One of the things we forget as we get older, is how terrifying childhood is. Or at the very least, reasonably uncomfortable. Case in point, lessons, about anything: swimming, reading, soccer, or in this case, ice skating.
I never took ice skating lessons as a kid, I think at one point my dad may have given me a pointers over a span of about 15 seconds. As he was an immigrant from a country where humidity meets monsoons, that was the entirety of his knowledge on the subject.
We have Owlet in classes, all that 'give your child the opportunities you never had' thing coming into play there. Thinking back, the only reason I didn't have this opportunity is that my parents were busy signing me up in all sorts of other activities to feel awkward and self-conscious about.To my everlasting regret, there was never a summer camp for 'sitting quietly in a corner, reading books while taking breaks to watch cartoons'.
So anyways, yes, it's difficult, this thing we call childhood. We adults are supposedly much more self-confident, assured, and generally stable in most ways of the world. And yet we put the children in situations where they have to show how clumsy and awkward they are to their peers, "what doesn't kill you will only emotionally scar you", I guess. It's a huge burden to put upon developing minds, I think. They don't know what they want to become or how to act or what to do in pretty much every situation and yet, here we go, new activity, fall down in front of your peers.
Which is one of the many reasons I decided to take skating lessons myself. The frequency with which I, all adult with a full-time job and a mortgage and life insurance and such and such am required to do anything remotely as uncomfortable as lessons I can count on the hand I use to count the number of times I'm required to get feminine products for Mrs. Owl. Which is vanishingly, and thankfully, small.
I go to the Owlet's lessons, I give all the encouragement any dad can reasonably offer without repeating himself or falling into Al Pacino "Any Given Sunday" territory, but I think it'll really help me if I put myself in the same situation.
It's much less rigid, adult lessons. They crammed the intermediate with the beginner. I'm somewhere in between, so that's fine. I can skate forwards and stop after a fashion. If the zombie apocalypse were to happen along a an improbably frozen river I think I'd do OK. If there was a social situation where the family were to skate I'd come off less well, though. I can't skate backwards, nor stop without losing a fair bit of dignity.
We all just mill about, trying things, and two to three instructors wander about giving us pointers and things to work on. I had my choice between a fairly cheerful woman who was impressively vague in her instruction or another young woman who's dourness denoted a lifetime in a war-torn country, a feeling that all this instructing stuff was a bit beneath her, or all the above. The dour one was actually pretty instructive but had the brusqueness of someone who, if they do not pencil in their eyebrows now, soon will and abhor anyone who goes above, say, 1100 calories per day.
The first lesson was excruciating because apparently rental skates vary widely in their fit. The ones I had had a previous life as the genocidal ruler of a country filled with compliant people, a non-existant embezzlement regulatory body, and a complete blind eye with regard to disappearing political dissidents. I want to say it tortured me, but there is something professional about that word that doesn't quite capture the enjoyment I imagine said skates extracted from my suffering.
My second lesson I happened upon a pair of skates whose sole purpose is not to inflict maximum, gleeful suffering from my body. It has other duties, like one skate being sharper than the other. It's better, much better actually, asking for a piece of wood to bite on while I skated was awkward for all involved. Still doesn't beat going on home and catching up on Transformers, though.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Saturday, February 09, 2013
Hotwheels
Owl Jr. is still very much into Thomas the Tank Engine. Periodically he'll ask me to read him the toy catalog, which I'll staunchly refuse the first 97 times.
But he has taken up Hotwheels to some extent. It does seem all hopelessly gender stereotypical but I suppose I'm just too old-fashioned, lazy, and cheap to get him the Mother Jones approved Green Nurture Truck from the Gaia Solar Empowered Rescue Team (made from carbon neutral renewable Fair Trade non-invasive species bamboo). Also, it means I can hand him down my Hotwheels. Likely made from lead-paint, cast from asbestos casts and formed from depleted uranium with a special DEET-infused glass for the windshield.
It's a bit of a trip to see him play with the milk truck tanker which I pretended to be a tanker with mini-laser turrets where the tank caps are. Or the grey funny car which quite EMPHATICALLY belonged to my brother. Or the 007 Aston Martin which even MORE emphatically belonged to my other brother. Or the Starsky and Hutch car before it was made into a ironic poorly made retro-movie callback.
He generally doesn't play with them all at once, or even many at once. He'll ask what they are called (the old, 'gotta read the bottom to find out what it's called' trick). And then he'll loyally haul that around for days and days. One of them was featured in a unabashedly toy tie-in book in which Hotwheels cars race while dinosaurs methodically take them all out. The blue car wins, which we, completely by luck, we happen to have. It's name is Tantrum, since it's not a real car, but some special weird made up car where they just let the Hotwheel's designers go nuts because I'm sure that's cheaper than licensing names.
Invariably, as ny 4 year old who hauls around one toy for days and days, he'll lose it. And then, for many more days than we'd have thought possible he'll wander around, like a Dickensian ghost, repeating "Where's Tantrum? I lost Tantrum... where's Tantrum?". It's a little unnerving bordering on aggravating. But it's matched by a nameless joy when he finally finds the damn car.
The naming cars things is understandable, but some of the cars don't actually have the name on the bottom, which is a minor sin, I think, and why Owl Jr. calls the generic stock car 'Thailand'. Others have convoluted names, like the full designation, wth all the X'es and numbers and dashes. I prefer something in between. 'Charger', is fine, "Charger XJ-29 2012 Limited Edition Nascar PRO wheel", is a bit much.
It's at this point thinking about cars that I kinda pine for the simple trains, with their names that were popular for British children's in the 40's: Thomas, Ferdinand, Percy. Even if they are featured in a product catalog masquerading, poorly, as a storybook.
But he has taken up Hotwheels to some extent. It does seem all hopelessly gender stereotypical but I suppose I'm just too old-fashioned, lazy, and cheap to get him the Mother Jones approved Green Nurture Truck from the Gaia Solar Empowered Rescue Team (made from carbon neutral renewable Fair Trade non-invasive species bamboo). Also, it means I can hand him down my Hotwheels. Likely made from lead-paint, cast from asbestos casts and formed from depleted uranium with a special DEET-infused glass for the windshield.
It's a bit of a trip to see him play with the milk truck tanker which I pretended to be a tanker with mini-laser turrets where the tank caps are. Or the grey funny car which quite EMPHATICALLY belonged to my brother. Or the 007 Aston Martin which even MORE emphatically belonged to my other brother. Or the Starsky and Hutch car before it was made into a ironic poorly made retro-movie callback.
He generally doesn't play with them all at once, or even many at once. He'll ask what they are called (the old, 'gotta read the bottom to find out what it's called' trick). And then he'll loyally haul that around for days and days. One of them was featured in a unabashedly toy tie-in book in which Hotwheels cars race while dinosaurs methodically take them all out. The blue car wins, which we, completely by luck, we happen to have. It's name is Tantrum, since it's not a real car, but some special weird made up car where they just let the Hotwheel's designers go nuts because I'm sure that's cheaper than licensing names.
Invariably, as ny 4 year old who hauls around one toy for days and days, he'll lose it. And then, for many more days than we'd have thought possible he'll wander around, like a Dickensian ghost, repeating "Where's Tantrum? I lost Tantrum... where's Tantrum?". It's a little unnerving bordering on aggravating. But it's matched by a nameless joy when he finally finds the damn car.
The naming cars things is understandable, but some of the cars don't actually have the name on the bottom, which is a minor sin, I think, and why Owl Jr. calls the generic stock car 'Thailand'. Others have convoluted names, like the full designation, wth all the X'es and numbers and dashes. I prefer something in between. 'Charger', is fine, "Charger XJ-29 2012 Limited Edition Nascar PRO wheel", is a bit much.
It's at this point thinking about cars that I kinda pine for the simple trains, with their names that were popular for British children's in the 40's: Thomas, Ferdinand, Percy. Even if they are featured in a product catalog masquerading, poorly, as a storybook.
Monday, February 04, 2013
PNE : 2010
This is a draft, one of many drafts on different topics I've found in my draft archives. This particular one is from 2010... Yowsa.
The PNE is the Pacific National Exhibition, which is a very Canadian and overly complicated way of saying 'State Fair'.
Owlet is four, if my math is right, which it rarely is. Owl Jr. is two, possibly/probably. There are rides of various speeds and sizes and death-defyingness, sweet and salty and questionable treats that all have ceased being technical 'food' during the long slow cost-cutting and profit maximization that is industrial food production and regulatory slackening which began in the 80's and has gone as unabated sales of Atlas Shrugged to undergraduate commerce majors.
Owlet is a smaller fireball, and I'm not sure how she'll take rides. They trundle and whizz and bang and some go at speeds which used to fill me with excitement but now just have me worrying about the frequency of federally mandated safety checks for semi-permanent carnival attractions.
We go through the gates and there's the big behemoth, I think it's called The Coaster, which, well, I don't know how the creative team at the PNE believes slapping some capitals on a noun makes for an iconic coaster name; but it's big and wooden and is old enough to be grandfathered through various safety protocols and the people exiting the ride look mostly like they are happy to have not required inadequate CPR from grossly underpaid transients and students, so it's probably a good coaster.
All you can really hear is the thunder and rattle of the cars as they whip through various turns and falls. And Owlet is sceaming.
In delight.
It's equal parts screaming and laughing and laughing screaming.
She has this frozen smile on her face with her mouth half way open and it's kind of heart breaking to take her to the tamer rides that appropriate for her age and size. But the various treats formerly known as foodstuffs are so chocked with sugar and chemicals that make reading it make me feel like I'm reading a Breaking Bad script that any sort of disappointment is quickly quelled into a stupor or euphoric, hopefully temporary, chemical dependence.
Owl Jr. is 2, so he's more incoherently manic about trains. There is this train ride, of course, that I'm pretty sure he'd trade us for in a heartbeat if that was legal and he had the proper documentation. His screams come, of course, when we try to remove him at the end of the ride. Two years on and he's pretty much the same way but he can grudgingly take a spin on a ride that has somehow managed to go under the radar of Disney's copyright lawyers. Yes, I'm sure there are other perfectly well known flying elephants, but I'm drawing a blank at the moment.
The PNE is the Pacific National Exhibition, which is a very Canadian and overly complicated way of saying 'State Fair'.
Owlet is four, if my math is right, which it rarely is. Owl Jr. is two, possibly/probably. There are rides of various speeds and sizes and death-defyingness, sweet and salty and questionable treats that all have ceased being technical 'food' during the long slow cost-cutting and profit maximization that is industrial food production and regulatory slackening which began in the 80's and has gone as unabated sales of Atlas Shrugged to undergraduate commerce majors.
Owlet is a smaller fireball, and I'm not sure how she'll take rides. They trundle and whizz and bang and some go at speeds which used to fill me with excitement but now just have me worrying about the frequency of federally mandated safety checks for semi-permanent carnival attractions.
We go through the gates and there's the big behemoth, I think it's called The Coaster, which, well, I don't know how the creative team at the PNE believes slapping some capitals on a noun makes for an iconic coaster name; but it's big and wooden and is old enough to be grandfathered through various safety protocols and the people exiting the ride look mostly like they are happy to have not required inadequate CPR from grossly underpaid transients and students, so it's probably a good coaster.
All you can really hear is the thunder and rattle of the cars as they whip through various turns and falls. And Owlet is sceaming.
In delight.
It's equal parts screaming and laughing and laughing screaming.
She has this frozen smile on her face with her mouth half way open and it's kind of heart breaking to take her to the tamer rides that appropriate for her age and size. But the various treats formerly known as foodstuffs are so chocked with sugar and chemicals that make reading it make me feel like I'm reading a Breaking Bad script that any sort of disappointment is quickly quelled into a stupor or euphoric, hopefully temporary, chemical dependence.
Owl Jr. is 2, so he's more incoherently manic about trains. There is this train ride, of course, that I'm pretty sure he'd trade us for in a heartbeat if that was legal and he had the proper documentation. His screams come, of course, when we try to remove him at the end of the ride. Two years on and he's pretty much the same way but he can grudgingly take a spin on a ride that has somehow managed to go under the radar of Disney's copyright lawyers. Yes, I'm sure there are other perfectly well known flying elephants, but I'm drawing a blank at the moment.
Saturday, February 02, 2013
The Chewy, Charry Bits
I'm at the last bit of my game, LaunchCraft. I still think I implemented it poorly, but I just want to be done with it. Which is a really crap reason for wanting to finish a game, but at this point I need any motivation to get through it. Game development is alot of pain working with obscure tools and uncertain documentation aimed at MIT compsci gradutates who read WC3 specs to wind down, I find.
To be more accurate, working with open source tools is like that. I could very well use any manner of commercial prodcuts to get my game done, and that would likely be the wiser course. But I have this thing for freedom, and have various, radical scenarios where entire swaths of my PC goes down, or companies dissolve, and then I have to rebuild whatever I was working on from scratch. With open source, that option is there. The code never dies. There's no company to die and leave you in the lurch. You can always work 'light'. That is, with as few dependencies on the nefarious commercial companies which have the habit of going out of business or discontinued whatever widget you are relying on.
Or maybe I'm just a not so disguised zealot.
But it means having to endure a lot of pain and feeling not entirely bright while trying to solve what you think is a pretty straightforward problem. The problem has been solved, but it's under a mountain of documentation, and even then you're better off peering at arcane source code written by the bright, genius sort of coders who find making game-frameworks to be just the sort of challenge they need between reading WC3 specifications.
It's humbling, to be sure.
Open source suffers for the same reason that Apple does so well. User interface design. In this case, as the programmer, I'm the user, trying to use different bits of code to make a game. Trying to make this bit of code work with this bit of code. Invariably the sort of people who write game frameworks (the bits I'm trying to tie together) can't conceive, or don't plan for, programmers like me who can't understand why there's no, say, simple way to pause the game, and will answer, in a slightly bewildered tone, an answer that is in no way obvious and involves using bits of code that I suspect were made by a malevolent AI bent on eventual human enslavement.
But it goes, it goes. Roughly.
To be more accurate, working with open source tools is like that. I could very well use any manner of commercial prodcuts to get my game done, and that would likely be the wiser course. But I have this thing for freedom, and have various, radical scenarios where entire swaths of my PC goes down, or companies dissolve, and then I have to rebuild whatever I was working on from scratch. With open source, that option is there. The code never dies. There's no company to die and leave you in the lurch. You can always work 'light'. That is, with as few dependencies on the nefarious commercial companies which have the habit of going out of business or discontinued whatever widget you are relying on.
Or maybe I'm just a not so disguised zealot.
But it means having to endure a lot of pain and feeling not entirely bright while trying to solve what you think is a pretty straightforward problem. The problem has been solved, but it's under a mountain of documentation, and even then you're better off peering at arcane source code written by the bright, genius sort of coders who find making game-frameworks to be just the sort of challenge they need between reading WC3 specifications.
It's humbling, to be sure.
Open source suffers for the same reason that Apple does so well. User interface design. In this case, as the programmer, I'm the user, trying to use different bits of code to make a game. Trying to make this bit of code work with this bit of code. Invariably the sort of people who write game frameworks (the bits I'm trying to tie together) can't conceive, or don't plan for, programmers like me who can't understand why there's no, say, simple way to pause the game, and will answer, in a slightly bewildered tone, an answer that is in no way obvious and involves using bits of code that I suspect were made by a malevolent AI bent on eventual human enslavement.
But it goes, it goes. Roughly.
Friday, February 01, 2013
1st Draft Birthday Cards
- Remember when you used to look forward to being one year older: more mature, more responsibilities and opportunities?
And now it's just hoping that the degeneration of your body isn't too catastrophic and that maybe you can make it to a peaceful death without smearing your name on the walls with your own feces?
Those were great times. - This card is made from pristine, supposedly protected redwoods of California. The image on the front is of a idyllic untouched coastal scene, though, so there's that.
- Another year older, another year wondering if that delightful absent-minded professor routine you've cultivated since 19 is really just masking advanced dementia.
- Well, you're well past ever making anything of yourself.
We love you anyways. Happy Birthday! - You know using today to get a free meal at Denny's means you've lost, in not an unsubstantial way, some very real points in life.
Breakfast all day though, have a great one! - Batmobile, Porsche, Ducati, European sports car, Japanese performance sedan, domestic sedan, sport wagon, mini-van. It's called the 'tactical withdrawal of life'.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! - You've now officially spent more time in your life struggling with 'mail merge' than you have spent laughing with your loved ones.
Milestones.
Happy Birthday buddy! - Broadly speaking, you've just turned up on the radar of nearly every actuarian.
Keep on trucking! - On balance, though, more of your friends are alive than dead, enjoy your youth, birthday boy!
- The prolonged eye contact with the cute store clerk isn't due to your dignified, Clooneyesque demeanour, it's because you've reached the age where you remind her of her dad.
- This is the year that the retirement home billboards take on a certain vicious significance. But you can still drive, happy birthday!
- The Classic Rock station doesn't even play music you recognize anymore. Have a corker!
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Christmas Family Letter 2012
If the world has not been consumed by whatever apocalyptic scenario a pre-industrial society that couldn't even be bothered to discover the wheel or pulley thought we'd encounter, then may this letter find you and yours well.
2012 has been an indecently busy year for the Family. Mrs. Owl has taken up full time work, as her part-time position disappeared when that facility switched contracting companies, in other words, the company that she worked for got fired from the company she actually worked for, it's like unemployment Inception. With full-time work she's exhausted and happy and busy and exhausted.
Relatedly, this year she's taken up running at ungodly hours of the morning with her neighbours and is enjoying that as well. I would say jogging but nobody says jogging anymore outside of retrospectives of the 80's, I think. It's more of a 'battling the decline of age' than a 'practicing for the Boston Marathon' type of running, which is good, because if it was the latter I'm sure we'd have to start eating muesli and sprouted grains.
She's also in a neighbourhood bookclub, basically a wine and cooler club that mentions a book in passing they might have all read at some point. It's more of a carousing club, to be honest, but that sounds like she goes to a Pirates of Penzance themed pub which she doesn't, that I'm aware of.
With Mrs. Owl going full-time the kids are going to full-time daycare. Well, Owl Jr. is in full-time daycare and Owlet is in pre and post school daycare. To them it's 'playtime with other kids when we don’t have to do schoolwork'. A net positive, I think.
Owlet turned six this year, and lost her first and second baby tooth. This is, I think you'll agree, absolutely impossible as last year she was two. But I'm assured by medical documents and Mrs. Owl that she is in fact six. Her adult teeth are coming in awkwardly and strange but that's what adult teeth are supposed to do and it's really just a precursor for the teen years so she might as well get used to it.
She's in a raft of activities. Moreso because she's the sort of kid who asks "What are we doing tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that". I foresee that when she's an adulthood she'll bring back the Rolodex. So, partly to assuage that never-ending guilt that we aren't enriching our children enough (like they are some sort of European breakfast cereal) and well, mainly because we felt we needed an answer to her planning queries, we signed her up for things.
Skating. She loves it and falls down an awful lot but keeps getting back up, usually with a smile on her face which is the most important thing in skating, and in life, I suppose.
Gymnastics. This is more of the same, running and tumbling and tumbling and falling and falling and whatever else. She usually asks when her 'performance' is which may mean she's far more Filipino than we suspected.
This brings us to her next activity, Music Theatre. It squishes dancing and acting and singing all into a Saturday of extracurricular goodness which seems alright. We do have to attend the season end performances which are great except you do have to watch the teen group do their thing and well teenagers trying to look cool and ironic while trying to do a scene from 'Annie' certainly redefines the definition of 'audience discomfort'.
She's started her first year of real school this year, with the Mandarin component. This aspect is primarily used to have her perform in front of relatives and friends which she, unaccountably, can become shy about. The school bit is good, she was frustrated it wasn't all play-time and fun and games but seems to have bounced back from the realization that she's in for a decade and a bit of raw drudgery, rather well.
Owlet is still the fireball she's always been. But now with more questions. Questions upon questions upon questions upon questions and I'm just glad I can access Wikipedia from my phone. We're trying to instill in her solid values, like getting up when you fall, never being afraid to ask questions, the indomitable power of perseverance, and all without referencing lines from "Batman Begins" or "Galaxy Quest". I'm finding the last bit pretty challenging.
Owl Jr. is four and is in full-time daycare, and has really opened up. He's gone from mostly sober to mostly... well, something like a pirate on Prozac who has just boarded your merchant vessel armed with a very large candy-cane and a train conductor's hat. Interacting with other kids on a daily basis seems to have been good for him. It has not decreased his near chemical dependence on trains and train-related things. It might be because his fellow daycare kids are also variously afflicted with this disease.
He started swimming this year that he's taken to fairly well. We'll be signing him up for more things as he gets older. I'm still getting over the shock that he's walking, so.. I might need some time to adjust.
Molly is now 8, middle-aged for her dog-size. She acts the matron of a newspaper established in 1855. Generally reserved, grudgingly affectionate, would rather spend the rest of the day in bed. We've gotten a dog walker to give her walks two days a week, which, given her rather pitiful stamina, seems more than enough. Mrs. Owl has just started taking her to work once a week, which lights up both the residents and Molly between their rather lengthy naps.
I am still, shockingly, I know, at the University. It's become a bit more staid and corporate and there is an endless stream of acronyms that sound impressive until you realize they've just renamed 'email'. It's all very formal and well-directed and there's lots of change going on as if people know what their doing and nevermind that the technology we're building and using didn't even exist when I graduated.
In my spare time I've taken to making video games, when I can kick myself into doing something constructive with my time. They are horrible, 1980's Atari-esque games with all the artistic sensibilities or a clipart laden intra-office Best Holiday Wishes email. But they fool me into thinking I'm productive so there's that, I suppose.
All in all an eventful year for the Family. We hope yours was, if not as eventful, then at least as happy, because if the Mayans have anything to say about it it'll be our last.
Happy Holidays,
Mrs. Owl, Mr. Owl, Owlet, Owl Jr., & (begrudgingly) Molly
Mrs. Owl, Mr. Owl, Owlet, Owl Jr., & (begrudgingly) Molly
Thursday, November 01, 2012
Back To It
I had put away game making for few months. Not on purpose, my IDE (code editor) was always ready to boot up, taunting me with its colour coded goodness, hilarious refactoring (refactoring is when you rewrite bits of your code to be easier to read, and simpler) bugs, and hipsterish colour themes.
But I would find any manner of excuses to not boot it up, rewatching all of Breaking Bad, because nothing gets one more chipper and motivated than the morale dissolution of a father as the rank and turgid hand of the amphetamine drug trade destroys him utterly; re-reading books I've read far too many times already; surfing the web on a dopamine treadmill of mild-amusement and semi-wonder.
But the reasons for stopping for so long are multiple and kinda interesting, as are the reasons for starting up again.
I go through ebbs and flows of creative flow, lately less rather than more. It's more often because the enemy of good is perfect, or fear of failure, or just because, well, it's difficult. Which would be fine, except that when I'm not creating something there is a feeling that I should be doing something, like there's a heap of homework teetering on my desk that needs attending and which I'll ignore until it falls on me, possibly crushing me to death if not by gravity then by embarassment.
So it's a battle between creating stuff, and releasing a undefinable pressure, and the fear of putting something out there that is so far from my expectations of what is 'good' that I implode in a localized blackhole of disappointment. Balancing right between two nearly equal nagging sources of discomfort is a hell of a way to spend one's free time.
This has been on the desktop for months and months. Actually reading it again helped me to get going:
This is the general rule of thumb I use. (This is also a fantastic piece on finishing games, by the guy behind Spelunky). The problem is I get into a thing, and then start following all the movers and shakers of that thing, then start looking at their work,and the chasm between the great stuff they are doing and the, frankly, shit I'm creating kinda pulls me down and drags me dry. It's the fighting through bit that I'm having trouble with, I guess.
With game dev, there really isn't any distinction between amateur (me) and indie (people who are making their living doing it and were likely doing it years before as amateurs before they went indie). And frankly, we are in the middle of an explosion of indie game devs as devs who've been in the industry forever are making their own way of it, funding themselves through Kickstarter, or boot strapping it, and selling it online through Steam or GOG or whatever, bypassing publishers. So there's no limit at the number of indie devs I can find on twitter or tumblr or wherever who are doing amazing work, and seemingly nowhere are their rank amateurs like me just trying to get the simplest things out.
I get myself going again by breaking down the very problems into smaller problems, then smaller, then still problems until it's the simplest thing in the world to figure out. And I can sort of get my workflow going again. The problem is always when I look at the bigger piece.
The game I'm working on, as a whole, is crap. There is nothing compelling or interesting that will keep a player playing for longer than, say, 10 minutes. Or 5 minutes, now that I think about it. And there are still problems and slog I gotta churn through until I can release it. But it's slog and churn for a project I'm not longer terribly interested in.
The trick is there are games I want to work on, that are not too complicated and that I might be able to actually do. But some part of the thorough OCD person in me can't start another before this one is finished. So we are back at square one with slog to get through, and an unappetizing game as a reward.
So anyways I'm stuck in a constant loop of being frustrated with the game and having some sort of Puritan work ethic that's keeping me from more interesting stuff until I finish this one.
I go through ebbs and flows of creative flow, lately less rather than more. It's more often because the enemy of good is perfect, or fear of failure, or just because, well, it's difficult. Which would be fine, except that when I'm not creating something there is a feeling that I should be doing something, like there's a heap of homework teetering on my desk that needs attending and which I'll ignore until it falls on me, possibly crushing me to death if not by gravity then by embarassment.
So it's a battle between creating stuff, and releasing a undefinable pressure, and the fear of putting something out there that is so far from my expectations of what is 'good' that I implode in a localized blackhole of disappointment. Balancing right between two nearly equal nagging sources of discomfort is a hell of a way to spend one's free time.
This has been on the desktop for months and months. Actually reading it again helped me to get going:
This is the general rule of thumb I use. (This is also a fantastic piece on finishing games, by the guy behind Spelunky). The problem is I get into a thing, and then start following all the movers and shakers of that thing, then start looking at their work,and the chasm between the great stuff they are doing and the, frankly, shit I'm creating kinda pulls me down and drags me dry. It's the fighting through bit that I'm having trouble with, I guess.
With game dev, there really isn't any distinction between amateur (me) and indie (people who are making their living doing it and were likely doing it years before as amateurs before they went indie). And frankly, we are in the middle of an explosion of indie game devs as devs who've been in the industry forever are making their own way of it, funding themselves through Kickstarter, or boot strapping it, and selling it online through Steam or GOG or whatever, bypassing publishers. So there's no limit at the number of indie devs I can find on twitter or tumblr or wherever who are doing amazing work, and seemingly nowhere are their rank amateurs like me just trying to get the simplest things out.
I get myself going again by breaking down the very problems into smaller problems, then smaller, then still problems until it's the simplest thing in the world to figure out. And I can sort of get my workflow going again. The problem is always when I look at the bigger piece.
The game I'm working on, as a whole, is crap. There is nothing compelling or interesting that will keep a player playing for longer than, say, 10 minutes. Or 5 minutes, now that I think about it. And there are still problems and slog I gotta churn through until I can release it. But it's slog and churn for a project I'm not longer terribly interested in.
The trick is there are games I want to work on, that are not too complicated and that I might be able to actually do. But some part of the thorough OCD person in me can't start another before this one is finished. So we are back at square one with slog to get through, and an unappetizing game as a reward.
So anyways I'm stuck in a constant loop of being frustrated with the game and having some sort of Puritan work ethic that's keeping me from more interesting stuff until I finish this one.
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