The original Xbox, on Christmas day, is where my story starts. More seasoned individuals might have a different beginning -- the NES or SNES, one of Sega’s numerous consoles, or even as old as the Atari and Magnavox Odyssey -- but while my tale doesn’t start with a console quite as legendary, it’s the same as any other. I was just a little kid, around eight years old I think, when my siblings and I began unwrapping the biggest box beneath our Christmas tree. I still remember my surprise and excitement -- it was palpable. Even though the only two games that came with the console were Madden and NBA, I was still so hyped to get my hands on the gigantic “Duke” controller and start playing.
It wasn’t until a few years later though that I fell in love with the system. My uncle, as big a nerd as I, bought me a copy of Star Wars: Knights of The Old Republic (KOTOR). Before then, the only games I had to play were the two sport titles and the first Lego Star Wars. KOTOR was a window into the world of video games I had only dipped my toes in before. It was a Role Playing Game, or RPG as I learned later, and with it I could be the hero in Star Wars I couldn’t be in real, boring life. I could shoot at my foes with a duo of blasters, or string them along with carefully placed words that in retrospect, weren’t so carefully placed; because they were predetermined lines of dialogue I chose from a menu -- but only if my “persuasion” or “intimidation” feat was high enough. Dorky video games, why the hell did I ever play you? You were just a waste of time I could’ve spent studying for tests, making friends, or achieving something in my life that my parents could be proud of. Instead, all I could do was point at the screen with a smile on my face and say, “Look, I just saved the universe Mom!” My mother, who didn’t have a single clue what even a pixel was, would just nod absentmindedly before turning back to her episode of Friends.
But even when it was treated as such a small achievement, at the time I thought it was the biggest, greatest thing I had ever done; and to this day I still look back on the decisions I made, and wonder if I really did save the universe, or doom it to a fate farther down its future that I can only really imagine, because instead of making a sequel Bioware made a fucking MMO -- but that’s an aside... okay, back to the point I was trying to make. Over the years video games have been called many different names: “Dorky”, “Childish”, “Geeky” or “Nerdy”, or simply a “Waste of time”. I fell in love with a medium that most people have considered stupid and associated with archaic stigmas. “Only forty year-old loners who live in their parent’s basement play video games”, imagine how many times I’ve heard that. The value of video games has been lessened by so many people. But at some point, aren’t those people downplaying every other form of entertainment? Because movies, books, television shows, and plays really are just the same. Either way, you’re still sitting on your ass while falling into a different, perhaps more interesting world.
The only detail that separates a video game from the aforementioned is the fact that you are participating in the drama unfolding on screen. They aren’t like books or movies, where you read or watch other people as they go about their lives. Video games are a series of pixels that you interact with yourself; but while those pixels might talk, or otherwise produce sound effects that you could listen to through your cheap television’s crappy speakers; relay to you a story that some writer in a dark room had written while hopped up on seven cups of vanilla flavored coffee; video games are the ones singled out as stupid and childish. Even though all that’s different about them is the presentation.
Movies and books are passive experiences -- they have always been that way -- and while my heart may pound for a movie character the same way it does for a video game character, there’s an inherent difference between watching a scene unfold in a movie, and watching a scene take place in a video game. A video game could last two hours, just as long as a typical hollywood film, but while I watched Captain America disrupt SHIELD, I was the one who fought on the side of good. I explored a vast and foreign country or planet, solved complex problems, comforted or helped someone who needed me, or decided to pull the trigger of my gun instead of being merciful. I may watch a man commit murder on screen, but being the one to decide whether or not to kill someone in a video game has a much greater impact on my psyche. For however long afterward, I have to live with that decision; and sure, the man I killed was fake, but my heart still skipped a beat when my finger subconsciously pulled the trigger. The interactivity between me and my games is why I prefer the medium to other forms of entertainment; because while a book or movie might elicit the same emotions from me, a video game is a different beast.
A video game could alter my perception of time as the universe it creates wraps around me; within minutes, hours have unknowingly flown by. A video game might make me jump for joy or crumble to the floor laughing at a stupid ass joke some wise cracking character just laid. I might stare at the trashy television inches from my face, and sit frozen with my mouth agape at the spectacular view; or shut my eyes and just enjoy the musical score emanating from my crappy speakers -- even they couldn’t ruin the atmosphere. A video game might make me cry because now, after over forty hours of sitting on my ass and sucking up to the characters I thought were cool and ignoring the ones I thought weren’t, I have to make the decision that decides the fate of them all; and even the thought of the ones I hated have me lingering on that last button press. My heart has pounded against my chest while I’ve watched helplessly as beloved characters were shot or beaten to a pulp; and it’s lingered on its next beat as a strategically placed camera angle had me staring at the lifeless eyes of my girlfriend. She was fake, but it was nonetheless heartbreaking.
As a child, roaming the streets of Taris in Star Wars: Knights of The Old Republic had me at a standstill. Here I was, warped from my cold game room upstairs, to a sci-fi world I had only dreamed about before then. I explored every facet of that city -- the rich apartment complexes, the lower slums, and even lower to the dire underground -- before becoming entangled by the story lines that seemed so numerous and complex at the time. Everyone had something to say, and I mean EVERYONE had something to say. Even if all they had to say was “Hello” or “Go away”, I still felt like I was inside a living world, one where I was important because all those NPC’s had something to say to me. On top of the attention, they all treated me as more than a lowly kid, and I guess that’s why I played games as a child; because in reality everyone just ignored me or beat me down, but when I pressed the big power button on my Xbox I finally had an escape, and not just a place I could hide either, somewhere I could fight back and make a difference.
Unlike most kids my age, I sought video games as an escapism; not a fun toy I could play with my friends whenever they came over -- if they ever came over. Don’t get me wrong, I played games for fun too -- especially Star Wars: Battlefront, my god that game was great! -- but the ones that grabbed my attention and earned my love were the long RPG’s. The games I could fall into, the ones I had to claw my way out of. Reality never enticed me as much as the fantasy on screen. Looking back at all those years, I realize that everything I love today had been festering in my brain and feeding off the video games that I played. Slowly, as if it were unavoidable, the passion I contained for video games exploded past just sitting on my couch and playing them.
I was still a kid, so at the time I didn’t quite understand how difficult it would be to make a video game, I just knew that making one was something I very much wanted to do -- even if I had no idea where to start with that process. Like, did I need a computer? Or was there some secret setting hidden within my Xbox’s green lit menus? Needless to say, there wasn’t; and I was left playing my video games with an aimless dream floating around in my head. Yet, despite the obvious possibility that it would never come to fruition, I still answered the question of what I wanted to be when I grew up with “A video game maker!” I was stubborn -- I still am. My love of playing video games fed my interest in designing them, so in school, when I was supposed to be listening to my teacher lecture us on addition and subtraction, I’d write out the ideas for the different games I had locked away in my head. Becoming a game designer at the time was my one and only goal; and while every adult told me I’d forget it and become a physics nerd, I didn’t. Both because math wasn’t my strong suit, and because physics was what dictated how painful the next blow to the gut would be.
In middle school, my escapism changed slightly. Instead of warping into a cooler universe, I was running from the horror I lived in. I’d spend a hundred hours in Persona 4 because, well, Chie was pretty cool; but also because the “Investigation Team” -- a group of confused but strong willed and independent high school students -- was almost a direct analog to my life. I wasn’t in high school yet, but the problems the Investigation Team faced on a daily basis were oddly relatable. Love, bullying, school work, family, friends, self discovery; the characters and story of that game helped me cope with all the problems I faced at school. It didn’t matter if the game itself was just a typical J-RPG with tedious grinding, heavy menus, and slow pacing -- sort of explains the high level of patience I have now, actually -- because I was only there for the wonderfully written story.
...“Written”, I never truly thought about that word until middle school. Odd now that I think about it. I remember sitting on the table during elementary school recess reading whatever new piece of fiction I had picked up from the library, yet now was when I started to think about writing. Every press of the “X” button in Persona seemed to chime a bell in my head. These characters were so cleverly written, this story so tightly wound, and this universe so well conceived; I began to envision other stories told in this world. My dream of being a game developer slowly warped until I had my eyes set on writing their tales. I knew how to write and I’ve been reading both books and subtitles for the last couple of years, so I figured it would be an easy enough thing to do.
As it turns out though, you have to have some damn good persistence to actually write a really good story. As a wimpy middle school student who preferred to run through fantasy settings rather than work on, well, anything, it was nigh impossible for me to stick with writing for too long. I’d conceive and plan out various tales, but after about ten pages I’d grow too bored to continue. It also didn’t help that my confidence level wasn’t that high. Like, was this story really as good as I thought it was? Or in reality was it just a piece of garbage? I never knew, but I always flocked toward the latter; opting to instead trash the labors of my heart than continue and have someone confirm my aching suspicions later. I still desperately wanted to write though. There were hundreds upon hundreds of various worlds, characters, and concepts floating around in my head, but I couldn’t for the love of me put them down on paper the way I wanted to. Nor could I find a great way of wrapping the story within a good set of gameplay mechanics; I was still the story writer of my games, but I also wanted a good video game to go along with it. As a result of me wanting to develop a really good set of gameplay mechanics, I began thinking about video games in a lot more critical fashion; and because of that, I started to branch out and play games that were different than my typical RPGs.
I became more conscious of the different experiences that could be had with different genres. I found joy not in just role playing games, but in fast paced first person shooters like Halo and Call of Duty. Although, with COD there was a different sort of attachment; something a lot more violent. Call of Duty, almost by necessity, is a game that never stops moving; and while I love a well written story, COD offered a great venue to relieve myself of my pent up frustrations. I suppose that’s why you get so many kids screaming profanities at you through their microphones during online matches. I never became one of those jerks though; I was far too focused on killing people. I’d move fast across the maps, shooting every enemy player who came my way, not stopping for nothing. Every perk placed on my body carefully tuned my avatar for speed; the weapons I equipped, be it an automatic rifle, shotgun, or pistol, were chosen for the situation. Eventually, after so many hours in COD, I exhausted it’s gameplay and moved on to something a bit more tactical and grand in scope: Battlefield. I played it a bit differently than I played COD; running the game on my brand new PC, I armed myself with a high precision mouse and a sniper rifle and set my crosshairs over the unsuspecting heads of my enemies. It was so much more satisfying to pull the trigger in Battlefield than Call of Duty for that very reason.
I’ve run into people who call all video games the same; and sure, if you’re coming at it from the angle of “they’re all pieces of programming you run on a computer” then you’re right, but not every video game executes that code in the same manner. There’s a different “feel” behind every game; variables change that dictate how fast or slow you’re moving through the levels, how many bullets you have to pop into your enemy before they fall to the ground, or how long you can last in a firefight before respawning and costing your team the game. In Call of Duty, I was a monster sprinting through Nuketown with my guns in hand and my knife on edge. In Battlefield, I was a different beast; crouched down close to the desert ground, hiding within brush, or perched on the roof of a building; I was the strong silent type. One eye was closed while another looked down the sights of a scope, trailing my enemies like a hawk after a mouse in the grass. Each pull of the trigger was met behind a swell of satisfaction, because I didn’t miss. At school, I hid behind my books; within Battlefield I still hid, but unlike school I could make my mark.
My personality seeps into the games I play. It’s why I spend hours stealthing my way through Deus Ex, trying my best not to kill anyone and instead be the ghost they never saw. Each video game has it’s tricks that make me tick. They all find their own special way of getting under my skin; well developed characters, brilliant storytelling, artwork, musical score, stellar gameplay. Whatever it is, if it’s good it’ll grab me. I may spend a hundred hours in an RPG because of the characters, or I may spend a hundred hours in Battlefield because of the tactical and satisfying combat. Every game has a lustful quality to it, even the bad ones like Earth Defense Force -- but I mean, seriously(!) who the hell enjoys those “games”?!
Middle school was a branching path for me in terms of my interests, both virtually and in reality. There were the various genres of video games I strayed into as I found new ways of escaping my day to day life; and then there were the ever changing goals I set for myself. While physics is a stable and fun business, for me it was a lost cause; I wasn’t that great at math, and watching The Science Channel just seemed so much more enriching than sitting in musty college classrooms while some old dude lectured me on quantum mechanics. Previously I wanted to make video games, now I wanted to write their tales. Yet, as middle school went farther and farther along I started to experiment with another avenue available to me.
You see, when you love video games as much as I, it’s almost inevitable before you find someplace with as much insanity, stupidity, and passion for the medium as you do. I shopped around when I was in elementary school, stealing cheat codes or reading walkthroughs off of Gamespot.com, but I never stopped to read too far into the site’s web pages. As far as reviews got I just sort of looked at the final score and went “Yep, that’s good enough.” I was around early enough to see and hear about Jeff Gerstmann and his exploits, but I didn’t follow him to Giantbomb.com until middle school -- which is really the most appropriate time to fall into that disgusting pit of idiocy. It was inevitable really, that I would find a website that harbored the same feelings and opinions as I did about video games. They (Jeff Gerstmann, Ryan Davis, Vinny Caravella, Brad Shoemaker, Drew Scanlon, and Patrick Klepek) were raw, joyful, entertaining, and even informative -- so long as you didn’t think about “Vinco” science too hard. It wasn’t too long before I realized how deeply my love of video game journalism ran.
Video games and writing. There really isn’t a better combo for someone like me. After all, my greatest form of escapism wrapped within my greatest form of self expression. Absolute beauty -- straight up destiny, son! Instead of focusing solely on tall tales, I extended my reach and put my sights on writing the short and sweet articles and reviews I read on Gamespot and Giantbomb. Although, aside from one or two terribly written reviews, I never did post much on their forums. Strong, silent type remember? I thought I wasn’t good enough to posted anything, and at the time I wasn’t. Even though every episode of the Bombcast or Hotspot had told me that posting everything I wrote was the best possible way of breaking into the industry, I never took them up on their offer. That’s to my detriment, I guess. Now I’m a seventeen year old writer without much to show for it aside from a bedroom ridden with loose papers and crumpled ideas. High school opens your eyes to a lot of things, I guess.
I was a fourteen year old freshman without many friends. I had a few, but only after the first year of high school did I feel really integrated within my class. I knew the people I wanted to hang out with, and the ones I wanted to stay away from. I was comfortable within my little nest of weirdos who loved anime way too much and played far, far too much Pokemon -- note to self: write an article on how much you hate Pokemon. I branched out of course; talked to the few I sat beside in class, gave a glowing speech here or there in front of thirty other students, made a fool of myself because why the hell not? I tried my best to live the “high school life”, even if I didn’t start going out with friends until senior year...
As I wrote more and more, I learned how to best express my opinions. A short three month dip into “professional” video game journalism had me learning at an accelerated pace as the editor in-chief of the small, very non-profit, website I wrote for edited my work. I took his suggestions in stride, bearing the full brunt of his critique of my work. When I quit three months after joining, I profited not from money but experience. Various things like what words I should be using, how best to express my opinion (either with facts or examples), and how grammar is used properly. I also became more perceptive of both the flaws and strengths of the games I played. Not only did I begin picking them apart for their strengths and weaknesses, but I started realizing how even the tiniest aspect can impact the entire video game as a whole. Story, music, art, the damn menus, whatever it is, however weak or strong an aspect it is, the feel of the game can change based on that one, terribly tiny detail. As an amateur video game critic, understanding how to review games in such a critical fashion was a skill I treasured.
As high school progressed forward, I began to think a lot more. Mostly stupid, frivolous thoughts on how I was going to slay the dragon that I’d conjured up in my head to speed past Pre-Cal, but there were a handful of more reasonable ideas floating around in my noggin. How was I going to live the rest of my life? That one popped up quite a bit; because I’m not much for school and if I were to live my ideal life, it would be one where I sat on the porch writing story after story while playing a few video games along the way. But living out ideal lives isn’t easy, and with senior year coming to a close I’m at a loss for what to do. After all, I’m a deadbeat with a low ass GPA and not much talent except for writing -- writing about video games, writing their stories, or even writing corny young adult novels -- and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to muster a passion for anything but writing; and I guess I have video games to thank for that.
This childish hobby I spent hour upon hour enjoying has influenced me to this point. Video games offered the escape I sought during my younger years, the venue for all my pent up frustrations after a too long day at school, and the guidance that I needed. But after so many years of playing around with them, what do I have to show for it? Pixels are all that await me whenever I turn on my now aging computer; they may be bundled up and framed into a picture or model, but they are just pixels in the end; and when you really start to think about it, all I ever did was move them around a virtual environment. So if video games are so simple, why did they ever grab my attention? Well, that’s an easy enough question to answer.
Zachary Pierce, a gunslinger turned jedi. His dashing good looks and sharp tongue swooned any man, woman, or alien who had the pleasure to meet him. Not even the Sith had stood a chance against his combat techniques; armed with a duo of pistols, his trigger finger would fire round after round while his mind would conjure up a magical energy called the force. He’d suck the life out of his foes, electrocute their hearts to a grinding halt, and pound them to the hard floor with a twitch of his finger. His demeanor was always at an all time high, ever trustworthy, spirited, but firm whenever tragedy struck. He was the perfect leader, and an icon to the dying age of jedi. His companions would charge into battle at his side, and without a fault in their step, follow behind him wherever he went, through whatever would happen.
Taylor Hero, the new kid in town living with the uncle and little cousin he hasn’t met in years, was a sarcastic optimist of a teenager who never shied away from a fight. His first day at school was met with awe as he snapped at his pretentious homeroom teacher, Mr. Morooka (or, more aptly, “King Moron”), and took his seat next to Chie Satonaka with a smug look on his face. She was his first friend, and she was shortly followed by many more; and even though Taylor knew he’d be leaving in a year, he formed bonds so tight that even the mere thought of having to leave was enough to make him cry. But it was nothing compared to the train ride back home. Filled with blissful remorse he spent the entire journey home reliving the year he'd spent in Inaba. From the funny and interesting, to the frightening and somber, and all the way to the straight up bizarre; but there wasn't a single moment he would trade away.
Adrian Shepard, the sole survivor who could infiltrate just about any facility. His witty character charmed human and alien alike -- which caused quite a stir amongst his crew members. Crew members who were one part human alliance, and another part “filthy” alien scum. Relationships were strained in the early days, but some battles are forgotten in the midst of war. A ship as fine as the Normandy, flown by a pilot as sarcastically brilliant as Joker, wasn’t just made for sightseeing. Everyone aboard the Normandy knew death and destruction awaited them, but Shepard, the legend living amongst the stars, brought back from the dead once, thought to never return thrice over, was unmoving; his attitude toward the impossible was an inspiration to his crew. Some were young, docile creatures taking their first steps out of home fleet, others were veterans, experimented on, beaten on, created for a single purpose, or born too independent to be locked behind rules and regulations, his crew was as much apart of him as he was to himself. In the end, Shepard saved the universe, at the cost of his very life.
Then there’s me. Seared into my brain, the face of every life I’ve taken. Because a sniper does nothing but look. My eye is trained forever on the battlefield, trailing after my victim. They might hide, they might sprint into a maze of cover, fly through a shrapnel filled sky, or fire rockets at me from their “safe” spot miles away; but I never miss. The bullet will fall through the air, puncture the skull of my enemy, and before they even spawn again, I would send another flying their way.
I live and breath by the lives of the virtual avatars I create and control. Calling a video game a simple arrangement of pixels, a “waste of time”, or a childish hobby is barely even an argument against playing them. I may toss hundreds into the pool of a billion dollar industry like a fool, but money isn’t an object when you take into account the emotional impact a video game can have on a person. I started off as a lonely kid seeking an escape within video games, evolved from that to a designer, then I became a writer after realizing that what I loved most about video games was the story. Even though I don’t quite know where I’m heading from here -- whether I’m going to become a journalist, or run backwards towards my dream of writing stories -- I know where my heart lies. One day, I may wake up and forget what I’ve experienced as a “gamer”, but by then I hope I have a pretty good reason for it; because they’ve taught me so much and helped shape who I am today, that the idea of forgetting all of it would make me swoon. And I don’t think I would ever want to wake up again.
Log in to comment