” and “metacortex” and still be certain that readers of the genre won’t be as lost as Jin, Sun and Mr. Echo.
Soon-to-be MG3K authors (ages 16 to 64) are asking me what *my* future (the MG3K future) looks like. Is everyone at least somewhat wired? Yes (religious antitech puritans being the exception). Have there been any nuclear incidents? Yes (didn’t anyone else watch ‘Jericho’?!). Contact from alien life forms? Most likely (space, another dimension, AI, whatever). What kind of tech, slang, and pop culture exists? What do people do for work? Fun? Terrorism? Politics? Love? Marriage? Death?
To answer these questions fully and in detail, I’ll provide a reading list. The books on the list will paint a picture of the MG3K future and also offer up nine excellent SF reads. They’ve certainly shaped the way I see the world and I think, if you’re reading this blog, you’ll get a wicked kick out of them too.
The books are in a specific order. They grow in complexity. Start at the beginning of the list because they build on one another. Just like knowing your multiplication tables ultimately helps with long division and beyond, you’ll need “Virtual Rock” to fully appreciate “Snow Crash” or “accelerando.” It will show you how far the genre has come and how 1 led to 2 which led to 3,ooo.
I’m not going to provide buy links for the books because I’m not an affiliate junkie. Beg, borrow, or buy the books wherever. The only book on the list published by Windstorm is “Virtual Rock,” so if you can’t get it from your local library, then it's 20% off at http://www.windstormcreative.com/windstorm/73971.htm. Or, I did a price check (as of today), and there are used copies of all nine books at Amazon. You can score the whole list for under $25.
1. Virtual Rock (Cris DiMarco)
2. The Demolished Man (Alfred Bester)
3. Armageddon Blues (Daniel Keyes Moran)
4. Virtual Death (Shale Aaron)
5. Virtual Light (William Gibson)
6. Diamond Age (Neal Stephenson)
7. Dead Girls (Richard Calder)
8. Snow Crash (Neal Stephenson)
9. accelerando (Charles Stross)
One last note about the books in general: There's swearing, pretty much any four-letter word. There’s sex, though not explicit. Some violence, but not heinous. I would rate them for 17+ mature readers that understand that not everyone in the world talks pretty or plays fair. The only exception is “Dead Girls.” This book is brilliantly written, rich in language and imagery and conceptual ideas, but it is utterly raw. It has brutal lexicon, explicit sex and torturous violence. If it were a movie, it would be rated somewhere south of an NC-17 rating (you know, NC-17, that rating *after* R). Go ahead and skip "Dead Girls" if this type of content would be too unsettling... though, at the pace our world is progressing, our future may very well be way south of “unsettling.”
E.J.
Soon-to-be MG3K authors (ages 16 to 64) are asking me what *my* future (the MG3K future) looks like. Is everyone at least somewhat wired? Yes (religious antitech puritans being the exception). Have there been any nuclear incidents? Yes (didn’t anyone else watch ‘Jericho’?!). Contact from alien life forms? Most likely (space, another dimension, AI, whatever). What kind of tech, slang, and pop culture exists? What do people do for work? Fun? Terrorism? Politics? Love? Marriage? Death?
To answer these questions fully and in detail, I’ll provide a reading list. The books on the list will paint a picture of the MG3K future and also offer up nine excellent SF reads. They’ve certainly shaped the way I see the world and I think, if you’re reading this blog, you’ll get a wicked kick out of them too.
The books are in a specific order. They grow in complexity. Start at the beginning of the list because they build on one another. Just like knowing your multiplication tables ultimately helps with long division and beyond, you’ll need “Virtual Rock” to fully appreciate “Snow Crash” or “accelerando.” It will show you how far the genre has come and how 1 led to 2 which led to 3,ooo.
I’m not going to provide buy links for the books because I’m not an affiliate junkie. Beg, borrow, or buy the books wherever. The only book on the list published by Windstorm is “Virtual Rock,” so if you can’t get it from your local library, then it's 20% off at http://www.windstormcreative.com/windstorm/73971.htm. Or, I did a price check (as of today), and there are used copies of all nine books at Amazon. You can score the whole list for under $25.
1. Virtual Rock (Cris DiMarco)
2. The Demolished Man (Alfred Bester)
3. Armageddon Blues (Daniel Keyes Moran)
4. Virtual Death (Shale Aaron)
5. Virtual Light (William Gibson)
6. Diamond Age (Neal Stephenson)
7. Dead Girls (Richard Calder)
8. Snow Crash (Neal Stephenson)
9. accelerando (Charles Stross)
One last note about the books in general: There's swearing, pretty much any four-letter word. There’s sex, though not explicit. Some violence, but not heinous. I would rate them for 17+ mature readers that understand that not everyone in the world talks pretty or plays fair. The only exception is “Dead Girls.” This book is brilliantly written, rich in language and imagery and conceptual ideas, but it is utterly raw. It has brutal lexicon, explicit sex and torturous violence. If it were a movie, it would be rated somewhere south of an NC-17 rating (you know, NC-17, that rating *after* R). Go ahead and skip "Dead Girls" if this type of content would be too unsettling... though, at the pace our world is progressing, our future may very well be way south of “unsettling.”
E.J.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
000011100111010100111100
The river of 1s and 0s was a bit too swift for me the last few days... with my laptop raft leaking buoyancy I tried to sign on, log in and shoot a blog to my sweet public but, alas, without a nifty cyber implant to bridge the netware / wetware river, I was stranded. In English? My laptop took a dive off the back of my bike on Hwy 16 and even though we (me, bike and laptop) had been traveling along at a steady 65 mph clip, all alone the laptop was only able to obtain a .0025 mph bounce and land in the berm.
So, I borrowed a basic box from my publisher (you know the one) but it was netdead, only good for word processing and graphics layout. After a week I was desperate. I called Jennifer, totally incoherent. “Must... have... Internet...” Twenty-four hours later a check for $1200 arrives in the mail (no return address). Yellow sticky note message reads, “Jennifer says you need a computer.” Love that woman. MG3K has a silent investor (secured and maintained by Jennifer) and the check was straight from him? her? them? No matter. The money bought a nicely equipped box chock full of smooth little extras. With the $80 left over, I sent flowers to Windstorm (tiger lilies).
I’m back, babies! Let’s rumble....
Tomorrow, my incredibly fascinating thoughts on what the future (like, say, the year 3000) holds in terms of tech. Today: me all over the MG3K forum. Open a second browser window. Oh my goodness... that’s a lot of new posts!
E.J.
So, I borrowed a basic box from my publisher (you know the one) but it was netdead, only good for word processing and graphics layout. After a week I was desperate. I called Jennifer, totally incoherent. “Must... have... Internet...” Twenty-four hours later a check for $1200 arrives in the mail (no return address). Yellow sticky note message reads, “Jennifer says you need a computer.” Love that woman. MG3K has a silent investor (secured and maintained by Jennifer) and the check was straight from him? her? them? No matter. The money bought a nicely equipped box chock full of smooth little extras. With the $80 left over, I sent flowers to Windstorm (tiger lilies).
I’m back, babies! Let’s rumble....
Tomorrow, my incredibly fascinating thoughts on what the future (like, say, the year 3000) holds in terms of tech. Today: me all over the MG3K forum. Open a second browser window. Oh my goodness... that’s a lot of new posts!
E.J.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Holy Sarcasm, Batman!
(This blog is written with wit and humor, not with bitterness or meanness. I hope that comes across. If not, well, sue me, okay? I’ve got liability insurance… yeah, right.)
I’m getting a lot of random questions through email. To think I was worried about those proposals of marriage before the game even shipped. “Thank you, but no thanks,” was pretty easy to write. So, there’ve been no proposals after those first two, now it’s just strange and interesting questions. Any Qs about the game, I ask people to please post on the forum (http://mardigras3000.forumup.com/) but the other Qs aren’t really appropriate for public consumption… which is why I thought I’d answer them here. I mean, isn’t a blog a private place to explore one’s thoughts and musings? Is it my fault that the silly counter registers three hundred strangers? I mean, you’re all my… friends… right? ;)
“Are you sleeping with your publisher?”
Hello! Wow. Way to be forward, there. Incredible. I suppose this means that someone (or four someones) think I’m too effusive toward my publisher, Jennifer, in my blog. And, yeah, I am a kinda passionate person who appreciates a beautiful woman (or handsome man) which is to say I like people who have the whole package – intelligence, sass, humor, looks, steel and control. But I think this in-your-face Q really has more to do with the fact that no one seems to have mentors or heroes any more.
I was surfing blogs over that last few days and a lot of folks seem to run out of things to say and start just running quizzes. I guess quizzes are a fun way to let people know about you but what use are they if you don’t answer half the Qs or you answer things like, “Duh!” or “NA.” One of the Qs most left unanswered was, “Who is your hero?” Isn’t that sad? I mean, really, truly sad. You have no one to look up to? No one you admire for their bravery, kindness or other feats? To me, that must be a very lonely existence. And, hey, I’m not being a patronizing jerk here, I mean it. I think I would feel really alone in the world if I didn’t have a few healthy, kick-butt heroes. I would feel that it was just me against the universe and no one else was out there fighting the good fight, and making the hard decisions.
So, no, I’m not sleeping with my publisher (she’s married, she has two kids, and SHE’S MY PUBLISHER!!!) but the admiration that I feel for her is pretty deep. Sorry if that comes across as all sexy. Perhaps try watching the NASA channel before reading my blog? It might put you in a better frame of mind than leafing through Hustler.
“Gaming isn’t mathematics. Do you think that just by dropping phrases like ‘zero-sum’ and ‘dove and hawk theory’ that’ll you’ll be taken seriously?”
Nah, probably not. To be taken seriously I’d have to garage my bike, sell my leather jacket *and* my chaps, and panel at conferences with titles like, “The Annual Number-crunchers Divided (And Multiplied) Convention.” Honestly, I think I did forget, for a blog or two, that I haven’t paid my membership fee to the Jealous Math Geeks Club and that does suck. I was never trying to flash any mad math skills, trust me. I didn’t (couldn’t) even design the O.S. for my own game (Remember? The publisher I’m sleeping with did that.), for goodness sakes. I also forgot that mathematics (like game theory, chaos theory and quantum mechanics) can *never* be applied to every day life by every day people. Higher mathematics are outside and beyond the reach of reality… which is what makes them so *important* to the rest of us. Strangely, until this emailed Q, I was so hot to date a math geek. Now, I’m just hot.
“Doesn’t it bother you to have to deal with teen-agers critiquing your work?” (on the forum)
There’s two ways to answer this question. These are:
The Market Analysis Answer
As a designer of CCGs, my prime demographic is players 18 to 25. But players 13 to 17 (specifically, players 13 to 15) have the most expendable capital in comparison to their debts/expenses. So, I’m not “dealing with” teen-agers, I’m courting potential players (read: customers). Teens are my bottom-line of profitability. Without teen interest in my games, I may as well be paneling at faux mathematics conventions for pitifully small honorariums and a poorly stocked Green Room.
The “I’m in a Mood” Answer
The teen-agers on the MG3K forum are the future lawyers, senators and movie producers of your all-grown-up America. Most of them are already voting (and in larger numbers than most “grown ups”) and questioning the conventions that shape their day to day existence. Other than actually working on a game right now, more than anything else I enjoy interacting with the teen-agers (and others) at the forum. They still dream (do you?), they still ask questions shamelessly and honestly (unlike yours) and they are fresh and alive in the world of mythology and religion – they have not been beaten down or muted by years of working for or against the machine. They are still shouting from the roof tops. What are you shouting about, buddy?
“Don’t you think you’re a little too old (at 28) to be using a handle like ‘grrl’?”
Don’t you think you’re a little rude to be calling out a grrl’s age like that? What? I’ve blogged about my age before? It’s posted on my website? Oh. Fine. Whatever. The next time some trucker calls me “baby,” I’ll remind him I’m not an infant, and the next time anyone calls me their “girlfriend,” I’ll point out that I’m a “significant other.” And, actually, the word “grrl” doesn’t find its origins in the word “girl.” It sources from the word “Grrrrr!” I have no idea where the “L” came from. Maybe Showtime?
“What division do you box in?”
Bantamweight. I’m 5’4”. 117. 34. 23. 32. 5 (ring size, baby). Want a match? >;)
For my answer to, “Is Mardi Gras 3000 a Christian game and/or are you trying to convert or recruit Christians with the game?” check out page 23 of the MG3K sourcebook at (www.windstormcreative.com/fandom/mg3ksb.htm). I loved that question almost as much as these, you know? I mean, when I see shape-shifters and vampires, I just scream, “Recruitment propaganda!!!”
E.J.
I’m getting a lot of random questions through email. To think I was worried about those proposals of marriage before the game even shipped. “Thank you, but no thanks,” was pretty easy to write. So, there’ve been no proposals after those first two, now it’s just strange and interesting questions. Any Qs about the game, I ask people to please post on the forum (http://mardigras3000.forumup.com/) but the other Qs aren’t really appropriate for public consumption… which is why I thought I’d answer them here. I mean, isn’t a blog a private place to explore one’s thoughts and musings? Is it my fault that the silly counter registers three hundred strangers? I mean, you’re all my… friends… right? ;)
“Are you sleeping with your publisher?”
Hello! Wow. Way to be forward, there. Incredible. I suppose this means that someone (or four someones) think I’m too effusive toward my publisher, Jennifer, in my blog. And, yeah, I am a kinda passionate person who appreciates a beautiful woman (or handsome man) which is to say I like people who have the whole package – intelligence, sass, humor, looks, steel and control. But I think this in-your-face Q really has more to do with the fact that no one seems to have mentors or heroes any more.
I was surfing blogs over that last few days and a lot of folks seem to run out of things to say and start just running quizzes. I guess quizzes are a fun way to let people know about you but what use are they if you don’t answer half the Qs or you answer things like, “Duh!” or “NA.” One of the Qs most left unanswered was, “Who is your hero?” Isn’t that sad? I mean, really, truly sad. You have no one to look up to? No one you admire for their bravery, kindness or other feats? To me, that must be a very lonely existence. And, hey, I’m not being a patronizing jerk here, I mean it. I think I would feel really alone in the world if I didn’t have a few healthy, kick-butt heroes. I would feel that it was just me against the universe and no one else was out there fighting the good fight, and making the hard decisions.
So, no, I’m not sleeping with my publisher (she’s married, she has two kids, and SHE’S MY PUBLISHER!!!) but the admiration that I feel for her is pretty deep. Sorry if that comes across as all sexy. Perhaps try watching the NASA channel before reading my blog? It might put you in a better frame of mind than leafing through Hustler.
“Gaming isn’t mathematics. Do you think that just by dropping phrases like ‘zero-sum’ and ‘dove and hawk theory’ that’ll you’ll be taken seriously?”
Nah, probably not. To be taken seriously I’d have to garage my bike, sell my leather jacket *and* my chaps, and panel at conferences with titles like, “The Annual Number-crunchers Divided (And Multiplied) Convention.” Honestly, I think I did forget, for a blog or two, that I haven’t paid my membership fee to the Jealous Math Geeks Club and that does suck. I was never trying to flash any mad math skills, trust me. I didn’t (couldn’t) even design the O.S. for my own game (Remember? The publisher I’m sleeping with did that.), for goodness sakes. I also forgot that mathematics (like game theory, chaos theory and quantum mechanics) can *never* be applied to every day life by every day people. Higher mathematics are outside and beyond the reach of reality… which is what makes them so *important* to the rest of us. Strangely, until this emailed Q, I was so hot to date a math geek. Now, I’m just hot.
“Doesn’t it bother you to have to deal with teen-agers critiquing your work?” (on the forum)
There’s two ways to answer this question. These are:
The Market Analysis Answer
As a designer of CCGs, my prime demographic is players 18 to 25. But players 13 to 17 (specifically, players 13 to 15) have the most expendable capital in comparison to their debts/expenses. So, I’m not “dealing with” teen-agers, I’m courting potential players (read: customers). Teens are my bottom-line of profitability. Without teen interest in my games, I may as well be paneling at faux mathematics conventions for pitifully small honorariums and a poorly stocked Green Room.
The “I’m in a Mood” Answer
The teen-agers on the MG3K forum are the future lawyers, senators and movie producers of your all-grown-up America. Most of them are already voting (and in larger numbers than most “grown ups”) and questioning the conventions that shape their day to day existence. Other than actually working on a game right now, more than anything else I enjoy interacting with the teen-agers (and others) at the forum. They still dream (do you?), they still ask questions shamelessly and honestly (unlike yours) and they are fresh and alive in the world of mythology and religion – they have not been beaten down or muted by years of working for or against the machine. They are still shouting from the roof tops. What are you shouting about, buddy?
“Don’t you think you’re a little too old (at 28) to be using a handle like ‘grrl’?”
Don’t you think you’re a little rude to be calling out a grrl’s age like that? What? I’ve blogged about my age before? It’s posted on my website? Oh. Fine. Whatever. The next time some trucker calls me “baby,” I’ll remind him I’m not an infant, and the next time anyone calls me their “girlfriend,” I’ll point out that I’m a “significant other.” And, actually, the word “grrl” doesn’t find its origins in the word “girl.” It sources from the word “Grrrrr!” I have no idea where the “L” came from. Maybe Showtime?
“What division do you box in?”
Bantamweight. I’m 5’4”. 117. 34. 23. 32. 5 (ring size, baby). Want a match? >;)
For my answer to, “Is Mardi Gras 3000 a Christian game and/or are you trying to convert or recruit Christians with the game?” check out page 23 of the MG3K sourcebook at (www.windstormcreative.com/fandom/mg3ksb.htm). I loved that question almost as much as these, you know? I mean, when I see shape-shifters and vampires, I just scream, “Recruitment propaganda!!!”
E.J.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
The Beat
I was dancing tonight at a party of a friend of a friend, anonymous and entranced by a set of subwoofers I could have bathed in. When the music is my own—right off the soundtrack of my life—and no one knows my name… I’m just that grrl in the thick of it, eyes closed, hair down, moving her hips, her hands, her feet.
In those moments, it seems like no one else is in the room and every inch of my body feels the bass line; the tiny brass bells on my left wrist bracelet are soundless in comparison. I’m lost. I’m found. I’m in my element.
Sometimes, I’m aware of the other dancers but rarely as individuals. Mostly they’re part of the music for me, the physical embodiment of the beat surrounding me, moving around me.
Lately, of course, I imagine Terrapyres in the crowd. I imagine Angelus—wings hidden—or Darkling or Queen. I imagine a body close to mine in that passionate but platonic synchronicity of dance.
I am alone. I am never alone. The music runs hot in my veins.
I should be reviewing graphs and marketing copy but tonight it isn’t about “should,” it’s about “want” and “need.” Tonight it’s about meeting a gaze, deep brown eyes across the room, and sharing a song or four. Then slipping away, at midnight or three, into the silent, holy night, alone and content, the music in my head and in my blood all the way home.
E.J.
(After dancing all night on 9-12-06)
In those moments, it seems like no one else is in the room and every inch of my body feels the bass line; the tiny brass bells on my left wrist bracelet are soundless in comparison. I’m lost. I’m found. I’m in my element.
Sometimes, I’m aware of the other dancers but rarely as individuals. Mostly they’re part of the music for me, the physical embodiment of the beat surrounding me, moving around me.
Lately, of course, I imagine Terrapyres in the crowd. I imagine Angelus—wings hidden—or Darkling or Queen. I imagine a body close to mine in that passionate but platonic synchronicity of dance.
I am alone. I am never alone. The music runs hot in my veins.
I should be reviewing graphs and marketing copy but tonight it isn’t about “should,” it’s about “want” and “need.” Tonight it’s about meeting a gaze, deep brown eyes across the room, and sharing a song or four. Then slipping away, at midnight or three, into the silent, holy night, alone and content, the music in my head and in my blood all the way home.
E.J.
(After dancing all night on 9-12-06)
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Everything is Relative
I thought I’d surprise Cris, Jennifer and their kids last night by bringing them some handmade dolmati when I dropped off my latest set of changes (I am *such* a difficult author). But when I drove up at 7:30, their truck was gone. I parked and hopped the wrought iron gate.
The solar lanterns were starting to glow—white spheres like nesting moons. The trees, quickly moving from emerald to shades of shadow, ring the property and hold up the sky. A darkling sky filled unexpectedly with huge crows or maybe ravens. There were dozens of them. Calling and soaring. Is it really called a “murder” of crows?
Someone called my name. Jennifer stood behind a copse of giant sunflowers, her six year old son, sleepy, his long hair cascading into hers, perched on her hip. He’s almost as tall as she is. She looks tired. In a few days (September 14), Windstorm will turn seventeen and Jennifer will turn thirty-three. Forgive me, Jennifer, but last night you looked older. Weary, my friend. Beneath the radiant fourteen foot sunflowers that she planted around the nine foot post of the Campus’ treasured clock, she looked so… done… and I know I was staring.
She asked me if I read “The News,” which is an incredible weekly newsletter that the Windstorm staff publishes for their contracted authors. It has pictures, features, columns, event reports, and all kinds of insider information that no other press would ever share with its authors. Not only do I never miss an issue of “The News,” but I know for a fact that more than three hundred authors download it every week and have for two years. I know, from interning at Windstorm, that authors adore “The News,” sending in tidbits to share, responding to articles, saying thank you, voting in its polls, and just value it incredibly. Why was Jennifer asking me this question?
“Did you like the photos of the sunflowers growing from seeds to bloom around the clock… or did you think that was just… stupid?” she asked.
That little light bulb lit up in my mind, and even as darkness fell around us, I saw everything clearly. The lanterns lit up around us and we sat down on the edge of a planter beside a patch of sleepy snapdragons.
Sometimes, when we pour our hearts into something, when we are as sincere and open as we know how to be, when we take time we don’t have to waste, when we create something that is a reflection of who we are and we hand it over to someone else, sometimes that someone will take that singular opportunity to drive a dagger through our heart. When we are most kind and sincere and honest, they perceive us as weak and attempt to seize the upper hand. They will try to break us to their will.
Sometimes, I told my publisher, when you show that a corporation has a human face, someone will slap it. And no, it certainly isn’t Christian, but it does seem to be an ugly part of human nature. Just because one author or artist or editor says, “Stop being sentimental, Jennifer. No one cares about the sunflowers.” that doesn’t mean that no one cares. It means that, that *one* person isn’t smart enough to understand that a publisher who plants the seeds of giant sunflowers and photographs them for her authors every week is the same kind of publisher who will work tirelessly to sell their books, sway their reviewers, strong-arm their distributors, and sacrifice, and fight for every advantage to achieve success. God is in the details. God is in the care a person takes.
Some day, someone will trash Mardi Gras 3000 so soundly that I’ll be speechless. They’ll say it takes too much time to prep. They’ll say it’s hard to master. They’ll say it isn’t as nice as the CCGs mass produced by Milton Bradley or whomever. They’ll say, “Good operating system, E.J., but the back story sucks.” Or just, “Waste of money. Skip it.”
And when that happens, Jennifer will walk the review to the shredder and micro-shred it into oblivion. She’ll turn to me, smile, shrug and say, “That’s just one opinion, E.J.. Just one stupid, little opinion.”
Don’t believe the words of stupid people, my friend. It’s their loss that they don’t recognize and value what you have built. They will fall into oblivion and your legacy—the one all of us authors (who love “The News”) are building with you—will only rise.
E.J.
The solar lanterns were starting to glow—white spheres like nesting moons. The trees, quickly moving from emerald to shades of shadow, ring the property and hold up the sky. A darkling sky filled unexpectedly with huge crows or maybe ravens. There were dozens of them. Calling and soaring. Is it really called a “murder” of crows?
Someone called my name. Jennifer stood behind a copse of giant sunflowers, her six year old son, sleepy, his long hair cascading into hers, perched on her hip. He’s almost as tall as she is. She looks tired. In a few days (September 14), Windstorm will turn seventeen and Jennifer will turn thirty-three. Forgive me, Jennifer, but last night you looked older. Weary, my friend. Beneath the radiant fourteen foot sunflowers that she planted around the nine foot post of the Campus’ treasured clock, she looked so… done… and I know I was staring.
She asked me if I read “The News,” which is an incredible weekly newsletter that the Windstorm staff publishes for their contracted authors. It has pictures, features, columns, event reports, and all kinds of insider information that no other press would ever share with its authors. Not only do I never miss an issue of “The News,” but I know for a fact that more than three hundred authors download it every week and have for two years. I know, from interning at Windstorm, that authors adore “The News,” sending in tidbits to share, responding to articles, saying thank you, voting in its polls, and just value it incredibly. Why was Jennifer asking me this question?
“Did you like the photos of the sunflowers growing from seeds to bloom around the clock… or did you think that was just… stupid?” she asked.
That little light bulb lit up in my mind, and even as darkness fell around us, I saw everything clearly. The lanterns lit up around us and we sat down on the edge of a planter beside a patch of sleepy snapdragons.
Sometimes, when we pour our hearts into something, when we are as sincere and open as we know how to be, when we take time we don’t have to waste, when we create something that is a reflection of who we are and we hand it over to someone else, sometimes that someone will take that singular opportunity to drive a dagger through our heart. When we are most kind and sincere and honest, they perceive us as weak and attempt to seize the upper hand. They will try to break us to their will.
Sometimes, I told my publisher, when you show that a corporation has a human face, someone will slap it. And no, it certainly isn’t Christian, but it does seem to be an ugly part of human nature. Just because one author or artist or editor says, “Stop being sentimental, Jennifer. No one cares about the sunflowers.” that doesn’t mean that no one cares. It means that, that *one* person isn’t smart enough to understand that a publisher who plants the seeds of giant sunflowers and photographs them for her authors every week is the same kind of publisher who will work tirelessly to sell their books, sway their reviewers, strong-arm their distributors, and sacrifice, and fight for every advantage to achieve success. God is in the details. God is in the care a person takes.
Some day, someone will trash Mardi Gras 3000 so soundly that I’ll be speechless. They’ll say it takes too much time to prep. They’ll say it’s hard to master. They’ll say it isn’t as nice as the CCGs mass produced by Milton Bradley or whomever. They’ll say, “Good operating system, E.J., but the back story sucks.” Or just, “Waste of money. Skip it.”
And when that happens, Jennifer will walk the review to the shredder and micro-shred it into oblivion. She’ll turn to me, smile, shrug and say, “That’s just one opinion, E.J.. Just one stupid, little opinion.”
Don’t believe the words of stupid people, my friend. It’s their loss that they don’t recognize and value what you have built. They will fall into oblivion and your legacy—the one all of us authors (who love “The News”) are building with you—will only rise.
E.J.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Set the Board, Set the Mood
The penultimate round of play testing was on Friday. It included all new testers including a mix of players who had never played a CCG before and players who had done the tourney circuit with Magic. Nice way to shake things up, I thought. The changes added at the 11th hour tested out beautifully and enthusiasm for the game was unbelievable. There’s that saying, “The excitement was palpable.” I never understood before what that meant. Now I do. We have players come in utterly uninterested in the game and walk out in character, obsessed, entranced. The shake-and-bake of religion, passion, battle, strategy seems to work with everyone, bar none, with no exception because of a person’s own religious background, race, gaming attitude or experience, etc. This is amazing to me.
I know that play testing is primarily a way to test the system itself. So it should be Jennifer who is so nervous, you know? It’s her math skills, her operating system, that players are so actively trying to poke holes in. In most cases they don’t even know that the auburn haired woman standing in the room is the creator of the OS. She watches with hawk eyes. Flawless, Jennifer. It’s flawless.
But for me, the players are testing something else. The story. The world. The atmosphere of the game. Why play just to play? I want people to play because they want the Grail. They want that victory, even if it is an “imaginary” one. Because it isn’t imaginary when you allow yourself to be immersed. It feels real and alive. I want to see non-believers—be they atheists or non-gamers—falling for Mardi Gras. Not because I want the royalty, but because I want to know that the idea captivates. If they’re not won over by the CCG, do they look to the novels? It’s the universe of Mardi Gras that I’m living in right now in all its incarnations.
I’m not talking about market share, you know? I’m talking about, I’ve got this great idea, and other people are adding to it. And it’s growing. Don’t you want to hear about it? Don’t you want to know... everything... about it? I do. Come with me.
Unlike other CCGs, you can’t just quick-quick pick up a stack of MG3K cards and start playing. You have to set the board. Yes, there will be preset, preprinted boards in the near future, but they don’t have the same appeal to me. Setting the MG3K board takes time because, during that time, players are building the atmosphere in the room, between the two (or more) of them, and setting the feeling for the entire game. Win the game in three moves or thirty moves, the way you set the board determines how aggressive or passive the game play is. I have never seen anyone play the game who doesn’t role play and posture in character. The level of “smack talking” is more literate than I’ve ever heard and often flipping hilarious. And it all begins as players set the board.
Not to get too deep, you know, but isn’t that just like life? The way you set your board influences everything that follows. Terrapyres play for duty and dedication. Celestials play for domination and to stop destruction. They both play for survival.
Why do you play?
E.J.
I know that play testing is primarily a way to test the system itself. So it should be Jennifer who is so nervous, you know? It’s her math skills, her operating system, that players are so actively trying to poke holes in. In most cases they don’t even know that the auburn haired woman standing in the room is the creator of the OS. She watches with hawk eyes. Flawless, Jennifer. It’s flawless.
But for me, the players are testing something else. The story. The world. The atmosphere of the game. Why play just to play? I want people to play because they want the Grail. They want that victory, even if it is an “imaginary” one. Because it isn’t imaginary when you allow yourself to be immersed. It feels real and alive. I want to see non-believers—be they atheists or non-gamers—falling for Mardi Gras. Not because I want the royalty, but because I want to know that the idea captivates. If they’re not won over by the CCG, do they look to the novels? It’s the universe of Mardi Gras that I’m living in right now in all its incarnations.
I’m not talking about market share, you know? I’m talking about, I’ve got this great idea, and other people are adding to it. And it’s growing. Don’t you want to hear about it? Don’t you want to know... everything... about it? I do. Come with me.
Unlike other CCGs, you can’t just quick-quick pick up a stack of MG3K cards and start playing. You have to set the board. Yes, there will be preset, preprinted boards in the near future, but they don’t have the same appeal to me. Setting the MG3K board takes time because, during that time, players are building the atmosphere in the room, between the two (or more) of them, and setting the feeling for the entire game. Win the game in three moves or thirty moves, the way you set the board determines how aggressive or passive the game play is. I have never seen anyone play the game who doesn’t role play and posture in character. The level of “smack talking” is more literate than I’ve ever heard and often flipping hilarious. And it all begins as players set the board.
Not to get too deep, you know, but isn’t that just like life? The way you set your board influences everything that follows. Terrapyres play for duty and dedication. Celestials play for domination and to stop destruction. They both play for survival.
Why do you play?
E.J.
Friday, September 08, 2006
At the Intersection, A Crash
I wrote yesterday’s blog in my “common place” book sitting at a Starbucks in Gig Harbor, Washington. I felt angry, sad, helpless, courageous, righteous, alone. By the time I drove home (about an hour) I was no longer certain that I wanted to make my thoughts public. I called Cris and read her the blog.
“What do you think?” I asked anxiously. “Too intense?”
She laughed in a kind way, sort of husky and warm. “The blog is perfect, EJ. But I think you should read it to your mom and Solin before you post it.”
Oh. Right. That never occurred to me. I never considered that maybe I should have changed or omitted *their* names as well (and after speaking with them, I didn’t. As a matter of fact, all my mother said was, “Do you really think I’m still wiry?” And Solin just chuckled and told me hilarious stories about my father as a boy.).
So, I typed up the blog and, before I went to post it, I decided to go lurk my own forum (why not?). I got so engaged that before I knew it I was posting away on the boards. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized that one of the issues that had come up on the boards was racism. Do Celestials and Terrapyres hate each other, like, genetically, or are they simply taught to hate each other? I rattled off what I thought was a good answer.
But, you know what, racism (hate, ignorance, etc.) isn’t a simple issue and it doesn’t have simple answers. Just as Celestials = Evil, or Terrapyres = Good, isn’t correct. I spent all day at the downtown Seattle library really looking for answers that were beyond the surface (the skin) of the issue.
Strangely, the book that struck me more than any other was “Game Theory,” by Morton D. Davis (which is a book Jennifer actually lent me a few weeks ago) published by Dover. In the book, Davis writes of a 1978 article by John Maynard Smith. Davis (paraphrasing Smith) winds up describing the Celestial and Terrapyre condition perfectly in a “very unusual” application of game theory in which creatures choose sophisticated strategies that enable them to survive as a species.
Davis writes: “The fitness of a species, also, is its ability to survive.” Altruistic tendencies can be an inherited trait. It is as though the “invisible hand” that often effects economics can also be applied to some unknown/unseen creator who “weaves individual behavior into behavior patterns for the entire species.” Explained specifically to MG3K:
The desire to fight is a desire Celestials pass on genetically because it is a trait that benefits the survival of the species. And don’t jump to the conclusion that a “warrior” trait would lead, ultimately, to the demise of the warriors all together. The ratio of offspring to individuals lost to their own patriotism would still favor the survival of the warrior class. The same is true for Terrapyres: The desire to protect the Grail for Christ would be an altruistic trait.
These survival ratio models are quoted by Davis as described by William D. Hamilton (1964).
Simply put, it would be very, very, very rare for a Terrapyre or a Celestial *not* to want to fight the “opposing side.” Their very genes demand the survival of their species.
To really delve into this—and it is fascinating—go further and read about Smith’s dove and hawk theory. It truly is unexpected and amazing. When we’re down to the wire, when the chips are really down, when the Grail itself and survival at large is at stake, the hawks will prevail.
Not very (human) Christian, I know, with no meek inheriting the Earth, but in terms of animal survival—and Immortals, to me, fall into the animal (primal) category more so than humans—these are the models we’re dealing with.
E.J.
“What do you think?” I asked anxiously. “Too intense?”
She laughed in a kind way, sort of husky and warm. “The blog is perfect, EJ. But I think you should read it to your mom and Solin before you post it.”
Oh. Right. That never occurred to me. I never considered that maybe I should have changed or omitted *their* names as well (and after speaking with them, I didn’t. As a matter of fact, all my mother said was, “Do you really think I’m still wiry?” And Solin just chuckled and told me hilarious stories about my father as a boy.).
So, I typed up the blog and, before I went to post it, I decided to go lurk my own forum (why not?). I got so engaged that before I knew it I was posting away on the boards. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized that one of the issues that had come up on the boards was racism. Do Celestials and Terrapyres hate each other, like, genetically, or are they simply taught to hate each other? I rattled off what I thought was a good answer.
But, you know what, racism (hate, ignorance, etc.) isn’t a simple issue and it doesn’t have simple answers. Just as Celestials = Evil, or Terrapyres = Good, isn’t correct. I spent all day at the downtown Seattle library really looking for answers that were beyond the surface (the skin) of the issue.
Strangely, the book that struck me more than any other was “Game Theory,” by Morton D. Davis (which is a book Jennifer actually lent me a few weeks ago) published by Dover. In the book, Davis writes of a 1978 article by John Maynard Smith. Davis (paraphrasing Smith) winds up describing the Celestial and Terrapyre condition perfectly in a “very unusual” application of game theory in which creatures choose sophisticated strategies that enable them to survive as a species.
Davis writes: “The fitness of a species, also, is its ability to survive.” Altruistic tendencies can be an inherited trait. It is as though the “invisible hand” that often effects economics can also be applied to some unknown/unseen creator who “weaves individual behavior into behavior patterns for the entire species.” Explained specifically to MG3K:
The desire to fight is a desire Celestials pass on genetically because it is a trait that benefits the survival of the species. And don’t jump to the conclusion that a “warrior” trait would lead, ultimately, to the demise of the warriors all together. The ratio of offspring to individuals lost to their own patriotism would still favor the survival of the warrior class. The same is true for Terrapyres: The desire to protect the Grail for Christ would be an altruistic trait.
These survival ratio models are quoted by Davis as described by William D. Hamilton (1964).
Simply put, it would be very, very, very rare for a Terrapyre or a Celestial *not* to want to fight the “opposing side.” Their very genes demand the survival of their species.
To really delve into this—and it is fascinating—go further and read about Smith’s dove and hawk theory. It truly is unexpected and amazing. When we’re down to the wire, when the chips are really down, when the Grail itself and survival at large is at stake, the hawks will prevail.
Not very (human) Christian, I know, with no meek inheriting the Earth, but in terms of animal survival—and Immortals, to me, fall into the animal (primal) category more so than humans—these are the models we’re dealing with.
E.J.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Rewriting the Rules Around Me
So much going on; my head is spinning. “Real life” threatens my singular focus on Mardi Gras.
As a teen, near Kapan, my mother’s nemesis was a boy named Jirayr. My mother was tall, wiry, independent and fierce (actually, she still is all of those things) and Jirayr was forever trying to put her “in her place,” which I assume means meek, subjective, and probably in love with him. Of course, my mother was only in love with Solin Duzian, the *daughter* of a local shepherd, and wasn’t aware of any young man on the planet other than the soft-spoken, admittedly beautiful, Poulon Angel, a constant tag-along who was, in turn, obsessed with and terrified by my intense, nutmeg-eyed, raven-haired mother-to-be.
Where was I going with this? Ah, yes.
So after forty-some years and the persuasive powers of Americanism, Jirayr and my mother no longer love to hate each other. As a matter of fact, when Jirayr’s son came out to him (yes, I have changed some names for this blog), Jirayr turned to my mom to help him sort out his feelings and figure out how they meshed with or didn’t mesh with their traditional Christian up-bringing. My mother, who to this day has a photo of (the adult) Solin on her dresser, was honored to provide a listening ear and speak about a Divine of love who refuses to be easily deciphered by human hands and minds.
Now Jirayr and his son have moved to Kitsap County in Washington State. They’re both American citizens and Jirayr’s son speaks flawless English, but, like me, and my parents, they are not white. Jirayr’s son has been unable to find a job. Is it his brown skin? Middle eastern name? Long hair? Is it the crummy economy? The weak retail market? Plain bad luck? I don’t know but the questions themselves have made me notice, made me hyper-aware, of the way people treat each other when they aren’t looking at a mirror image of themselves.
It stuns me the things people mutter under their breath or say out right. It’s disgusting. Are these ugly people even aware that they are bigots? Where is the fabled division of church and state, that whole reason this country was founded?
Today I worked in an industry (the gaming industry) where, to put it lightly, there aren’t a whole lot of brown women. (Any others?) I created mocks of the level up cards—like old time dance hall cards they’re signed by fellow players. Tomorrow, during two different work shifts, IDP staff will walk more play testers through the game (this time using the mocks which are new to the Starter Deck). I’m anticipating that all will go well but I’m nervous anyway.
In MG3K, race is not an issue. Terrapyres and Celestials come in all skin tones and orientations. Terrapyres and Celestials are above/beyond human racism and homophobia (yes, I consider those equally as heinous… go ahead and judge me, I’m cool with my God). I wish I could rewrite the rules of this world around me as easily as I update MG3K. I wish an intelligent, dedicated, well-spoken, handsome, brown-skinned young man could find a job in “rural” America, the great melting pot, at least a little easier than he might find (oh, I don’t know) the Holy Grail.
E.J.
As a teen, near Kapan, my mother’s nemesis was a boy named Jirayr. My mother was tall, wiry, independent and fierce (actually, she still is all of those things) and Jirayr was forever trying to put her “in her place,” which I assume means meek, subjective, and probably in love with him. Of course, my mother was only in love with Solin Duzian, the *daughter* of a local shepherd, and wasn’t aware of any young man on the planet other than the soft-spoken, admittedly beautiful, Poulon Angel, a constant tag-along who was, in turn, obsessed with and terrified by my intense, nutmeg-eyed, raven-haired mother-to-be.
Where was I going with this? Ah, yes.
So after forty-some years and the persuasive powers of Americanism, Jirayr and my mother no longer love to hate each other. As a matter of fact, when Jirayr’s son came out to him (yes, I have changed some names for this blog), Jirayr turned to my mom to help him sort out his feelings and figure out how they meshed with or didn’t mesh with their traditional Christian up-bringing. My mother, who to this day has a photo of (the adult) Solin on her dresser, was honored to provide a listening ear and speak about a Divine of love who refuses to be easily deciphered by human hands and minds.
Now Jirayr and his son have moved to Kitsap County in Washington State. They’re both American citizens and Jirayr’s son speaks flawless English, but, like me, and my parents, they are not white. Jirayr’s son has been unable to find a job. Is it his brown skin? Middle eastern name? Long hair? Is it the crummy economy? The weak retail market? Plain bad luck? I don’t know but the questions themselves have made me notice, made me hyper-aware, of the way people treat each other when they aren’t looking at a mirror image of themselves.
It stuns me the things people mutter under their breath or say out right. It’s disgusting. Are these ugly people even aware that they are bigots? Where is the fabled division of church and state, that whole reason this country was founded?
Today I worked in an industry (the gaming industry) where, to put it lightly, there aren’t a whole lot of brown women. (Any others?) I created mocks of the level up cards—like old time dance hall cards they’re signed by fellow players. Tomorrow, during two different work shifts, IDP staff will walk more play testers through the game (this time using the mocks which are new to the Starter Deck). I’m anticipating that all will go well but I’m nervous anyway.
In MG3K, race is not an issue. Terrapyres and Celestials come in all skin tones and orientations. Terrapyres and Celestials are above/beyond human racism and homophobia (yes, I consider those equally as heinous… go ahead and judge me, I’m cool with my God). I wish I could rewrite the rules of this world around me as easily as I update MG3K. I wish an intelligent, dedicated, well-spoken, handsome, brown-skinned young man could find a job in “rural” America, the great melting pot, at least a little easier than he might find (oh, I don’t know) the Holy Grail.
E.J.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Crunch some numbers, solve some problems, baby
Who was that famous poet or author who said, “I spent all morning taking a comma out and all afternoon putting it back in.”? That’s how I feel right now.
Originally, the Starter Deck didn’t come with a gaming board. MG3K isn’t a board game in that it doesn’t have a stagnant, preset board and you do work with handheld cards. It’s a CCG (collectible card game) but there’s also this amazing real-life movement aspect to the game play that rocks my world (though not as much as a steaming shot glass of thick Armenian coffee with cinnamon, nutmeg and half a pinch of all spice... Mom? Are you reading this? How about it? Dad? Anyone? Come on! It’s only one in the morning!!). So the board isn’t mandatory but it makes laying out pieces much easier.
Initially, IDP (Immortal Day Publishing, the gaming division of Windstorm) was going to offer Deluxe Gaming Mats (which is what I use—a red and black one) but their only supplier was demanding a starting print run of 15,000 and for a nonessential element that was steep. But the boards printed one at a time are $33!! At my urging, and because the boards are cross compatible with any Cardz2 game (of which there will be quite a few by the end of 2007), IDP listed the Deluxe Boards for $35 at their webcenter (22 x 22 inches, full-color, gloss laminated).
Enter Jeananne. A friend of my editor (Cris DiMarco) and Windstorm’s Art Director, Buster Blue, who is the design lead on MG3K. She played a few hands of MG3K with Cris (Cris beat her every time but she still loved the game) and wanted to send me a thank you for their great evening. She also felt pretty strongly that MG3K can NOT be easily played without a board. As a heretofore non-CCG players, she said it would have been daunting for her to envision the movement aspect of play without the gridlines of the board... but with the board (Cris has a purple and black Deluxe) it was simple. In the mail from Jeananne comes this amazing prototype of a 21 x 21 board that comes in four interlocking pieces – 10.5 x 10.5. Easy to manufacture. Easy to package. Same artwork options as the Deluxe. Love it.
So today...
“I spent all morning talking about making the MG3K Starter Deck package 12 x 12 and all afternoon talking about making the MG3K Starter Deck package 11 x 11.”
Hey, baby, this is the life ;)
E.J.
Originally, the Starter Deck didn’t come with a gaming board. MG3K isn’t a board game in that it doesn’t have a stagnant, preset board and you do work with handheld cards. It’s a CCG (collectible card game) but there’s also this amazing real-life movement aspect to the game play that rocks my world (though not as much as a steaming shot glass of thick Armenian coffee with cinnamon, nutmeg and half a pinch of all spice... Mom? Are you reading this? How about it? Dad? Anyone? Come on! It’s only one in the morning!!). So the board isn’t mandatory but it makes laying out pieces much easier.
Initially, IDP (Immortal Day Publishing, the gaming division of Windstorm) was going to offer Deluxe Gaming Mats (which is what I use—a red and black one) but their only supplier was demanding a starting print run of 15,000 and for a nonessential element that was steep. But the boards printed one at a time are $33!! At my urging, and because the boards are cross compatible with any Cardz2 game (of which there will be quite a few by the end of 2007), IDP listed the Deluxe Boards for $35 at their webcenter (22 x 22 inches, full-color, gloss laminated).
Enter Jeananne. A friend of my editor (Cris DiMarco) and Windstorm’s Art Director, Buster Blue, who is the design lead on MG3K. She played a few hands of MG3K with Cris (Cris beat her every time but she still loved the game) and wanted to send me a thank you for their great evening. She also felt pretty strongly that MG3K can NOT be easily played without a board. As a heretofore non-CCG players, she said it would have been daunting for her to envision the movement aspect of play without the gridlines of the board... but with the board (Cris has a purple and black Deluxe) it was simple. In the mail from Jeananne comes this amazing prototype of a 21 x 21 board that comes in four interlocking pieces – 10.5 x 10.5. Easy to manufacture. Easy to package. Same artwork options as the Deluxe. Love it.
So today...
“I spent all morning talking about making the MG3K Starter Deck package 12 x 12 and all afternoon talking about making the MG3K Starter Deck package 11 x 11.”
Hey, baby, this is the life ;)
E.J.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Immortals, Careers, and Greenmen
Today I struck up a conversation with a man on the Seattle/Bremerton ferry. His work, primarily, is to write ad copy for a large video game company in Washington. Over twin Doubleshots (caffeine, like cigarettes, make strange fellows... though, I must admit, I can’t stand cigarettes... but I won’t go on about it because addiction is addiction and anyone--me--who’ll pay $6 for a custom cup o' joe is addicted) we chatted amicably.
He told me he loves his job and I wondered why I wasn’t convinced after his bland work day description and its plethora of “if it only weren’t for”s. It reminded me of the old adage that creative people are supposed to use to remind themselves that every struggle is worth it, “I could always have been a (insert deplorable and hideously demeaning job here)!"
I guess I’m pretty picky about the perfect career which is why, at past twenty-five, I feel like I’m just now starting to solve this puzzle. I want it just so. I want a publisher who is big but small, has lots of money but is insanely careful with it (because “spending” doesn’t equal “marketing,” thank you very much), and whose corporate Campus might very likely be haunted by Greenmen.
Okay. So “haunted” isn’t the right word. They aren’t dead. Not nearly. Actually, maybe they’re Immortal like Celestials and Terrapyres. Maybe these Greenmen have lived in Banner Forest (which borders the eastern edge of the Windstorm Campus) for generations and now they’re starting to creep out of the dense woods into the almost as dense cedars, alders, birch and spruce that tightly circle the Campus.
I’ve seen them myself. Not spectral, not entirely benevolent, fully living creatures, up-right like us, forever just outside my field of vision until I turn directly toward them and there’s only trees and ferns and huckleberry branches moving quietly in no apparent breeze.
There haven’t always been Greenmen on the Campus. They started appearing after an illegally off-leash dog got onto the property and slaughtered nine of the beloved rabbits that had, for two years, inhabited a meditative atrium for authors and staff. Despite legal action, the dog returned again and again. Small towns can mean limited resources and apathy always leads to a lack of personal responsibility.
Then the dog stopped coming. Was it the hundreds of dollars in tickets? Was it the threat of a date in court? Or fear that the law says, “Shoot the dog if it threatens your livestock”? Or maybe the dog stopped appearing at the same time that the Greenmen—slender, masculine, long-haired bipeds drenched in foliage, wild and untamed—began to appear.
Perhaps the Greenmen were there that horrible morning when two amazing women and their children were screaming and sobbing into the silent air. The only witnesses to the meaningless destruction of lives that meant so much joy to so many people.
Maybe, when the human world doesn’t do right by its own, when politics and lies form obstacles, and grief and fear go unresolved, maybe then, sometimes, other creatures—ethereal, powerful, unknowable—step in to make justice.
E.J.
He told me he loves his job and I wondered why I wasn’t convinced after his bland work day description and its plethora of “if it only weren’t for”s. It reminded me of the old adage that creative people are supposed to use to remind themselves that every struggle is worth it, “I could always have been a (insert deplorable and hideously demeaning job here)!"
I guess I’m pretty picky about the perfect career which is why, at past twenty-five, I feel like I’m just now starting to solve this puzzle. I want it just so. I want a publisher who is big but small, has lots of money but is insanely careful with it (because “spending” doesn’t equal “marketing,” thank you very much), and whose corporate Campus might very likely be haunted by Greenmen.
Okay. So “haunted” isn’t the right word. They aren’t dead. Not nearly. Actually, maybe they’re Immortal like Celestials and Terrapyres. Maybe these Greenmen have lived in Banner Forest (which borders the eastern edge of the Windstorm Campus) for generations and now they’re starting to creep out of the dense woods into the almost as dense cedars, alders, birch and spruce that tightly circle the Campus.
I’ve seen them myself. Not spectral, not entirely benevolent, fully living creatures, up-right like us, forever just outside my field of vision until I turn directly toward them and there’s only trees and ferns and huckleberry branches moving quietly in no apparent breeze.
There haven’t always been Greenmen on the Campus. They started appearing after an illegally off-leash dog got onto the property and slaughtered nine of the beloved rabbits that had, for two years, inhabited a meditative atrium for authors and staff. Despite legal action, the dog returned again and again. Small towns can mean limited resources and apathy always leads to a lack of personal responsibility.
Then the dog stopped coming. Was it the hundreds of dollars in tickets? Was it the threat of a date in court? Or fear that the law says, “Shoot the dog if it threatens your livestock”? Or maybe the dog stopped appearing at the same time that the Greenmen—slender, masculine, long-haired bipeds drenched in foliage, wild and untamed—began to appear.
Perhaps the Greenmen were there that horrible morning when two amazing women and their children were screaming and sobbing into the silent air. The only witnesses to the meaningless destruction of lives that meant so much joy to so many people.
Maybe, when the human world doesn’t do right by its own, when politics and lies form obstacles, and grief and fear go unresolved, maybe then, sometimes, other creatures—ethereal, powerful, unknowable—step in to make justice.
E.J.
Monday, September 04, 2006
I am dead.
How’s that for melodramatic? For the last thirty-six hours I’ve done nothing but proof the Mardi Gras 3000 cards. I’m talking coffee, espresso, Red Bull, Coke a Cola, gatah and Frappuccino. No sleep. No breaks. Just me courting my anal retentive, oppressive compulsive, nit-picky side. This is the eleventh hour. Any changes to the Limited Edition of the cards had to be done now or never. I didn’t put it off but I wanted to weigh everything and test different structures by mocking up various Beta Deck cards. I was lucky enough to have Jennifer and Cris, of course. But they’ve got more than two hundred authors to work with plus the general business of running the staff and a household and home-schooling two gifted kids with special (medical) needs. Okay. So, they were great at making sure I didn’t just curl up into the fetal position but they couldn’t be too hand-holdy.
Was this my first real taste of work? I thought the creative building was demanding—the research, balancing the teams, balancing the Skills, reviewing the artwork, talking with the art techs, creating notes for the layout team, anticipating the “extras” that players will need, writing (and rewriting) instructions, play testing for ideas, play testing to find errors. This fine tuning was brutal. I had to make myself finally let go. Get up and walk away from the table. I’m really pleased with the end result. Now I want nothing more than to sleep... then to hold the final cards in my hands.
Wonder what’s up over at the forum? Perhaps my father is still the last registered user. LOL. Nah. I think I’ll sleep a little first.
Was this my first real taste of work? I thought the creative building was demanding—the research, balancing the teams, balancing the Skills, reviewing the artwork, talking with the art techs, creating notes for the layout team, anticipating the “extras” that players will need, writing (and rewriting) instructions, play testing for ideas, play testing to find errors. This fine tuning was brutal. I had to make myself finally let go. Get up and walk away from the table. I’m really pleased with the end result. Now I want nothing more than to sleep... then to hold the final cards in my hands.
Wonder what’s up over at the forum? Perhaps my father is still the last registered user. LOL. Nah. I think I’ll sleep a little first.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Is a Dream Your Heart Makes
I'm getting ahead of myself, right? I'm assuming that you all know the best part of me (you've all played MG3K) but that can't be true. The game (it's so much more) hasn't even shipped yet. So unless you're one of the play testers, you must be wondering, "Who is this chick and when is she going to start talking about fragging some space alien?" Because that's what "gamer grrl" means now a days, right? A chick console junkie?
Okay, so I'm a "gamer grrl" as in a "kick butt, CCG designing young woman with a healthy attitude toward competition and a passion for what she does." Better definition? Hey, I'd love to be great at fragging space aliens, driving digital race cars or slaying zombies, but I'm all thumbs. But if you need a number crunching, mythology spouting, scripture quoting gamer geek with a motorcycle and a d6 in her tight jeans pocket... I'm your grrl.
So, in short: I'm E.J. Angel, a newly minted game designer of card games. I didn't have to fight my way to the top. I don't have a single rejection letter. I quietly did the con circuit and pitched my first idea not as a game but as an interactive universe with a CCG at its heart. I gathered the feedback, made changes, and took my game to the only publisher I can imagine working with: Immortal Day Publishing, owned and run by the two most loved or hated women in independent publishing, Jennifer and Cris DiMarco. I never intended to take Mardi Gras 3000 to anyone else because I've worked for the DiMarcos, I know their business from the inside, from behind closed doors, and I know they rock.
September 1, 2006, we began the process. I have final say on how the marketing money is spent and a full accounting of every penny. I can view the account statement online (how's that for control?) and request spending I need (on top of what is already being done). Anthologies, novellas, cards, an RPG... films, artwork, forums... The MG3K world is one of Immortals who are much more than the shape-shifters and vampires that they appear to be on the very surface. With the CCG players and the votary authors (see Fandom Press at www.windstormcreative.com/fandom/) MG3K is a universe of Fallen Angels, battles for the Grail and a race against time until the Second Coming. It isn't a "Christian" game, though I am a Christian. It's a game of religion, mythology and strategy. It's a fully interactive universe that is being built by the players and writers as much as by me. Welcome to Mardi Gras, friends.
...So I started to dream. I started to dream about the astronomical clock in Prague. I didn't know then (I didn't remember) where I had seen it as a child. My parents couldn't place where I could have seen it (it had never captured them as it captured me). I started to sketch faces in masks. It was Festival in Venice. They were scary faces. Composed but with burning eyes. I saw them like I see strangers when I go clubbing to dance and lose myself in the music. Not fellow dancers, rediscovering their center in the power of the bass line and in the freedom of movement, but those who stand in the shadows, not drinking, not talking, just watching. I never drink but I do club to dance. What else is there? They stand there and they aren't wearing masks but they are. Their eyes burn, like the after images of strobes.
I started to write a list of names. One for each letter of the alphabet. These were my fellow dancers. They were alive, wild, fierce. They were faithful. They were passionate. Elijah, Chorus, Queen, Angelus, Darkling, Midnight.
The two creatures became inseparable. Two halves of the same experience.
I met with Jennifer (again over coffee) at a con. She was there to grace a few panels, just one afternoon. I was stalking her. I wanted to catch her without appointments, without her little ones on her knees, without her focused scowl or driven work day demeanor. I wanted her over a cup of hot coffee and a Lemon Bumblebar to just listen to me. If she fell in love, if she saw the endless possibilities of an interactive universe that only *began* as a CCG... she did.
Once, when Jennifer was mad at me, we were at a carnival. I don't want her mad at me because her woman is my best friend and that's just bad mojo. Also, I admire Jennifer (yeah, obviously) for everything she has accomplished, for the garbage she takes on a daily basis from ignorant people who don't believe (in any number of things, in anything), for speaking smoothly with words like "elucidate" and "mythos." So we were at a carnival, a fair, with cotton candy and dart booths. I did something inappropriate, a joke, and Jennifer spun on her heel midthrow and hit me in the butt with a dart. *Not* playfully. It went through my jeans and into my wallet.
Jennifer doesn't roll over and take anything from anybody and she has a very, very long memory. But she fell so hard for Mardi Gras, I walked away from that table with a first date blush.
My months working on the "Alpha" and "Beta" decks of MG3K have been heaven and hell. I never hesitated to stay up all night with Cris and play test. Listening to feedback from players until I threw up from nervousness. Maybe this dream is so raw and real for me because it came later in my life. I'm not someone who has always known, forever dreamed of this, but I know now that game design is what I'm supposed to do. It's my impassioned path. It's so much more than casual entertainment. It's immersive.
I know that eventually I'll be able to blog about my mundane daily events--cooking gatah with my mother, playing "Chaos Bleeds" with Cris--but right now it still feels so surreal. Forgive me for being so... honest.
I suppose melodrama will only get a person a dart in the end.
E.J.
Okay, so I'm a "gamer grrl" as in a "kick butt, CCG designing young woman with a healthy attitude toward competition and a passion for what she does." Better definition? Hey, I'd love to be great at fragging space aliens, driving digital race cars or slaying zombies, but I'm all thumbs. But if you need a number crunching, mythology spouting, scripture quoting gamer geek with a motorcycle and a d6 in her tight jeans pocket... I'm your grrl.
So, in short: I'm E.J. Angel, a newly minted game designer of card games. I didn't have to fight my way to the top. I don't have a single rejection letter. I quietly did the con circuit and pitched my first idea not as a game but as an interactive universe with a CCG at its heart. I gathered the feedback, made changes, and took my game to the only publisher I can imagine working with: Immortal Day Publishing, owned and run by the two most loved or hated women in independent publishing, Jennifer and Cris DiMarco. I never intended to take Mardi Gras 3000 to anyone else because I've worked for the DiMarcos, I know their business from the inside, from behind closed doors, and I know they rock.
September 1, 2006, we began the process. I have final say on how the marketing money is spent and a full accounting of every penny. I can view the account statement online (how's that for control?) and request spending I need (on top of what is already being done). Anthologies, novellas, cards, an RPG... films, artwork, forums... The MG3K world is one of Immortals who are much more than the shape-shifters and vampires that they appear to be on the very surface. With the CCG players and the votary authors (see Fandom Press at www.windstormcreative.com/fandom/) MG3K is a universe of Fallen Angels, battles for the Grail and a race against time until the Second Coming. It isn't a "Christian" game, though I am a Christian. It's a game of religion, mythology and strategy. It's a fully interactive universe that is being built by the players and writers as much as by me. Welcome to Mardi Gras, friends.
...So I started to dream. I started to dream about the astronomical clock in Prague. I didn't know then (I didn't remember) where I had seen it as a child. My parents couldn't place where I could have seen it (it had never captured them as it captured me). I started to sketch faces in masks. It was Festival in Venice. They were scary faces. Composed but with burning eyes. I saw them like I see strangers when I go clubbing to dance and lose myself in the music. Not fellow dancers, rediscovering their center in the power of the bass line and in the freedom of movement, but those who stand in the shadows, not drinking, not talking, just watching. I never drink but I do club to dance. What else is there? They stand there and they aren't wearing masks but they are. Their eyes burn, like the after images of strobes.
I started to write a list of names. One for each letter of the alphabet. These were my fellow dancers. They were alive, wild, fierce. They were faithful. They were passionate. Elijah, Chorus, Queen, Angelus, Darkling, Midnight.
The two creatures became inseparable. Two halves of the same experience.
I met with Jennifer (again over coffee) at a con. She was there to grace a few panels, just one afternoon. I was stalking her. I wanted to catch her without appointments, without her little ones on her knees, without her focused scowl or driven work day demeanor. I wanted her over a cup of hot coffee and a Lemon Bumblebar to just listen to me. If she fell in love, if she saw the endless possibilities of an interactive universe that only *began* as a CCG... she did.
Once, when Jennifer was mad at me, we were at a carnival. I don't want her mad at me because her woman is my best friend and that's just bad mojo. Also, I admire Jennifer (yeah, obviously) for everything she has accomplished, for the garbage she takes on a daily basis from ignorant people who don't believe (in any number of things, in anything), for speaking smoothly with words like "elucidate" and "mythos." So we were at a carnival, a fair, with cotton candy and dart booths. I did something inappropriate, a joke, and Jennifer spun on her heel midthrow and hit me in the butt with a dart. *Not* playfully. It went through my jeans and into my wallet.
Jennifer doesn't roll over and take anything from anybody and she has a very, very long memory. But she fell so hard for Mardi Gras, I walked away from that table with a first date blush.
My months working on the "Alpha" and "Beta" decks of MG3K have been heaven and hell. I never hesitated to stay up all night with Cris and play test. Listening to feedback from players until I threw up from nervousness. Maybe this dream is so raw and real for me because it came later in my life. I'm not someone who has always known, forever dreamed of this, but I know now that game design is what I'm supposed to do. It's my impassioned path. It's so much more than casual entertainment. It's immersive.
I know that eventually I'll be able to blog about my mundane daily events--cooking gatah with my mother, playing "Chaos Bleeds" with Cris--but right now it still feels so surreal. Forgive me for being so... honest.
I suppose melodrama will only get a person a dart in the end.
E.J.
Friday, September 01, 2006
4... 3... 2... 1! We have launch!
It's hard to believe that the day is finally here. No, not the day that my first game ships, but the day that my website (and blog and forum) opens. www.windstormcreative.com/angel/ is now online. The site is hosted by Windstorm Creative, the parent company of my publisher (Immortal Day Publishing), and I got to work with their Art Director Buster Blue (love him and his name) on the design. Buster was the lead designer on the Mardi Gras 3000 Starter Deck (www.windstormcreative.com/immortal/25335.htm) and all but one of the boosters so I already knew I'd adore working with him.
With millions of MySpace sites popping up like magic mushrooms after a rain, it might seem a bit ludicrous for me to be sweating a homepage but this is really more symbolic to me. This is my new life now, as a game designer. This is where it all begins and I couldn't be surrounded with more passionate and gentle people.
It started with math, of course. Two women, drinking espresso with cinnamon at close to midnight, swapping stories of mathematical pratfalls and triumphs. That might sound dry if you've never sat across a table from Jennifer DiMarco. She could talk in binary code and you'd be riveted, you know the type?
So there was Jennifer, a fiery, dynamic, Italian thirty-something mom of two, published SF/F novelist, playwright, and poet. She's also the CEO/owner of Windstorm, an independent press, and a certified math whiz. People love or hate Jennifer. There's no Board of Directors at Windstorm. Jennifer calls the shots. And people in power are never universally adored. But here's the rub: She's always right. She's uncanny right. Spooky right. When independent presses are folding left and right, Windstorm will be celebrating seventeen years on September 14. How does that rock?
I was sitting across from her. A twenty-something, sometime mural painter, sometime theatre actor, all the time loving daughter to my globe-trotting parents. I have things in common with Jennifer--my best friend, author Cris DiMarco, is her partner of twelve years; we're both swing voters; we're both New Testament Christians (the type that would wear a tee that reads: What Would Jesus Do? He'd Kick Your Hypocritical Butt); we both love boxing, and we both love math.
That night, almost as an aside, Jennifer told me about an operating system for collectible card games. Not a game itself--as one might expect a SF/F author to come up with--but the OS, how the cards would interact and how games could be built on the system. Jennifer's system could be used for handheld games or board games, or a combination of the two. It was a clean and beautiful system with perfect charts all in her head but effortlessly translated to paper, complete with dozens of calculations. I was enthralled. Captivated.
If you don't love the purity of numbers, you may not understand, but to use a painting analogy, it was as though Jenn had handed me a blank canvas and a brush capable of instantly producing any color imaginable. After that night, I seriously couldn't eat, sleep or live my life without thinking about her system. I carried a "cheat sheet" of sorts in my jean's pocket, a basic description of the mechanics. I knew this was Big. That Big thing that I'd been waiting for without even knowing I was waiting. But what was I suppose to do with the system?
Then, I started having the dreams...
With millions of MySpace sites popping up like magic mushrooms after a rain, it might seem a bit ludicrous for me to be sweating a homepage but this is really more symbolic to me. This is my new life now, as a game designer. This is where it all begins and I couldn't be surrounded with more passionate and gentle people.
It started with math, of course. Two women, drinking espresso with cinnamon at close to midnight, swapping stories of mathematical pratfalls and triumphs. That might sound dry if you've never sat across a table from Jennifer DiMarco. She could talk in binary code and you'd be riveted, you know the type?
So there was Jennifer, a fiery, dynamic, Italian thirty-something mom of two, published SF/F novelist, playwright, and poet. She's also the CEO/owner of Windstorm, an independent press, and a certified math whiz. People love or hate Jennifer. There's no Board of Directors at Windstorm. Jennifer calls the shots. And people in power are never universally adored. But here's the rub: She's always right. She's uncanny right. Spooky right. When independent presses are folding left and right, Windstorm will be celebrating seventeen years on September 14. How does that rock?
I was sitting across from her. A twenty-something, sometime mural painter, sometime theatre actor, all the time loving daughter to my globe-trotting parents. I have things in common with Jennifer--my best friend, author Cris DiMarco, is her partner of twelve years; we're both swing voters; we're both New Testament Christians (the type that would wear a tee that reads: What Would Jesus Do? He'd Kick Your Hypocritical Butt); we both love boxing, and we both love math.
That night, almost as an aside, Jennifer told me about an operating system for collectible card games. Not a game itself--as one might expect a SF/F author to come up with--but the OS, how the cards would interact and how games could be built on the system. Jennifer's system could be used for handheld games or board games, or a combination of the two. It was a clean and beautiful system with perfect charts all in her head but effortlessly translated to paper, complete with dozens of calculations. I was enthralled. Captivated.
If you don't love the purity of numbers, you may not understand, but to use a painting analogy, it was as though Jenn had handed me a blank canvas and a brush capable of instantly producing any color imaginable. After that night, I seriously couldn't eat, sleep or live my life without thinking about her system. I carried a "cheat sheet" of sorts in my jean's pocket, a basic description of the mechanics. I knew this was Big. That Big thing that I'd been waiting for without even knowing I was waiting. But what was I suppose to do with the system?
Then, I started having the dreams...
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