Coming along. This will be another one of those ‘story stubs’. More figuring out a character than a true arc. I’ll wrap it up next week. I start counting the names on the wall. There are probably close to fifty years worth of autographs up here. Most are written in marker or ballpoint pen. There are a couple scrawled out in nail polish and lipstick. One signature is almost certainly written in mustard. At least I hope that’s mustard. I stop counting at forty seven and start looking for names I recognize. Most are completely Indecipherable. I stop trying to read them and start looking for empty spaces. Some small patch of wall that I can write in later.

Another multi-part story. This one will probably only be 2 or 3 parts at most. I had to cut it off here for reasons that will become obvious next week.

Best Scary Games - Half-Life 2, Doom 3, Aliens vs. Predator -1999 Half-Life 2 does so many things right. It is a fantastic action game that tells most of it’s story though the environment. The set pieces are satisfying and seem to have a purpose in the world. It can make you feel fragile and powerful all at once. It’s really just a great example of what can be done in the first person shooter genre. It is also terrifying. There is a discomfort woven into the fabric of Half-Life 2 that gnaws at you long after you shut it down. There are areas of flat out, jack in the box jump scares, but when the adrenaline stops pumping, you are left with a sense of crushing dread and hopelessness that few games are able to match. Sure a leaping, spider like, headcrab is immediately terrifying, but the implications of wretched stalkers, humans reduced to barely living automatons, is truly the stuff of nightmares.

{% raw %} {% endraw %}

A short little story. October is the month for scary things, so I thought this little idea that I had been playing with might fit. From crevasses and the dim crooks of tree roots we creep. From behind loose mounds of soil. From between the gaps of interlocked stones, careful not to disturb their delicate balance. For now. With dainty weaves and rolls we edge forward. And down. An unseen trickle beneath cover and shadow. Then a grain of sand is pressed free. Inertia broken. We add it to our unending crawl. New mass to unstick others from their place. Soon there is a rivulet of grit dragging against the base of pebbles and stones. The stones are lifted by our motion, buoyed upon countess crystalline teeth. We reverberate with the soft low hum of grinding silica. In time, more stones are joined to our effort. The hum becomes a growl. Our growl grows strong and vulgar. Grasses and flowers that we were once compelled to mince around, are now brought down and consumed by our accumulated bulk. We add cellulose fiber and oily paste to our own relentless flow. Now saplings and shrubs are bent and buried and torn from their purchase. Chunks of surface sedimentary and metamorphic begin to scrape and shift answering our call. They are grappled and devoured, augment to our unceasing motion. Our growl has become a roar. Deep and angry and hungry. We claw and tear at the trunks of mountain pines, stripping their bark and pummeling the bare wood until they finally acquiesces and tip to our will. The widespread roots we sheltered beneath are wrenched from the stoic rock bringing volumes of dirt and stone with them. With unstoppable power we scream downward, demanding that everything in our path surrender to us. To become us. Many tons matter are we. Blood and bone mingle with our tide of stone. Small darting things that flee our onslaught are destroyed. Far too slowly they move. Ground down to component materials. Lubricant to savage machinery. It is not with malice but resolution that we close on structures of wood and metal and glass. Small things flow from them silent compared to our rising timbre. Still compared to our deluge of movement. They become us. Hastened and absorbed. Embraced. We continue forward. No obstacles impede us. Nothing can slow our persistence. On we march to flatten mountains and displace lakes. Continents and oceans will relent to our force and only the morning will remain to witness what we have done.

Best Books - The Broken Earth series by N.K. Jemisin When I started doing Best Games posts, it was in an effort to advocate for good things. There so very many folks who like nothing more than to hate on stuff and, in the sphere of video games, the bad review has, and continues to be, a source of joy for that crowd. Don’t get me wrong. I have enjoyed some bad reviews. One of my favorite reviews ever compares FMV submarine adventure game Silent Steel unfavorably to the small pleasures of playing with a dry roasted peanut. It wasn’t the hate that made me like that bit of writing. It was the humour and the subtly implied acceptance that reviewing video games is, at heart, a silly profession. Being funny, playfully funny, isn’t simple. It takes work, practice, and a true love of the subject matter you are lampooning. Hating on a bad game isn’t funny. It isn’t fun. Regardless of the quality of the game, people put time and effort into it. Someone loved that concept enough to make it real. Just hating it is lazy. When faced with the product of someone else’s creative work, hate is insufficient. At least try to be clever.

a cycle ceaseless build, test, rebuild, test anew dev feeds one master ​

Best Games - Qix There are very few games that are so distilled, so conceptually pure, that adding anything at all reduces them. They become less perfect. Less good. Qix is the concept of risk versus reward manifest in vivid geometric patterns and the angry humming cracks of high voltage. The goal of Qix is to corral lightning. A beautiful but chaotic creature, the Qix, dominates the playfield. Every aspect of its design and movement speaks danger. A thing to be avoided. The game then forces you to enter into the domain of the Qix by sending unshakable pursuers down the digital fences you create. Pause even slightly, and new harassers form behind you. You must always move forward. The game gives you one choice.

I have changed the enemy system to use a combination of NavMesh and internal collision avoidance. The enemies can still be knocked around using the physics system and they can overshoot targets when they have built up too much inertia. So they can now navigate any level layout pretty reliably, but they still act like idiots if you fake them out, or push them around.

Done. Well sort of done. I wanted to write a story where two people go for a walk. That’s it. No heroics. No omens. No moral. No lessons learned. Just a walk. In a cave with a monster. So far, what I have been writing are sort of story stubs. Some small bit of concept or character that could be expanded into a better story, by a better writer (I’m talking to you future Owen, get on it). I think there are a few more story stubs I want to work on before writing something larger and more intricate. Until then, here you go.

This is Changelog 0001. I’m creating a new series of posts that should go up at least once a week. Changelog will be a quick writeup on the state of game development over here. It’s more for myself than anyone else, though you are welcome to read it. Just a simple entry describing any changes, additions, or struggles to/with game projects I’m working on. Occasionally words will be accompanied by pictures or videos. Won’t that be nice.

I thought that maybe this would be that last entry, but it looks like there will probably be one more. If you have been waiting for the end, you can probably skip this iteration.

we’re still not at the end. Might be a couple more entries. Let me know if this ‘a little at a time’ writing schedule is too jarring. I could imagine that most people would like to just read the whole thing in one go when it is all done (which is why I put these little blurbs at the top. So you know what weeks to skip if you are waiting for the end), but I also thought it might be an interesting document of the process. Each week, I change a little more of the previous entries. Not sure if that is the best way of working, but what the hell, it’s a lot better than thinking about writing stories and not doing it.

Still going. I’m probably at about the midpoint now, but we’ll see. There are always either more or less words than I anticipate between each natural stopping point. I could just stop mid sentence, but that doesn’t seem very reader friendly. So probably 2 more posts, maybe 3 before the conclusion?

we’re hitting the twist now. it might have started as a cute, first date story, but it’s gonna get weirder from here on out. The line shuffled forward a few steps and Kaitlin shuffled with them. She was fairly sure that she had forgotten how her knees worked. Was she being awkward? Maybe? Oh god, she was. She absolutely was being the most awkward. All she had to do was walk a few steps and not act like a doofus. Hundreds of times, many hundreds of times, she had stood in this same line in front of this same counter in this same coffee shop waiting for the same low V-neck wearing barista taking his slow ass time. Sometimes she felt tired or irritable, sometimes she felt rushed and overextended, but never awkward. Now she was feeling judgemental and guilty for feeling judgemental. Or maybe she just felt anxious. Did it show? Could Malcolm tell? He totally could. How could he not? Anxious was leaking out of her pores. She pressed her arms a little tighter to her sides so the smell of anxious couldn’t escape from her armpits.