Underneath my yellow skin

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Things that turn me off gameplay wise (part two)

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Yesterday, I was intending to write about what my next game might be. I did mention the demos I’ve played in the past few days, but then I wandered very far away from the main point as in my wont. I needed to talk about what would make me turn off a game, especially an indie game. Why? Because I’m trying out a bunch of demos, and I will turn them off in a flash if certain things happen. Yes! That’s where the link is.

I stopped after giving 1/2 of a two-point (completely conflicting) answer, so let’s jump into the second part. I mentioned that I loved a small, self-contained 2-3 hour experience that was just good vibes and joyful. A game that was comfortable and acted as a blanket to be snuggled in. There is nothing wrong (and sometimes, everything right) with a well done small game.

Here’s the counterpoint: there is something exhilirating about an indie game that reaches for the stars. Even if they falter, they go out in a glorious burst. In fact, I wrote a post last year about two indie games that did just that. Reached for the sun, I mean. One of them worn Game of the Year last year (Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 (Sandfall Interactive) whereas the other came and went without any fanfare (Promise Mascot Agency (Kaizen Game Works)). One of them was my favorite game of last year, and it wasn’t the one that won all the awards.

I have written plenty about both of these games, so I’m not going to go into it again. I just want to say that it’s hard to say why one was such a smash success while the other barely made a blip. I did note that one of them was more normie-friendly (the former) while the other was only for weirdos (the latter).

Don’t get me wrong. I am a weirdo. I am a total weirdo. I am such a weirdo, other weirdos say, “Wow, that person needs to dial it back a bit.” I’ve talked about it before, but I’m the kind of weirdo that is too weird for the weirdos.

I’m fine with that. I don’t care, honestly. It’s better than thinking there was something wrong with me, which was what I thought my whole childhood. Now, I just accept that I think very differently than most people. Yes, it’s a neuroatypical thing, and I’m dealing with it. I wish I had known it decades ago, but at least I know it now.

I know to keep most of my opinions to myself if I’m the gen pop. I can never relax because I know if  Ilet my mask go even for a few seconds, I will get a strong reaction. It’s not necessarily negative, but it’s more likely negative than positive.

Before I played Promise Mascot Agency, I had watched a trailer, and I knew the basic premise. I also knew Shuhei Yoshida (ex-president of Sony) was in it. That was it. I didn’t even know until I was almost done with the game that the voice actor for Kazuma Kiryu (Takaya Kuroda) plays Michi, the protagonist in this game. Same kind of role, but different voice. I have not played much of the Yakuzas, but I have seen a lot of Kiryu.

There was a lot that frustrated me about PMA, but there was also more that brought me joy. The devs threw everything and the kitchen sink into the mix, to the benefit and the drawback of the game. So, yes. They went for it with gusto. No, they did not hit every mark they were reaching for, but that wasn’t the important thing in this game. The important thing was they tried. They went outside the box, and they dared to fail.

My favorite thing about the game is the cast of mascots. You know how in many games, the ‘weird’ characters are just mildly different than the norm? Like in romcoms when the ‘ugly’ girl is signified by someone hot like Zendaya having frumpy clothing, messy hair, and wearing glasses. or the weirdo is the hot guy who is wearing glasses and has one nerdy quirk, like playing D&D. Come to think of it, that’s really popular these days.

In fact, I was comparing CO:E33 to PMA about this, too. The former tries to paint the main group as a band of outsiders (because of the world they live in–look, it’s complicated), and that this band of plucky outsiders had to come together to defeat the big baddie. Except, each member is incredibly hot and skilled. Yes, they talk about being outsiders, but in the very safe way. Not fitting in with the family for the most part. Or that they had tragedies happen in their lives that were what many people had.

It’s what I call ‘safe’ weird. It’s the way popular media likes to portray weirdos–as being one step outside of the norm.

In PMA, the mascots are weird with a capital W. And some of them are really unlikable. They are gross, awkward (actually awkward), fearful, timid, annoying, and cringe-inducing. Not all of them  and not all of the traits, but most of the mascots have at least one really negative trait. There are a few mascots that I really did not like at first. I mean, really did not like. Like, ‘get this creep away from me’ did not like.

By the end of the game, though, I had a fondness in my heart for them all. Granted, I like some better than the others. To-Fu, , the first mascot I recruited remained one of my favorites. I had a real soft spot (heh) in my heart for him. My sensitive little block of soy.

This was the first time I felt there were real weirdos in a game. Sure, they were mascots and not humans, but I cared about them more than I have about many NPCs in other games. I wanted to spend more time with my mascots, but I had to keep sending them on jobs. Also, I couldn’t just spontaneously interact with them; I had to do prescribed interactions instead (performance reviews and such). Honestly, I would have loved to have just chilled with them.

I don’t know if PMA was considered a success or not; I know that CO:E33 most definitely was. But, in my honest opinion, it’s a much safer game than PMA. People raved about it being so fresh and original, but I just didn’t see it. Again, that’s just me.

But, as I said in that previous post, I rather games soar for the sun and fail than not try anything new. And while I did not think CO:E33 went that far outside the box, they were doing something fresh. At least if I were to believe what others say. I did not see it myself. But, I did feel like the sum was more than the individual parts. At any rate, I’m glad both games exist.

Sideways to meeting my goals, part three

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Let’s talk more about the circuitous way my brain works. I talked at length about it yesterday, but I have more to say. By the way, I am garrulous, especially in writing, and I’ve just accepted that about myself. Why use one word when ten will do? And why use ten when fifty works so much better? I have to actively stop myself from going on for longer than I already do, and when I’m tired, all bets are off.

I’ve gotten better, as hard as it is to believe that. But I used to not talk at all when I was a kid because I wsa taught that what I had to say didn’t matter. Nor what I thought or believed, for that matter. I was told over and over again that good girls were not heard at all and were barely seen, either.

When I was little, I was an exuberant, loud, joyful child. I would run around, climb trees, and just in general, be an active child. By the time I wsa seven, I was severely depressed, fat (according to my mother, who made sure to remind me of it in several ways, including putting me on my first diet, and saying I had such a beautiful face; too bad I was so fat). On nearly a daily basis, I was thinking about killing myself and how the world would be better off without me.

See, that was what the emotional abuse did–it told me that I was worthless. Or worse that worthless–I was an overall negative to the world. When I was in my late teens, early twenties, I believed I woke up every day not deserving to live, and I had to earn my way back to zero. Why? Because everyone around me reinforced the idea that my life in and of itself had no value. My parents, the people at the very cult-like Evangelical Taiwanese church my parents belonged to, and my very white teachers in the 1970s and 80s.

There were a few teachers who were incredibly kind to me, but for the most part, I was ignored. I’m not blaming those teachers, mind you. I note it more to say that I never felt welcomed in school, either.

It took me studying Taiji for me to realize that I mattered as a person. Not as an emotional support person. Not as an accessory, a friend, or a listening ear. But as a person in and of myself. Me. Just being me.

It’s difficult for me to hold onto that because my mother keeps making it about her. After my serious medical crisis, she said she was glad I hadn’t died–so she would still have someone to talk to about her problems. She’s said this to me more than once, by the way. She’s also called me her therapist, and her justification is that she knows all the therapists/psychologists/psychiatrists in Taiwan on a professional basis. Which, you see, means that she can’t have a therapist of her own.


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Sideways to meeting my goals, part two

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I’m back with more musings about my three main goals. I caught up on my writing (as far as an hour a day), and I have decided that I’m going to move Point B to the second book. What am I talking about? Well, I mused about it in the prior post, which you can read here.

In my murder novemoir, I had the central mystery plotted out in my mind. I didn’t know who the perp would be (which is unusually for me. I usually know it from the beginning), but I had the vic and the basic plot points.

Last night, I started writing about a second major mystery that I had seeded the night before, which was much more interesting to me. My impulse was to set it aside, but my brain said, “Nope. We’re going to keep on writing about it.” I mentioned in yesterday’s post that I knew the smart thing to do would be to put it in the sequel, but I’m stubborn if nothing else.

Now, though, I think I’m going to set it aside for the second book. It’s too meaty to do it in tandem with another major mystery. I have decided that the hour a day can include the time it takes for me to research a topic or rereading what I wrote before. It includes thinking time and anyithing that is related to writing. Once I’ve done that for the month of January, then I’ll think about making it two hours.

I am very glad that I changed it from writing 2,000 words a day to writing for an hour a day–and now saying doing anything writing-related for an hour. The goal right now is to get myself back into writing fiction on a daily basis. I still have it in me; I just need to apply myself.

Side note: This is another thing that I found out about neurospicy people–it’s not just laziness. What I mean is that sometimes it feels literally impossible to force myself to do the thing I need to do. Even if it’s something I want to do.

When my bestie used to live here, we would make plans to get together once a month or so. I always looked forward to it, but I had to drag myself to get dressed and drive to her place. She would not be ready when I got there (a long running joke in our thirty-year friendship), and we used to commiserate with each other about how weird it was that we had such a hard time getting ready for something we really wanted to do.


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Sideways to meeting my goals

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Hello. We are a week-and-a-half into the new year, and I want to do a check in as to how I’m doing with my goals. I haven’t looked into Asian queer/genderqueer groups, so we’ll set that aside for now.

Writing: I have been doing ok with writing one hour a day except my sleeping schedule is fucked. I mean, it’s been fucked for most my life*, but it’s seriously fucked now. Plus, I fuck around too much. I need to buckle down and just get to it.

Still. I’ve managed to do the hour of writing every day but one, which isn’t bad. I’ll be honest. I thought I would struggle more with it than I have, so I’ll take it. I’m going to make up that half hour today and get back on track.

Am I happy with what I’ve been writing? Not really. It’s not great. It’s not terrible, mind. My writing is decent. It comes out decent. It then goes great or terrible, depending. Since I’m still in the explanation phase of my novemoir, it’s just fine. It’s difficult, though, because I have to go back and reread what I previously wrote to keep caught up on the main thread. My memory is shit now, and, yes, that’s something I can blame on my medical crisis.

One interesting thing is that while I had the main mystery planned before I started writing (that’s always how I do), a second murder, completely separate from the first mystery, is emerging. It’s not something I wanted to happen, but who am I to stop it?

Here’s the thing. With this novemoir, I’m in new territory. Normally, when I write, I have an outline of what I want to do. I go from beat to beat and rarely diverge from the road (less taken). Sure, the details may be emergent, but they don’t usually surprise me–much.

Plus, it’s usually follows in a chronological fashion. “Point A happens first. That leads to Point B, which trips off Point C.” In this case, Point A is tangential to Point B, but they don’t directly influence each other. Sure, I can make it so they intertwine, but I don’t want to do that for a few reasons. One, it’s too much of a coincidence. Two, it would get too messy. I’m fine with a fair bit of mess, but this would cross the line. Or rather, I don’t want to create that kind of mess.

The smart thing would be to not introduce Point B at all. It has nothing to do with Point A, and it would make things more complicated. The really smart thing to do would be to save it for the sequel. I like doing trilogies because I think it’s a shame to create a character I really like and then abandon them after one book.


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