I’ve gotten back to sketching lately, which is good for me. Here’s a sketch of Jim. (In case you didn’t know, he’s my boyfriend; we met when he moved into Tortuga).
Extra Lizard is to be Expected
As both my mother and Joe have both reminded me recently, I’m at a tough time in my life right now. I keep forgetting that. It’s not as if I think what I’m going through is easy, precisely. More that because it’s me, well, I expect me to pull it together and soldier on. But if it were a friend of mine… Ending a five year long relationship is hard. No matter why you end it. No matter how amicable. The fact of the matter is that something that’s been a huge and potentially definitive part of your life has ended. I miss J. A lot. But what hurts most is the loss of the future we’d planned.
I had a moment of insecurity over something silly the other day. I knew it was silly, but sometimes the reptile brain kicks in and can’t be swayed. I joked with Joe that I had this image of a bright green lizard at a fork in the road, scuttling back and forth to peer down each path but not choosing either.
That’s when Joe reminded me that I had been dealing with a lot of emotional turmoil and change. “Extra lizard is to be expected,” he said.
So.
Damn Freud (short)
Came back to my desk to find this blinking away on my IM window:
S: I have a clothing question for you if you have a sex
S: sec
S: damn freud
I love my friends.
Right Decisions Are Not Always Easy Decisions
…and love isn’t always enough. This is the first time I’ve truly understood that.
My relationship of the last five years has ended. The timing was my choice, but ultimately it was a joint decision. Which doesn’t make it easier.
But it wasn’t from any lack of love.
It Takes a Villain
I’ve worked on a couple games now that were fairly late stage and required complete rewrites; repurposing pre-existing events or assets. The major thing these games had in common was the lack of a clear villain.
There are a lot of ways games differ from books or movies, but one of the most significant (for a writer) is that you’re not in control of the main character. You can’t control how the player feels, you can’t guarantee the player will notice a specific detail (unless you use a cutscene, which can be problematic in itself).
Usually the main character drives a story. When you can’t use that main character that way… Well, it’s pretty easy to lose direction. The story is directing itself according to the needs of the developers, not the needs of the main character. Which means it won’t feel compelling.
A villain, however, focuses a story admirably. Or it can, if you introduce the villain early enough, establish his villainy, and give him something to want. He can force the player’s hand, to some extent. He can set up ambushes, he can spy on you, he can hire someone to poison you, he can mind control the King… He can have a story. His actions can follow an internal logic and that, in turn, can make a story feel real.
Often newer writers try to be too coy with their villains. They try to hide them until the end, so it’s a surprise. Problem is that you have no reason to hate the villain if you didn’t realize he was the one causing your problems. You need to show him, or someone directly connected to him, kicking puppies pretty early on.
It’s easy to hate someone who kicks puppies. It’s easy to believe the corrupt sheriff is working for a shadowy crime boss. You may not actually *see* that crime boss until late in the game, but so long as you know he exists and you can connect horrific acts with him, it works. Think of the tiers of villains in a James Bond movie. Minor guy leads to major guy.
It’s worth noting here that not all stories require a villain. However, epic adventure games? They do.
I may try starting with the villain for the next story I write. It would be different.
After Changes Upon Changes, and We are More or Less the Same
I moved out a month ago.
I’m back in Tortuga-the intentional community that just won’t let me go, and am I glad of it! I’m even back in the same unit as before, although a different room. And this time with Ragnar, who is delighted to be here. All these neighbors who want to play with him: friendly people who take him for walks while his person is away at work. It’s good.
It wasn’t easy moving out of the home J and I had been sharing for three years. But it’s become clear, to me certainly, that living together right now does us a disservice.
I am changing a lot, and J… well, J likes everything to be neat and controlled. He doesn’t understand the decisions I’m making. They seem reckless, or inefficient to him.
There’s this moment in the Runaway Bride… Throughout the movie, Gere’s character asks all of Roberts’ exes how she liked her eggs for  breakfast. The answer was different each time, on the surface. Scrambled, poached, sunnyside up… The answer was always that her favorite egg dish was the same as that of her boyfriend at the time. He liked scrambled, she liked scrambled.
There is a scene at the end of the movie where Roberts tries every type of egg dish she can come up with, to learn which one she actually likes.
I feel like I’ve always been living on someone else’s paradigm. Parents, friends, significant others… My identity has always been as part of a unit. Which means changes in me that might change the dynamic of that unit are terrifying. Taking a role other than “daughter” who is “cared for” and “toes the family line”… that threatens not just my sense of myself within the family, but the entire family. Enmeshment, my therapist tells me, is what this is called.
Enmeshment. Strands of identity woven so tightly with those of the people around you, that it’s impossible to tell where some pieces came from. Apparently that scene from Runaway Bride, which is by far the best scene in the movie, is frequently used in psych courses to exemplify enmeshment and the process of leaving it.
So, right now, I’m figuring out how I like my eggs. With no regard for how J likes his, or how my mother and father like theirs. And, of course, I mean more than eggs here. Everything. I’m figuring out what matters to me. What I like.
It’s not precisely the same thing as finding yourself. I’ve been here all along. But I’ve been wound so tight in group identities, I haven’t had a chance to think or make changes.
As hard as this is for me, it’s even harder for J. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. Doesn’t fully get the enmeshment issue. Doesn’t understand why, suddenly, his partner is making choices he dislikes and refusing to give in on them. Not easy to live with.
So I’ve moved back to Tortuga. And J still lives at Church St, as do the cats, as does most of my stuff. And I still go there on a regular basis. But I can’t live with J right now. Not if we want to have any kind of chance of making things work between us.
On the Road Again (to LA)
I’m heading down to LA tomorrow.Taking Ragnar, the xbox, and a bag packed for up to a month long trip. I’ll be in LA for at least a week, celebrating my birthday and Mother’s Day, and then heading slowly back up to the Bay and onward to Portland. You know, unless Jason falls into a decline over the loss of the xbox, or I suddenly develop a fear of freeways (ha!), or someone makes me an offer I can’t refuse.
Which is to say: LA people, I want to see you when I’m in town! Fictionados — we should hang out.
Don’t Take Your Little Dog to the Big Dog Park
Don’t take your little dog into the big dog park.
And if you do, and if the owners of the two big dogs there say it’s a bad idea, do not then continue to insist that your 13lb poodle likes to play rough. He doesn’t. He really doesn’t like to play rough with my 100lb mastiff and the other dude’s 60lb pitbull. Really.
And if you continue to insist, no, really, my miniature-fucking-poodle likes playing rough and it will be okay, and the owner of said 100lb mastiff says again that’s not a good idea, listen.
And if you decide to ignore said advice, and if your 13lb poodle decides to go after that 100lb mastiff, and that mastiff responds by grabbing the poodle’s neck and holding it to the ground (without hurting it)… you don’t get to complain, lady.
Did you not read the sign? Large Dogs. You’re supposed to go to the enclosure next door that says Small Dogs.
And don’t go telling me my dog is vicious. You put your dog at risk despite several warnings. You allowed your dog to attack a dog nearly 10x its size, and that dog did what he was bred to do–without, I might add, harming your dog.
On BDSM, Feminism, and Silly Statements
Apparently there is this erotica novel, 50 Shades of Grey, that’s causing a kerfluffle. I have nothing to say about that. Haven’t read it, not sure if I will. But then I read this article, and really, I have to rant. Let me share with you the section that provoked my ire:
Amy Robach for NBC News says that the novel answers the age old question of what do women really want. Never mind being left breathless or captivated, says Robach, this book makes it clear that domination and submission are on the minds of most American women (emphasis mine).
“We had the women’s movement which really was about empowering women not to be submissive to men anymore. Now we’ve moved onto a new generation where women are more empowered than ever before, the glass ceiling has been broken and we have as much control as we want. And what are we longing for? A little bodice ripping,â€Â answers author Laura Berman to NBC.
Sounds possible, right? But the problem here is perspective. This analysis is focused entirely on women and sex (both of which are fascinating topics and hey, who can blame a journalist for wanting to talk about either, much less both?) The idea is that somehow this desire to be personally dominated contradicts the desire to be professionally powerful. But that’s an incredibly short-sighted view, even assuming the article is correct in the generalization that the majority of American women want to be dominated. It’s about power and responsibility. It’s about freedom.
Did you know, the vast majority of clients for dominatrices are powerful men? CEOs, VPs, managers, venture capitalists. Men who make decisions all-fracking-day long. Men who are in charge. They pay good money-sometimes excellent money-to be dominated by someone else. Sex is often a component. But the sex isn’t the point.
The point is freedom. Not having to make decisions or take responsibility. The point is escaping pressure and guilt. When you’re the one in charge, your decisions matter. They affect everyone around you. It’s your fault if the company does poorly and you need to lay-off one third of your employees. Your responsibility, your guilt. In that context, the fantasy of letting someone else dominate you makes a hell of a lot of sense. For that brief span of time you don’t have to make decisions or take responsibility. Someone else gets the blame. Someone else decides whether you deserve punishment or reward. All you have to do is follow orders.
BDSM isn’t only about freedom, but that is a huge part of its appeal.
If, in fact, there is any correlation between women having more power now and wanting to be dominated, it is in no way a reversal of feminism. If anything, it’s an indicator that women truly are gaining more power, whether that be corporate or personal power. It means that powerful women have the same fantasies as powerful men. That looks a heck of a lot more like equality, to me.