Downloadable Diaries: Volume 1 – Mark of the Ninja

I love downloadable games. Granted, the term "downloadable games" can mean anything; I just downloaded Rock Band 3 from Xbox Live Games On Demand the other day. When I say I love downloadable games, though, I specifically mean games that are built from the ground up for services like Xbox Live Arcade or PlayStation Network. I love their limited scope, especially in the face of today's AAA-or-bust gaming landscape, and I love that I can get a quality, game-of-the-year experience for a quarter of what I would pay for a game at Walmart or Game Stop. I even love that I don't have to get off of my ass to put in a disc.

My hard-on for downloadable games is long and committed, and it's with this in mind that I'm kicking off an ongoing series here at Diversion 2.0 Games. More and more top-tier games are finding their way to XBLA and PSN, and I want to chronicle my efforts in experiencing the best of what downloadable games have to offer on a semi-regular basis. Also, spending the first two paragraphs of any given love-fest about Shadow Complex and Magic: The Gathering – Duel of the Planeswalker invariably going "boy, I shore do loves them downloadable games!" gets real tedious.

Anyway, that's your Hello World for Downloadable Diaries. Let's get to the good stuff, then, shall we?

Mark of the Ninja

One of my favorite Christmas memories involves playing through all of Shadow Complex during a holiday break three years ago, and I bought Mark of the Ninja during Microsoft's Huge-Ass Xbox Live Blowout® in order to slavishly recreate how happy winter-time 2D platforming makes me. Also, I remember loving the demo I played at PAX Prime in August, but seriously, I like my exploration-heavy side-scrolling with at least a foot of snow outside and underneath four-to-six blankets.

Contra to my initial understanding, Mark of the Ninja is not a Metroidvania-style platformer, with an open-world map and unlockable areas galore. This is not a deal-breaker, however—for what Mark of the Ninja lacks in hidden Missile Tanks, it more than makes up for in incredibly intuitive and fun stealth gameplay. For that is what Mark of the Ninja ultimately is to me: the first stealth game I not only want to play through to the end (a feat not even the first Metal Gear Solid could achieve), but that I actually felt good at. Here is a game that presents me with an ever-expanding set of rules on how to make enemies look like an army of Mortimer Snerds, and makes me feel powerful enough to bend all of them to my will.

Stealth games have always been my Achilles Heel because I lack the surrounding- and situational-awareness needed to actually progress. I always feel like stealth games require players to juggle an awfully large number of plates: guard movement and behavior patterns; spatial positioning of both your character and enemies around you; level layouts and any one "right" path that needs to be taken; above all, I feel like most stealth games are inflexible in their design, punishing players who don't solve the scenario the way the programmers intended. That's not including any suspect gameplay mechanics involved, either; nothing is more frustrating than spending ten minutes meticulously plotting out a path through a stage, then accidentally alerting a guard because I didn't line up for a from-behind stealth kill exactly right and having to reset because the combat sucks.

Mark of the Ninja has none of these problems. Chiefest among Mark of the Ninja's accomplishments is how well it telegraphs everything you need to know about any given situation: how much noise you're making, whether or not enemies can see you, enemy cones of vision, what you can shoot; all presented cleanly with surprisingly little UI. The shift from three dimensions to two also greatly simplifies Mark of the Ninja's gameplay, eliminating many of the variables that can bog down gameplay during games like Splinter Cells or Hitman. Enemy patrols are easier to predict, and because your vision is less tied your character's perspective than his position onscreen, it's much easier to monitor enemy placement and environmental detail—all the better for playing cat-and-mouse with your unsuspected quarry.

Nearly as commendable is the breadth of choice presented by Mark of the Ninja, letting you choose multiple paths through some levels and allowing for multiple playstyles. Want to go through and stealthily murder every last guard? Slice some throats and watch the points stack. Prefer to pass through each level like a shadow, alerting no one to your presence, even in death? Mark of the Ninja offers all sorts of tools and bonuses for sneaking through undetected. As I understand it, there is even a skill tree that emphasizes terrorizing the holy hell out of guards before you execute them like a homicidal Batman. Flexibility reigns supreme in Mark of the Ninja, encouraging additional playthroughs using different approaches.

Mark of the Ninja even sands the edges off of other frustrating elements inherent in so many stealth games. Checkpoints crop up nearly every five feet and respawn times are almost instantaneous, minimizing punishment for failure and encouraging experimentation. This does lessen Mark of the Ninja's tension somewhat—I've yet to encounter a moment so far that makes me fear for my life the way I might even during GoldenEye 007: Reloaded's stealth section. As far as I'm concerned, though, that's the whole point. From the ease of stealth kills to the Ninja's absurdly powerful moveset, Mark of the Ninja isn't about instilling dread of discovery, but instead about providing a power fantasy, elevating you into heightened layers of hyper confidence and badassery. Fear is for the weak. That's why your victims are so scared.

I'm merely a few levels into Mark of the Ninja, and haven't even unlocked my ability to choose my skillset. I'll be damned if I stop now, though. Tight, responsive controls, concrete-solid mechanics, and a lovely gameplay hook based on an inarguably truth—ninjas are totally sweet—make Mark of the Ninja one of my new favorites, and fodder for more Christmas memories in the years to come.

On playing more games and actually finishing them

Last week, when I wrote about my initiative to play more games, I started taking stock of games I could play when I didn't have the chance to rent. I thought my library was reasonably well-played through, with maybe one or two that I was only a few hours away from finishing. I came up with seven titles that I was not even halfway through, and four that I hadn't played for but a few hours.

This is a huge change from how I used to play games. From the time I got my Nintendo 64 at age nine, up until I graduated high school, I generally played all of my games to completion before I bought another one. Granted, I stopped 100%-ing my GameCube games the way I did Star Wars: Rogue Squadron or Super Mario 64, but I at least took the time to finish the critical path before moving on.

Now, I chew through new releases, playing them for a few hours, then putting them aside until later. "Later" being some indeterminate future, of course. Seriously, out of my shelf of Xbox 360 games, I've finished maybe—maybe—around 60% of them.

That's not including games I bought for other systems, either. My Super Nintendo has been poised and ready to play Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island and Final Fantasy II for months, and I made a big to-do out of buying The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess on the GameCube, only to shelve it after playing it for an hour and a half. And my poor Wii U, shunted to the side after playing it for like two hours =(

Worst of all are my digital purchases. Most of my Xbox Live purchases are made because the game is on sale; I bought Dark Void, Prince of Persia: The Forgotten Sands, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, and Halo: Combat Evolved solely because they were five dollars. Hell, just yesterday I picked up Mark of the Ninja, Fez, and Super Meat Boy—all super stellar games that I won't have time to play, but couldn't help getting because they were all half off. This is must be what it's like during Steam Sales.

I've even started a small pile of games I've simply given up on. I hit a wall in Batman: Arkham Asylum sometime back in 2010, and I don't care enough to try to unstick myself, especially since I have Arkham City on PS3 (which I still need to beat, whoops!). I reached the final boss of Gears of War and gave up, and I figured I had gotten everything I needed to out of Final Fantasy XIII without playing its boss rush-style endgame. FIFA 10 has been kinda sitting there for about three years, but it's a soccer game, and you can't really beat those, right?

I realize I don't have time to play videogames the way I could in high school. I have several jobs, and I'm still trying my best to write as much as I can (a games writer must write, after all!). Still, there must be a way I can run games to at least a complete finish before moving on.

One reason why I halt a game partway through is because, frankly, I don't want it to end, and want to hold on to the experience. I'm sitting on a half-finished copy of LA Noire because I loved the hell out of the first parts, and I'm waiting for a magical circumstance when I can enjoy the back half just as much. Same goes for Halo 4: I don't want the ride to end, and I especially don't want to feel like I hurried through the campaign at the expense of ignoring everything. In my efforts to savor, my meals, I'm allowing them to cool and collect mold in the fridge.

There's also my psychosomatic idea that I don't have time to play videogames, which, frankly, is bull. Like I wrote before, I need to play videogames if I want to keep in this games-writing race, and abandoning ship before I can ingest the full experience won't do me any favors.

So how do I clear my backlog out and go? Bettering my time management skills would be a great place to start. Playing games in short bursts would give me slow, steady progress, even when I am in the middle of other games. For longer experiences like RPGs or adventure games, I can focus only on the critical path and leave any extraneous sidequests. Lastly, if I want to get really serious, I can set up a schedule for which nights I'll play what; keeping up in gaming is serious business, one that organizational skills can only help.

Fortunately for me, the next few weeks until the end of January are barren with new releases, giving me plenty of time to make headway in my backlog. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more loot to collect in Darksiders II.

Past its prime: The greatest Zelda game of all isn’t

It's not just what games you play, but when you play them.

Take a look at anyone's list of favorite games. Hell, take a look at mine. It's bound to have glaring omissions and staggering inclusions, picks to make you scratch your head and suspiciously eye what the list-maker puts in their coffee. It's these choices that make up our taste and inform us as gamers; not just the games we choose, but when we chose them and how we let them affect us.

Let's take a gander at my list again. Here, you'll find a few discrepancies from standard convention. For example: I think that Donkey Kong Country 2 is a more satisfying platforming game than Super Mario World. I also think the glitchy, limited, Wild West-feeling of Pokémon Blue is a more adventurous game than any of its polished future entries. Such is my gooey nostalgic core.

More importantly, given the topic of today's entry, I think that Ocarina of Time is a better Zelda game than A Link to the Past. Not super controversial, considering that many game critics vie between these two for the spot of Best Zelda Game. Thing is, I'm not ever sure if I can grasp what makes A Link to the Past a good Zelda game. A good Super Nintendo game, maybe, but no one ever goes into A Link to the Past without knowing its heritage.

It all comes does to when I started playing Zelda games. Ocarina of Time came out in November of 1998, when I was the tender age of 11. I had fun exploring the Kokiri Forest, chatting up Saria and showing the town bully, Mido, who was boss. I routed the Ghoma Queen from inside the Deku Tree and felt pretty good about myself, and everything was going according to plan.

Then, I left the woods.

Leaving the Forest brings you to Hyrule Field, the gigantic connecting area between Ocarina of Time's many areas. Not a particularly noteworthy place; mostly trees and bushes, and vaguely hilly. Except that it was so big. Expanding in every direction, past what the draw distance could render, Hyrule Field blew away my expectations for how big a video game environment could be—so big, that day shifted to night in the game before I could reach Hyrule Castle. I could explore wherever I wanted, visit whatever towns I chose, all while my small-child imagination brewed up what kinds of adventures I could be having when I wasn't playing the game.

This is what gives me trouble with playing A Link to the Past. There was never a moment of awe, a gob-smacking sense of wonder, I never "got" it. Most of the elements are in place: puzzles, dungeons, bosses, exploration. None of it clicks in 2D, though. I never find myself "in" the game the way I did when I first stepped into Hyrule Field. I find that going from screen to screen breaks the immersion for me, reminding me that I'm controlling a dude onscreen instead of going on adventures myself.

Funny. I say that I can't find 2D Hyrule adventurous, but I feel like the biggest explorer who ever lived on the 8-bit plains of Kanto Region in Pokémon Blue (so adventurous it didn't even have a name until much later). This, despite a weekly cartoon that had every opportunity to dwarf my portable onscreen quests. Actually, I think the cartoon had the opposite effect; showing me what I was "really" doing when I was taking a short stroll from Palette Town to Viridian City. The young imagination is a tenacious one, and 8-bit gaming is the best at harnessing it; how else do you explain the popularity of Minecraft among today's youth?

It's certainly not for the combat, either. And, no, it's not like saying "I like 3D Zelda but not 2D Zelda" is on the same level as "I like 3D Mario but not 2D Mario." Even if I did start playing Mario games with Super Mario 64 (which is almost true), the simple act of controlling Mario in 2D is great fun, enhanced by terrific level design. The simple act of telling Link to swing his sword at something is not inherently fun, in spite of how well-designed some dungeons can be. Combat in Zelda games, for me, is all about Z-Targeting, tense one-on-one duals, and brilliant victories, despite how rarely it is actually any of those things.

I even find the original Legend of Zelda on the NES more accessible than Link to the Past. Perhaps it's that sluggish pace, the minimally detailed environments, the raw, unrefined gameplay. I can get behind that, I can fill in the gaps myself. I've been trained, through so many hours of Gameboy-playing, to grasp 8-bit gaming. There's much less onscreen, so my imagination needs to pick up the slack, and Link's quest to rebuild the Triforce feels much bigger. This is what narrative ownership used to mean; before I channeled my first decisions through Commander Shepard, I charted my first course in The Legend of Zelda, and I did it my way.

There's very little in the way of self-filled gaps with 16-bit gaming. There's expanded awe, like during Final Fantasy VI's opening credits, during which a troupe of soldiers trek across a blizzard toward a snow-bound town, but nothing in the way of the "I imagined it like this" free association involved in 8-bit. If I can't make my own adventure like on the NES, and if I can't be dwarfed with amazement like on the N64, then why am I even playing A Link to the Past?

Perhaps I need to wade in and try A Link to the Past's dungeons again. After all, most Zelda games use the same formula; good dungeon design ought to transcend dimensions. If I can be receptive enough to what the game is trying to do, maybe I can see the baked-in Nintendo goodness that has imbued the Zelda series since the NES. If works for Ocarina, it ought to work for Link.

Perhaps.

At any rate, my backlog is extensive enough at this point, and there's no use starting Twitter arguments over Zelda preferences until I can find time to finish the thing; as of writing, I got four or so dungeons into A Link to the Past and quit out of frustration a few years ago. I never got hooked, so I didn't stay around. Maybe when I try again, I can see the game everyone has been clamoring over since 1991.

Maybe.

Re-post: My ten favorite games of all time

I make reference to this list more often than I like, and so I'm bringing it to a more standalone page, free of the commentary. The more wordy, explanatory version of this list can be found here.

1. Chrono Trigger (Super NES)
2. Pokémon Blue (Gameboy)
3. SSX 3 (PlayStation 2)
4. Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars (Super NES)
5. Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy's Kong Quest (Super NES)
6. Ratchet and Clank: Going Commando/Ratchet and Clank: Up Your Arsenal (PlayStation 2)
7. Need for Speed: Underground (PlayStation 2)
8. Tetris Attack / Planet Puzzle League (Super NES, Nintendo DS)
9. Burnout Paradise (Xbox 360)
10. Battlefield: Bad Company (Xbox 360)

Honorable Mentions (in alphabetical order):
GoldenEye 007 (Nintendo 64)
Lunar: The Silver Star Story Complete (PlayStation)
Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (PlayStation 2)
Rock Band 2 (Xbox 360)
Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 2 (PlayStation)

Here, now, he says he's not dead

Whee, I'm alive! I would make an obligatory Portal reference, except I already made one on my Twitter feed, so making another one would be redundant at this point.

For those fortunate enough to miss out, I am on the upswing from one of the most debilitating bouts of illness in my life, a struggle with some freak strain of flu that lasted from Tuesday clean up through tomorrow. I've been in bed all day yesterday and parts of today, ruining what should have been a relaxing four-day weekend, and I'm downing pills left and right, but only when I can support them with food (I learned that the hard way).

Here's the lesson from all of this, kids: GET YOUR FLU SHOTS OR YOU WILL DIE.

At any rate, I should be back on the writing track any day now; having spent so much time in bed, I'm bound to have lots of ideas in the tank, right? Er, right?
Stay tuned for more content.

Three hours in: Call of Duty: Black Ops II multiplayer

Call of Duty: Black Ops II exploded onto the gaming scene on Tuesday, with first-day sales estimated between 6.5 million and 7.2 million, according to Game Informer's Andrew Reiner. I am all but out of money for games right now, what with buying Assassin's Creed III, Halo 4, and the entire Wii U console already, so I am refraining from picking up Black Ops II until I can ascertain if it's something I'll play often. That means one thing: renting it and playing it non-stop for a week!

I haven't had the chance to dive into Black Ops II's single-player campaign yet--I like to play through Call of Duty campaigns in one long sitting, and I got home too late last night to start--but I was able to cut my teeth on multiplayer for a few hours. Treyarch has been upfront about making big changes to the Call of Duty formula that Infinity Ward first perfected five years ago with Modern Warfare, and the effort shows. There's an increased emphasis on organized play, with entire sections dedicated to so-called League Play and livestreaming content. For-fun modes like Gun Game and One in the Chamber are segregated to their own playlists, and Treyarch has drastically overhauled the options for class creations. It's a brave new world, or at least an unfamiliar one compared to last year's Modern Warfare 3, which was customary Call of Duty to a fault, and there's plenty of opportunities for thrills unique to Black Ops II.

I'm not sure if I'm having fun yet.

Let's back up and talk about what I played, first. I spent most of my time in Team Deathmatch and Kill Confirmed, my two staple modes from Modern Warfare 3. In retrospect, I should have hopped around to different modes, the better to sample the different flavors of Black Ops II, but I intended to play "a few quick matches" and ended up going until 1:30am. Take from that what you will.

Matches retain the usual Call of Duty feel: twitchy, fast combat where guns are deadly and split-second reactions triumph over raw fire power. Usually. Small tweaks exist, like a bump in player health or the return of the dive mechanic, but shooting guns, throwing grenades, and swearing at campers feels the same as it ever was. As it should be; when you have a franchise as financially successful as Call of Duty, you meddle with the formula at your own risk.

Black Ops II's biggest changes to multiplayer occur outside of the battlefield, in the Custom Class builder. Rather than choosing a loadout of predefined weapons, grenades, etc., Black Ops II implements a new "Pick 10" system, where each new gun, perk, and piece of equipment occupies one of ten slots that can be mixed and matched. Want two scopes on your rifle at the expense of one special grenade? Do it. Feel like you could own face if you had an extra Perk 2? Get it done. Black Ops II's Pick 10 system allows for an even greater level of flexibility than any Call of Duty before it, and the wide suite of options allows for making a personal touch of hot, lead-filled death. In fact, at times I felt buried under sheer volume of choices; I'll need to take time out after work tonight to tweak my class to my liking.

The downside of the Pick 10 system, which feels accentuated beyond past Call of Duty games, is how it puts newer players at a disadvantage. Dudes further along in their attempt to Prestige have access to more and better killstreaks/weapons/all of that than newbies with a fresh box copy. At least Modern Warfare 2 and Black Ops had several powerful weapons and perks accessible right out of the gate; Black Ops II gates many of the better--like, clear-cut better--weapons behind later levels, and useful killstreaks, like the microwave-emitting Guardian, are locked down until, I dunno, later.

A few smaller gripes. Perks are diminished from usefulness compared to past Call of Duty games, replaced instead by attachments for individual weapons. For a dedicated Sleight of Hand-user like myself, that means grinding experience with guns I have only tertiary interest in using so that I can gain the privilege of faster reloads. Also, Scorestreaks, which predictably swap kills for points gained, are a welcome addition for objective-based modes, but most of the Streak benefits are more expensive than their corresponding rewards in previous Call of Dutys, leaving my four-kill-and-done self gazing longingly at rewards I can't earn against the uber-competitive crowd.

Actually, let's talk about that for a second. Call of Duty multiplayer can be the trickiest, most twitchy experience available online since Quake. Everything is fast, fast, fast, and split-second decisions about whom to shoot and from which direction a missed shot came from can and will wreck your win-lose record if you let them. Your wits and sharpened combat skills won't help one iota, though, if your internet connection is too slow. I currently pay for a low-price internet package, and I regularly see Kill Cams of dudes firing at me while I stand chump-like against a hail of bullets. I have no too-slow reactions in Halo 4, at least from what I've seen, and I can only point to Black Ops II's hyper-speed combat for my connection-related woes. Buyer beware.

I still want to dive back in and improve my character, if only to see if the experience gets better (something I used to justify watching four whole seasons of Heroes). The gunplay is fun, the action is fast, and progression still feels satisfying--that's enough to win over a few more hours. I'll also try out a few different game types; Hardpoint sounds like a fun take on King of the Hill, and I want to see if Demolition feels less, er, icky than in past games. If I can get behind Black Ops II's initial learning curve and small quirks, I could have another great multiplayer game on my hands, but at this point it's going to have to do a hell of a lot to wrest the crown away from Halo 4.

This is what I'm talking about

Russ Pitts put out an update on Twitter this afternoon about his new project to help geeks with depression, and I tweeted him a link to the post I wrote on Wednesday, the one about the response to his initial call and how awesome it made me feel. I hoped he would read it and take comfort in knowing that his initiatives were already doing good--hell, I wouldn't have minded a tweet back saying, "Thanks for sharing this," or something. What I did not expect was for him to retweet my silly ol' personal blog out to all of his followers, and I certainly didn't expect to receive kind, encouraging words from other members of the gaming press. But that's exactly what happened, and it made my afternoon on a level you likely wouldn't believe.

This is what I was talking about when I talked about how games writers band together.

For the record, I've been feeling better about myself for a little while, now. Sure, I get a little freaked out when I think about the myriad choices I "could" be making to help me advance into the games-writing field, but I've learned to turn on the blinders when that feeling comes up and follow my heart. I've made progress, slowly but surely, and I don't want to belittle the real forward momentum I've gained since I decided to start this journey last year by fruitlessly suggesting that I "could" be doing better. It doesn't help, and I've been happier trying to tune it out.

I wrote what I wrote to remind myself, if I get back to that unhappy place, that there's a way out. It's funny; whenever I try to sit down and talk out my real "issues," I end up downplaying them for my friends or counselor or what have you. It's like I don't want to get them down, so I assure them that it's not that bad. What I wrote the other night wasn't necessarily representative of my mental state all of the time, but I wanted to have written proof, a reference of how low I can get--it makes it easier to identify with myself when I'm ready to climb out. True healing comes from confronting your own demons, and I wanted to lay it out for myself on the page so I can face it down when the time comes.

I want to thank everyone who wrote to me and offered me the opportunity to talk. You don't know how much it means to know that, small as I am with only voulunteer sites and no paid articles to my name, you all made yourselves known and offered your hand in support. You are all incredible. You are the reason I do this. Well, apart from writing, but anyone with a Wordpress account can write--you make it possible for me to keep striving when I'm feeling bleak, and you're damn certain that you can count on me if ever you are in need. No bullshit--I will be there for you when you call, because that's how we do around here.

Ever since my first experience at a gaming event as a member of the press, I was blown away by how inviting and accepting everyone I met was. PR persons, game journos, everyone was too excited to see me poke my head into the ring, and I the camaraderie I experienced spending time with other cool dudes and dudettes who love writing and love video games is irreplaceable. In the spirit of thanks that I'm feeling right now, please let me extend my gratitude to everyone whom I've spent time with in the games-writing circle. Know that you have a Randy Newman-esque friend in me, and I will go to bat for you any time, anywhere. You're all awesome, every one of you, and it's a privilege to look forward to the next time we'll share a drink or exchange nostalgia-fueled debates over Sonic vs. Mario.

My sincerest thanks to the following persons:

Phil Kollar
Susan Arendt
Russ Pitts
A.J. Glasser
Justin McElroy
Justin Amirkhani
Andrew Hayward
Andrea Rene
Jessica Villareal
Cortney Zamm
Nick Chester
Annette Gonzalez
Eric Pope
Aaron Trites
Fish McGill
Jandreau
Jason Schreier
Steve Haske
Rob Rath
Steve Watts
Britton Peele
Scott Nichols
Tim Turi
Jim Reilly
Robin Kunimune
Alex Rubens
Tina Amini
Seán O'Sullivan
Ryan Morgan
Andrew Groen
Marc Lynch
Nate Hales
Andrew Whipple III
Linford Butler

If I missed anyone, I apologize; I just came back from a screening of Wreck-It Ralph, and my head's in all sorts of giddy places. You all inspire me, and just knowing that awesome folks like you are waiting for me when I finally make it--hell, on the way there!--gives me drive and focus.

PAX showed me how warm and inviting the games-writing industry is; you all confirmed it for me. Please let me know if I can do anything for you, and thank you again.

We're all in this together (no, really)

Matt Hughes, rest in peace.

Earlier this morning, Andrew Hayward, editor for Mac|Life and games writer-for-higher, delivered the sad news that another freelancer named Matt Hughes took his own life within the past few days. Matt was an up-and-coming writer who wrote with passion and charmed his friends and colleagues in the industry, and his passing shocked nearly everyone in my Twitter feed who knew or had worked with him. I never knew Matt, but it's plain that he was well-liked by those who did, and that we are worse off because of his absence.

The games writing community responded to the news of Matt's passing by remembering their interactions with him, and urging anyone with thoughts of hurting themselves to reach out to others and talk about it. Russ Pitts of Polygon also mentioned looking into a charity for geeks suffering from depression, and responses was overwhelmingly supportive. I hate that it takes the death of a talented young man like Matt for the games writing industry to stop fighting with each other and work together, but my heart was warmed by the sight of so much positive emotion and support both for Matt's immediate family and friends, and for everyone in the industry who has ever had problems with anxiety or depression.

I have never been diagnosed with depression or any anxiety-related illness, so I'm not sure how much credence I can lend to the discussion about depression among the geek and games writing community. I have dealt with self-esteem and anxiety issues for most of my teen and young adult life, though, and have had my share of nights when I feel absolutely worthless and want to crawl into bed, never to wake up if only it would dull the horrible sting of my own flaws. Statistics exist regarding the number of persons in the United States living with depression, but numbers don't mean a damn thing when you're scraping the bottom of an emotional well with a half-filled whiskey bottle.

Which is why I was so grateful to see everyone banding together to talk about their own issues in combating depression or mental illness. Not being friends with anyone in my immediate social circle with comparable emotional tics, I've always felt isolated in dealing with my absurd issues of self-worth, and reading comments from other games writers that, basically, answered my own insecurities with genuine emotional care made me feel so much better about myself. I thought I was struggling with depression because I'm having so much trouble trying to enter the business. Turns out that other, already-established writers are struggling with it, too.

Thank you everyone in the games writing industry for your kind words, and for letting me know that I'm not the only one that feels absurdly down from time to time. My thoughts and prayers go out to Matt and his family, and to those who knew him. We lost a talented, wonderful young man, and I hope that we never have to lose another soul to depression before we realize how tight the games writing community is, and how willing they are to help, if only we ask.

Tough decisions: creating the perfect character

Do you remember the story of Pygmalion? Pygmalion was a character of Roman myth, written about by Latin poet Ovid, who carved statues of women from ivory. Though disinterested in women of Cyprus where he lived, he eventually fell in love with one of his carvings, believing his ivory woman to be realistic and beautiful.

Pygmalion's infatuation with his creation is exaggerated and 'round the twist, but I often feel like I relate to him when it comes to creating videogame characters. Whether it's sculpting a playable character from the ground-up or simply deciding on its names, I obsess about the details in order to make my avatar perfectly tuned to my likings. No wonder the guy developed an emotional bond with his handiwork—you put enough attention into something, and you're bound to feel an attachment to it.

Creating a character in a videogame is a lofty experience for me, and it all starts with intent—what kind of character am I going to build? Will I make a digital surrogate, recreating myself for an extra vicarious thrill? What about a character for storytelling purposes, to put myself and its place and wonder what decisions he or she would do, given the fiction? Am I creating my won digital offspring, whose progress I guide like a parent?

See? I'm already making game-defining decisions, and I haven't even hit the character-editor!

Myself, I like to create a character that looks like me, making it easier to project myself into. After all, most games are power fantasies, and watching myself taking a group of bandits to town or nailing a spectacularly difficult trick combo gives me an extra thrill. For certain games, I duplicate the exact outfit I'm wearing when I create the character—my created character's wardrobe in Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3 had an exact match in my closet, right down to my T-shirt pattern and my yellow Casio wristwatch.

Occasionally, though, I build someone I "wish" I was—someone who "feels" like me, even though they may not look like me at all. My hair is too long to stand in for Shepard in Mass Effect, for instance, so instead I built a Shepard whose looks I identified with; and then gave her Jennifer Hale's voice, whose performance more closely matched the intensity and passion I felt I would act with when the galaxy is on the line. One of my friends did this the last time we created characters on Rock Band—she created what she wanted to look like, enhancing the transporting effect already brought on by virtual rock stardom vis-a-vis plastic instruments.

Naming often presents a greater challenge than creating a character model. At least when I'm building a character, I have two directives: looks like me, or looks awesome. Names, though, require much more effort and creativity to get "right." Do I name this character after myself? What about my friends? Maybe I pick the name of a favorite public figure, or one from a classmate that I've always though sounded cool. This is a name I have to live with for the entire duration of my experience, that I'll have to see every time my character chats with an NPC.

Similar to character creation, I often name game characters after myself, even when it comes to well-known characters like Link in the Legend of Zelda series or the protagonist in the Pokémon games. Silent protagonists make for the best opportunity to project myself into my creation, and I get a small thrill when the village elder is beseeching me—me!—to save their sorry hides, rather than some guy I'm controlling.

The trick comes with naming multiple characters, like new recruits in XCOM: Enemy Unknown or fresh party members in JRPGs like Final Fantasy VI. This is where the whole naming-after-friends stratagem pays off, placing your buddies a gambit to save the world. I usually keep character names as default for story purposes, but occasionally I branch out—during my first playthrough of Chrono Trigger, I named everyone after Dragon Ball Z characters, because that's what you do when you're eleven.

Finally, I can't finish creating my character without first deciding how I will use it. Will I use it to make decisions in the game that would match my own? Maybe I want to tell a story, and will choose actions based on how I think my character would respond. Hell, I may not give two shakes about why the character does anything, and play as flippantly as possible. Intent matters, and creating a serious stand-in vs. a conduit for faffing about results in two different approaches for me.

So much time and effort spent on getting the particulars right. So much sweat and furrowing of brows before players even hit the first challenge. I do it out of love for the game, though. More often than not, I care about a game's story enough to try to take it seriously, and that means getting serious with creating the most ideal partner with whom to share the game experience. Pygmalion's story ended happily, with the goddess Venus turning his unrequited statue lover into a "real" woman, and watching my newly-created character strut across the screen, one whom I am not just content but overjoyed to play as—well, if I don't feel quite as pleased as Pygmalion I can certainly understand where he's coming from.

How to properly do a videogame radio station

cI love radio. In spite of repetitive station playlists and constant advertisements, radio is a big part of my music-listening experience both in the car and while I’m at home. I like to get in touch with a town’s local character through its radio stations, and I’ve discovered many of my favorite songs through listening to various college and classic rock radio stations. While my friends like to switch on their iPods or Spotify, I like the old-fashioned sense of place that comes with a good radio stations.

My obsession with quality radio spills over into videogames. One of my favorite experiences in SSX 3, which is to say one of my favorite experiences is gaming, is cruising around and listening to EA Radio Big, the in-game radio station complete with disc jockey, DJ Atomika. I’ve just finished up playing the demo for Forza Horizons, and I’m thrilled at its three radio stations, complete with different formats and sweepers between songs. If radio is one of my pet pleasures in the meat space, it’s nothing compared to how much I drool over a well-done in-game radio station.

“Well-done” being the operative term. In-game radio is rarely done, and rarely sounds anything like an actual radio station. More than just a collection of songs, proper videogame radio needs to focus on what radio accomplishes apart from playing music and selling ads.

Why even implement a radio station into your game? For my money, in-game radio brings about a feeling of immersion. Radio stations help sell the idea that the game’s environment expands beyond the scope of what the player experiences, and go a long way towards grounding the game’s world as a “real” location. Radio stations can especially be a boon to open-world games, offering a slice of what the average citizens who live in the game’s location listens to.

I have an over-active imagination when it comes to this sort of stuff. Wreck-It Ralph will certainly not help me here.

Where video game radio stations go awry, however, is when songs end and the actual “radio station” part takes over. Games with regular in-game soundtracks never have to worry about this; they usually just go to the next song. Games with radio stations often try to emphasize “comedy” in between songs, either through wa-acky DJs or humorous advertisements, and neither with compelling results.

In-game radio often fails, too, when they fail to jive with a game’s mechanics or the rest of its world. Take Burnout 3: Takedown, for instance. Burnout 3 has an in-game radio station in the form of Crash FM, cranking out pop-punk tunes and helmed by DJ Styker. The urban setting for Burnout 3’s races make Crash FM a plausible, even welcome addition, but Stryker undermines Burnout’s reality by continually referencing the violence in its motorways, joking about how the best way to mod a car is by piling it into another one and other one-liners advocating vehicular homicide. I can buy instantly reviving after my car collides head-on with a bus, but hearing a radio DJ cheerfully acknowledge it to whatever virtual five o’clock commuters are listening makes me question the reality of Burnout’s setting. Radio stations tend to ground game worlds in the realm of believability, but they need to emphasize the right elements of gameplay in order to keep them grounded.

On the subject of small continuity violations are on-air swearing during certain radio shows or commercials. For real-world radio stations, the FCC has guidelines on what DJs can and can’t say on the air, guidelines that even Howard Stern has to follow, or at least had to prior to his exclusive contract for Sirius. This creates a disconnect for me when I listen to “funny” ads in games like Grand Theft Auto or Saints Row. Yeah, it’s funny to hear two characters swearing at each other in order sell a fire arm, if in a Blink 182-esque sophomoric way, but it reminds me that I’m only playing a game, and that the station I’m listening to is only a parody of actual radio. Funny, that in a game where I can swipe a car, run over seven pedestrians, and continue my next mission like nothing happened, I’m crying “unrealistic” because a radio commercial used the word “shit.”

What pushes an in-game radio station over the top and out of the Uncanny Valley is neither DJs nor advertisements. It’s the station’s sweepers, short pre-recorded segments dropped in between songs to plug the radio station. “You’re tuned in to 96.7 The Sky, your home for today’s hottest music!” That sort of thing. From the smallest country station in Montana to KROQ Los Angeles, every radio station uses bumpers to transition from one track to the next, and their addition helps give in-game radio stations extra foundation to plant themselves.

Losing myself in a believable open world is one of gaming’s greatest pleasures, and a quality in-game radio station adds to the goodness. Forza: Horizon has one of the best I’ve heard in years, and now I’m all sorts of excited for Need for Speed: Hot Pursuit and whether or not I can expect any extra radio goodness.

What to do with James Bond in videogames

James Bond is a cinematic icon, celebrating his 50th anniversary in cinemas this year and enjoying his 60th in print starting in 2013. On print and onscreen, he is the epitome of debonair living intermingled with male power fantasies—he drives the best cars, drinks the most finest alcohol, and mingles with the most beautiful women, all while protecting Her Majesty and the world from megalomaniacal geniuses and power mad businessmen alike. He is an icon, and a force to be reckoned with.

In videogames, well, it’s not that simple.

Bond has been kicked around in the gaming industry since 1983’s James Bond 007 for Atari 2600 and ColecoVision, but took off like a rocket after Rare blew up the Nintendo 64 with GoldenEye 007. For gamers, Bond was now synonymous with top-shelf shooter action, and barring the occasional 007 Racing, most follow-ups mimicked GoldenEye’s tendencies towards first-person shooting. Bond split his focus between adapting pre-existing movies (Tomorrow Never Dies, The World is Not Enough, Quantum of Solace) and newly-written adventures (Agent Under Fire, Everything or Nothing, Bloodstone), with quality swinging wildly between entries; I enjoyed the hell out of Agent Under Fire and Everything or Nothing on PlayStation 2, but Bloodstone on Xbox 360 put me to sleep.

Our of all of Bond’s various adventures in videogames, though, very few have actually felt anything like a proper James Bond film. My gateway into the Bond license was GoldenEye 007 on the N64, and I was surprised, upon renting several of the spy’s movies, at how little action there was compared to the non-stop shooting on GoldenEye. The niceties of Bond’s film escapades—the exotic locales, the nuts and bolts spying, the banter and interaction between Bond and his villain du jour—are often lost in EA and Activision’s single-minded goal at reviving Bond as the premiere multiplayer game in shooting.

There have been some exceptions. Both Agent Under Fire and Nightfire for the PlayStation 2, Xbox, and GameCube sprinkled Bond Moments throughout their campaign, preset traps and triggers in each level that took advantage of Bond’s resourcefulness in the field, like shooting out the winch on a crane or knocking an enemy boss into an environmental trap. Bond adventures in the third-person perspective often feature sojourns into vehicles and other less shooting-intensive missions. Still, Bond is so much more than how well he shoot, and considering the depths he can plumb if confined only to shooting (*coughhack007Legendswheezecough*), developers are doing both themselves and a disservice by their laser-like focus on Bond’s action prowess.

What separates Bond from other action heroes is character. Bond is a rapscallion bastard of a gentleman, enjoying expensive tastes in clothes and cars, and an impossible competence for completing his mission. Most first-person shooter protagonists end up becoming cyphers for the players, either intentionally (Master Chief, Chell, etc.) or unintentionally (everyone not named Captain Price in the Call of Duty series), making the FPS genre wildly ill-suited to strut why Bond is such a good character. If Bond is to be the hero of his own game, the best place to start is with a third-person camera; we came to see Bond kick ass, so let’s actually see him!

That same character bleeds over into nearly everyone else Bond interacts with while on Her Majesty’s secret service, from the cast of colorful villains he clashes with to the slew of beautiful women he meets over the course of his missions. Think of the film Goldfinger and the first scene from it that pops into mind; there’s a good chance it isn’t the ending fistfight with Oddjob or the car chase involving an ejector seat, but “No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!” The rapport between Bond and his quarry is as big a part of the experience as a shaken-not-stirred martini, and increased focus on dramatic character moments as well as action would serve the series well.

While large action setpieces make up a notable part of 007’s cinematic adventures, they’re hardly the parts where most of the screen time is dedicated. The best of Bond shows him investigating and following leads, gathering intelligence and piecing together the grander picture. I would love to see some sort of investigation system used during a mission, something like a cross between LA Noire’s evidence-gathering mechanic and Arkham Asylum’s basically automatic evidence-gathering mechanic. Downtime helps make big moments seem more exciting, and low-key sequences of examining areas for clues would help sell Bond for what he really is: a spy and member of British Intelligence.

Many of Bond’s third-person games feature separate driving sequences, sometimes handled by developers with experience making racing games (Need for Speed: Hot Pursuit 2, Project Gotham Racing, etc.). Bond involves himself in vehicular action during most of his films, making the addition of car chases well-suited to videogame adaptation.

Bond is a classic character of cinema and literature whose exploits are begging for proper videogame treatment. Unfortunately, very few of them receive a treatment even approaching “proper,” to the detriment of his potential for greatness in the videogame space. Rather than continuing to churn out yearly Bond games of varying (read: “low”) quality, Activision needs to hand Bond off to a trustworthy developer who can put give their own take, similar to what Rocksteady did with Batman or what High Moon did with Transformers. After all, that same approach was taken by a well-liked development studio who released their own spin on the James Bond formula a full two years after the most-recent Bond film—that studio was Rare, and the game was GoldenEye 007. Certainly no one can complain about those results.

The feedback loop: Micromanaging XCOM and Mass Effect 2

I've been playing Mass Effect 2 nonstop prior to my vacation last week, gunning down Geth and advancing my own personal space opera as quick order. After returning from vacation, I put Mass Effect 2 on hold in lieu of XCOM: Enemy Unknown, which I rented because, hey, maybe I should play current releases every now and again instead of two-year-old critical darlings that everyone already knows and loves. XCOM's pacing and play mechanics result in a far different experience than Mass Effect 2, as I anticipated—we're talking the difference between third-person shooter and turn-based strategy, after all; I did not expect, however, that XCOM would draw me in for many of the same reasons that Mass Effect 2 turned into such a time sink. For all of its dissimilarities in gameplay, both XCOM and Mass Effect 2 have mastered the most crucial part of a game's replay value: the feedback loop.

The feedback loop, in this case, is what drives me forward in my desire to play, and how unwilling I am to put down the controller once I've started. When I talk about being "addicted" to a game, I'm talking about how strongly its feedback loop pulls me in, and how powerless I am to put it down because of how in-the-groove I'm feeling. A good feedback loop papers over a game's natural stopping places, compelling me to continue for two, three, even four hours at a time, and both XCOM and Mass Effect 2 have mastered a very specific type of feedback loop, despite their differences.

XCOM and Mass Effect 2 create their dastardly addictive draw by artfully, seamlessly combining involving action sequences with careful micromanagement and upgrading. During the actual story missions, I'm fighting for survival against enemies while using a Neeson-esque very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over the course of gameplay, and reaping rewards based on my decisions about character progression. After the combat scenario is through, I retreat to my home base and start upgrading my character performance based on the spoils I've collected, researching different buffs and equipment and abilities so that I can go back into the fray and whup even more alien ass. Both gameplay segments feed into each other perfectly—I can't get stronger on the battlefield without outfitting my characters with better equipment, but I can't make the advancements I need without collecting further resources from the field.

It's this desperation to balance out both sides, along with the curiosity of seeing exactly how much misery my new plasma cannon inflicts, that makes both XCOM and Mass Effect 2 so deviously habit-forming. Neither game never feels "at rest," like things are so good that I can just quit in the middle, and there's always a new power to unlock or mission to conquer. The cycle of getting stuff and wrecking shop with said stuff in order to obtain more stuff appeals to the most lizard-like portions of my brain, and if I'm just doing what feels good, man, time can pass by in both games very quickly.

In fact, it's this same lizard-like appeal that makes Call of Duty multiplayer such a hit. Shooting dudes in the face with an M4A1 is a rush, especially when you know that it's a real dude in Ohio instead of a computer-controlled dude, plenty of games let me shoot dudes in the face. Call of Duty's innovation, starting with Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare and continuing through present day, is how it implemented a progression system, a progression system that sounds an awful lot like what I've been talking about in my previous two paragraphs. Consider: before each match, I pick a series of skills (perks) and equipment (guns, explosives, etc.); I then fight off waves of baddies (everyone online) using the totally rad combination of weapons and abilities I hand-picked; afterwards, I gather the resources I collected in battle (XP) and apply it to accruing more gear and buffs (leveling up, though Black Ops lets me full-on purchase upgrades with currency à la XCOM and Mass Effect 2).

When doled out in correct doses, micromanagement adds a ton of fun to already well-executed games, whether it's a role-playing shooter/RPG, a turn-based strategy game, or the world's most popular FPS. Top-notch play mechanics can go a long way towards making a game great, but mastering the feedback loop helps them go even further.


*Note: I have deliberately left the Diablo series out of this discussion, as I have no experience with it at all, though I understand it may as well be called Feedback Loop: The Game.

Kill Morinth | Kill Samara

Finally back in Bozeman, and now I can play non-handheld games. I say this with only mingled relief; I’m pretty sure I’ve spent more time on Radiant Historia in the past week than I have a JRPG since Pokémon Black. Also, I got a chance to find out why so many pubs gave New Super Mario Bros. 2 such unenthusiastic scores—when I read that a game is "more of the same," I didn’t expect it to literally be more of the same, and this is coming from a guy who likes his Call of Duty an awful lot.

Anyway, now that I have access to my Xbox 360 again, I stopped by Hastings to pick up a new release to play in hopes of keeping up with the gaming conversation. To my surprise, both X-COM: Enemy Unknown and Dishonored were available, a situation I hadn’t counted on considering how fast Bozeman’s college student population snaps up new product. Maybe it’s mid-term tests.

What followed was a short, but intense deliberation about which game to rent. On one hand, X-COM: Enemy Unknown: a modern revival of a classic PC franchise that leans heavily on turn-based strategy and micromanaging resources between missions; on the other, Dishonored: the Bethesda game I’ve always wanted to play, with a wide array of options and gameplay choices while still containing sufficient linear focus. It’s like having to choose between Mad Max and Game of Thrones, which, coincidentally, I am also putting off deciding on even as we speak.

X-COM calls to my inner strategy addict, the same one that made Advance Wars on the Game Boy Advance arguably my most-played game for my entire middle school experience, or that kept me hooked on Final Fantasy Tactics Advance while my college roommate occupied our PlayStation 2. The half-hour demonstration I saw at PAX East hyped me up for XCOM, massaging my strategic inclinations and impressing me with it intuitive console mechanics though my enthusiasm has since cooled. Renting XCOM would mean playing it for an absurdly chunky amount of time, though I can think of worse punishments than "playing through an awesome game for a long time =(".

Games like Dishonored turn me off after a short amount of time, thanks to my unfortunate tendency to lock up when presented with too much choice—either that or I get flashbacks to the time I rented Grand Theft Auto IV, played it for two hours, accomplished nothing, then returned it for The Orange Box. I actually spent time with Dishonored at PAX Prime, though, and Arkane Studios nailed the balance between freeform gameplay and gameplay direction. Plus, I want to try completing Dishonored without murdering anyone, something the Bethesda rep assured me was not only possible but completely badass.

I ended up telling the sales associate about both games and realized I rhapsodized about XCOM for much longer than I did Dishonored, so I went with XCOM. I think it's those small vestiges of decision overload that I'm afraid of, or my general aversion from stealth games, that tilted me away from Dishonored, or if my time with the grid-heavy Radiant Historia is driving me to greater heights of turn-based micromanagement. Besides, Dishonored is far too close in narrative presentation to Mass Effect 2; too many dialog trees make Jack a dull boy, or at least a boy who stares woodenly at you while trying to pick the option that leads to "knock you over the head and drag you to the basement."

Had I more time, or the desire to spend more than $8 at a time renting games, but grown-up decisions dictated that I had to make a tough choice. The problem of choosing between two stellar games is hardly a problem at all, though, and either one would have satisfied my gamerly cravings to top-tier software. Just, don't make me decide which of my children is my favorite again until November, okay?

The daily grind: Peace of mind through JRPGs

Fifteen hours is a hell of a long time to stay in a car.

I’ve been on a car trip to Missouri with my family since last Wednesday, giving me ample opportunity to stare out the window at passing countryside, and equal opportunity to be bored out of my skull. I prepared before we departed, though, and purchased a 3DS specifically for the journey, along with New Super Mario Bros. 2 and Mario Kart 7. In light of my new software acquisitions, though, I’m surprised that I’m spending the most time with Radiant Historia, a game I bought nearly six months ago and rarely played before last week. It’s been therapeutic in ways I’ve totally forgotten about in the years since I’ve played a top-tier JRPG. In particular, grinding.

Though quality storytelling is generally high on the list of why gamers love JRPGs, I feel like combat—turn-based, active-time, whatever—is a huge draw for me. There’s something about JRPG battles that feel much more deliberate and methodical than traditional console action games, and that same change of pace brings me to a Zen-like state when I’m on a roll. Unwanted grinding can be one of the most tedious experiences in gaming, but deliberate, chosen grinding makes me feel like a well-oiled experience-gaining machine.

Gaining experience feels good. Most modern games have adopted some sort of progression system as a result; look at this year’s Madden and Call of Duty, both of which feature extensive experience and customization options. JRPGs handle it the best, though, because of how their gameplay is already driven by numbers. If I spend round after round hammering at dudes with 45s and 68s, being rewarded with a big, fat 174 feels not just satisfying, but appropriate. It feeds into the videogame power fantasy, but in a math-y way that feels really damn cool.

Progressing in life can be an uncertainty. Who knows if anything I do will positively benefit me, whether it’s trying to lift weights at the gym or spending time playing videogames. JRPGs tell stories in their own right, but their play mechanics tell another, more alluring one: if you spend time doing something, you’ll get good at it, no matter what. If I can fill up my experience bar, I can improve myself. Bar none. This direct feedback loop of effort and progression rewards hard work, appealing to the Puritanical side of the American psyche.

Plus, it’s just good fun to over-level your party and wreak all kinds of havoc on previously-challenging mobs, you know?

When time allows, the grind-happy side of JRPGs can soothe my jangled gaming nerves. Number-driven power fantasies and decisive ass-kickings are a great way to pass the time—that’s how Pokémon did it, that’s how America does it, and it’s worked out pretty well so far.

Shop talk: Writing about games is hard

I’ve been on my path to becoming a gaming journalist for close to a year and a half now, meeting challenges seen and unforeseen, but one I haven’t expected is how tough it is to write about videogames. Specifically, how to write about videogames without sounding like an undistinguished fan site. I do my best to read high-quality sites like Polygon and Penny Arcade Report, but I still have a ways to go before I can stack my works alongside more established genres of writing.

I have high standards. It’s not just wanting to write like imaginary “real” writers; I have a very specific goal in mind. I want to command my words with authority like Roger Ebert, and I want to display my personality while keeping my writing informed like Tim Brayton. My problem, so far, is that I lack good writing habits and a sufficient vocabulary for discussing games. I can write about movies till the cows come home; a steady diet of Ebert and Antagony & Ecstasy have blessed my with a greater understanding of how to discuss movies and, as a result, appreciate them as craft. Yet, despite consistently trying to read gaming articles online, I feel that I lack an academic way to discuss games. Invariably, I feel like I’m spouting off marketing lingo when I launch into a discussion about a game’s features; I blame my years of reading Nintendo Power. Granted, I haven’t given my Game Informers a decent read in a while; I have a mental block on reading print journalism/books/anything on paper, and I feel like I might improve my craft if I can actually sit down and learn by example. Still, gaming journalism lacks a generally-accepted model for discussing games in a scholarly manner—either that, or I’ve sorely missed it so far.

I would much prefer to attempt to write about videogames for a living (cripes! If I think there’s a ton of would-be game journos, there must be way more when an actual precedent for Pulitzer-winning writing exists), but like I said, I have a few hurdles to overcome. Fortunately, most of them are mental blocks I need to push past, but if I want to push my way to the top of the journalistic stack, I’m going to have to find a way to assert myself as a better writer than the average Mario fansite, and without an established model for how to improve writing about games outside of general writing tips, I’m going to have to act like an even more creative schmo than usual.

Still, it’s not like I’m unwilling to meet the challenge. I’m just saying it’ll be a bit of a struggle; we’re still in the days where discourse about games writing is still evolving and improving, and my generation—aka, the guys who grew up reading Nintendo Power and EGM2—are on the spearhead of trying new styles. It’s even more fortunate for someone like me: a new, unique style would be worth its weight in page views, and even help push discussions in reviews, editorials, etc. Writers like Jenn Frank and Patricia Fernandez are continuing to advance the field of New Games Journalism, Simon Parkin and his crew crank out kickass long form features, and Patrick Klepek and Jason Schreier hold it down for hard journalism amongst so much fan writing. The future is more crowded than ever, but now’s the time to try something different and become noticed. I’m just going to have to try harder, you know?

Horror Game Scare-athon (*projectile vomit*): ZombiU

Very few stays constant during game console launches, events fraught with uncertainty and excitement that culminates in a big messaging mishmash, but regardless of who makes the hardware, Ubisoft will be there to try to capitalize on the hype, particularly with Nintendo. Ubisoft has had at least one high-profile launch title for Nintendo’s last home release, the high-concept low-execution Red Steel, and poises to deliver another with ZombiU. The urge to make Red Steel comparisons is tempting—a Nintendo-exclusive launch shooter based on hardware-defining gimmicks, huh?—but Ubisoft’s latest entry in the zombie-shootin’ sweepstakes is actually pretty fun.

ZombiU’s drops players in the middle of London after an unspecified plague morphs everyone into craven, flesh-munching zombies. Players take control one of the plague’s survivors and must find their way to safety through the wreckage of merry old England, killing zombies with whatever weaponry can be fashioned or found. Unlike other zombie shooting games like Left 4 Dead or Contagion, guns are scarce and ammo even more so, and conserving bullets is paramount to staying alive; think Condemned: Criminal Origins but with more undead shuffling. Also unlike other zombie shooters, ZombiU’s characters are quite squishy, only taking a low number of hits or one good bite before keeling over. After death, players take control of another survivor in a different portion of the map, and must track down and kill their previous character in order to regain their supplies.

ZombiU’s other big gameplay hook stems from the Wii U GamePad. ZombiU displays a map of the environment on the GamePad screen, letting players scan for zombies a la radar. Item management is handled on the second screen as well, ranging from backpack item placement to which weapon is equipped, and all of it happens in real time, leaving players potentially caught off-guard for impromptu zombie attacks.

My playthrough started me in an enormous mansion, replete with ornate carpets and fancy wall decorations, reminding me of Buckingham Palace gone to hell. I foraged around the study where I woke up until I found a cricket bat lying under an end table, turning my thoughts to Shaun of the Dead. The Ubisoft representative directed my attention to yet another function of the GamePad: a scanner that reveals potential clues or hidden areas. The scanner lead up to a well-camouflaged maintenance closet and up a ladder, where a totally-not-sketchy air duct stood between me and hidden goodies. My good faith was misplaced, however, as a surprise zombie popped out, screaming and dragging me in helplessly. I beat the sucker down, but not before leaping with surprise.

After climbing down my hiding place, newly stocked with bullets and a shiny new shotgun, I came to an expansive ballroom crawling with zombies dressed as the British guard. They lurched toward me and I grabbed my pistol, not wanting to waste my precious shotgun shells. To my surprise, my undead aggressors than I anticipated, taking multiple headshots before hitting the ground. Not wanting to run out of ammo, I switched to my cricket bat and started swinging like Duke Ellington. A few zombies caught me unprepared, though, and a few stray scratches sent me to the Game Over screen.

I selected to respawn, and I was treated to a short cutscene of a female university student waking up in a different section of the mansion. I adjusted my bearings, found a new cricket bat, and cautiously made my way back to the ballroom where I died. The area was less populated with zombies, but I recognized a zombified version of my previous character sporting my backpack. In what must be one of the most peculiar forms of suicide conceived in a game, I put my dead corpse down and continued on my way, having found my old supplies.
In the next room, I noticed a new breed of zombie creeping in, reminiscent of the Boomer in Left 4 Dead, who wasted no time in sliming me. Not wanting to waste any time finding out what else they could do, I broke out my shotgun and was satisfied with how fast the creature went down. If nothing else, ZombiU does a great job of making the player feel helpless without the proper equipment.

ZombiU still isn’t quite my bag; the controls and shooting feel loose, and I never feel fully satisfied playing zombie shooters (this includes both Left 4 Dead and Call of Duty: Zombies). Still, ZombiU is a fun, survivalist take on gunning down zombies, and I’m still excited to find out more about it, regardless of my own personal biases. ZombiU drops with the launch of the Wii U on November 18, 2012.

October game scare-athon *projectile vomit*

My friend Abi and I were having coffee the other day when she announced plans to watch scary movies all through the month of October, culminating on Halloween night when she watches The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad. Presumably. The fact stands that, starting yesterday, she will watch horror films for an entire month leading up to Halloween.

She’s not the only one. Movie enthusiasts all over the internet are doubtlessly gearing up for Friday The 13th and Nightmare On Elm Street marathons even as we speak, if they haven’t done so already, and goodness knows how many film blogs are planning George Romero retrospectives. Being a gamer more than a film enthusiast, I haven’t much in the way of a horror fiend, but I am a gamer, and that’s why I’m taking my own Halloween horror pre-game.

Starting yesterday, I’ve taken an impetus to play one horror game a week from a different console generation until October 31. I’m starting with Super Castlevania IV on the Super Nintendo and making my way towards the Xbox 360 and PS3, likely resulting in a playthrough of Dead Space because I lack creativity. Also, Siren would be too expensive for a gimmicky blog-a-thon challenge, but that’s beside the point.

My hope is to play one game for each week and write about it, regardless of finishing status. Of course, if I finish a game early, I may end up starting another; Super Castlevania shouldn’t be too long, knock on wood, and my choice for the PlayStation 2/Xbox/Gamecube shouldn’t take terribly long to finish. I’m leaving on vacation tomorrow until next Tuesday, but I ought to have enough to write about until I return to Bozeman. I’ll kick off coverage tomorrow by recapping a new (new) survival horror game I played recently, so don’t worry about having to wait a whole week before we start discussion games that go bump in the night.

Truth be told, I’m excited; not only is this my first themed blog week, but also my first attempt at watching/playing/whatever a specific set of movies/games/whatever to coincide with a holiday or event. New and fun times for everyone! I anticipate growing more as a gamer, or at least a writer who oughtn’t try stuff like this ever again. Looking forward to the whole blundering process!

My favorite shooter: Battlefield: Bad Company

This generation has been a banner one for shooters. Not that shooters have ever been unpopular in the past decade or so; Halo showed us that gamers will buy the ever-loving hell out of console FPS games if done correctly. Ever since 2007's Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare, though, developers and publishers have been falling all over themselves trying to replicate Infinity Ward's kajillion-selling formula. If the 16-bit generation can be generalized as "the one with all of the mascot-themed platforming games," this one could readily, if over-simplistically, be summed up as "the one will all the military shooting games."

In light of so many FPS games being released even this month--EA's Medal of Honor: Warfighter is supposed to drop later in October--I thought it appropriate to talk about my favorite shooter from this generation, and one of my favorite games period: Battlefield: Bad Company.

Most modern shooters follow a very specific model, the one set my Call of Duty, in fact: follow one or more NPCs through a linear environment, encountering scripted sequences and waves of bad guys to shoot; reach a target zone where Something Happens, usually setting a bomb or defending a drop zone; follow the NPCs to another portion of the map and repeat; occasionally get into a moving vehicle for an on-rails turret sequence. The spectacle is the selling point in games like this, either kicking ass (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3) or boring completely (Battlefield 3) depending on execution, but the formula largely stays consistent from game to game. Think about the modern template for superhero movies started by Spider-Man and perfected by Iron Man; whether it's The Avengers or Green Lantern, chances are that, unless you're Chris Nolan and are making moody auteur films instead, superhero movies made after 2008 will follow a recognizable pattern in terms of tone and narrative content. So it is with post-Infinity Ward FPS games.

Battlefield: Bad Company was made before Jason West and Vince Zampella kicked console shooters in the teeth, releasing a good six or seven months after Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare, and breaks from this formula in several distinct ways. Not that Bad Company is enjoyable only from an iconoclastic position; it's a fun game that I've grown to appreciate more as the method in which shooters are "supposed" to be made solidifies.

The most decisive way Battlefield: Bad Company breaks from other military shooters is its level design. Rather than leading players through a series of watersides, Bad Company put players in a swimming pool, and though it wasn't totally open--some parts of the map expanded as objectives were completed--it gave much more leeway to players on how they wanted to complete levels. Areas in Bad Company were huge, and usually presented several options for approaching critical points on the map. Granted, they were small do-you-take-this-road-or-that-road decisions, but they gave an illusion of choice that complemented Bad Company's wide open spaces and vehicles.

Ah, vehicles. Another feature distinct from Call of Duty and, ironically, later Battlefield games. Vehicles amp up Bad Company's feeling of freedom and increase its destructive potential. Hop in a jeep to quickly zip to the objective, or scour around for a tank and faceroll through the opposition. Vehicles add variety to the typical shooting experience, and Bad Company's sandbox levels make commandeering an armored truck an essential part of play, in addition to being a grand old time.

Perhaps the biggest, in my eyes most important way Bad Company breaks from other shooters is its respawn system. Rather than reloading the game from the last autosave, Bad Company revives players almost where they stand, retaining any destruction or downed enemies from before the player died similar to BioShock's Vita-Chambers. Bad Company never writes over player progress by resetting building destruction or enemy placement, turning it into the most casual lark ever given an M-16 and pressed on to a disc. Far from the tense, high-stress situations in Call of Duty and its brethren, Bad Company invites players to have a good time messing around.

Bad Company's respawn system also accentuates its light, casual tone. With the exception of Bulletstorm (and sometimes even then), shooters are often grim affairs, saddled with the burdens of war and destruction and the lives displaced by violence--a fine goal that is somewhat undermined by the hundreds and hundreds of ammunition rounds spent during even one mission. Bad Company feels tonally similar to goofy action films from the '80s, where even the highest stakes were offset by a light, amiable tone. Here's a quick plot squad to demonstrate: during an unspecified conflict with the Russians, your squad, comprised of Steve Buscimi, Jeff Foxworthy, and Agent Dillon from Predator, accidentally invades a neutral country in search of mercenary gold. Not glory, not honor, not a hankerin' for shooting Russians; gold bullion. Colorful characters, irreverent dialog, and the general sense that no one is ever quite in danger ("Aw, crap!" someone exclaims as a tank rolls into view not five feet away) all impart the feeling of a late afternoon action film on AMC, the sort you shrug and settle in to watch even though you've seen it twice already.

Bad Company had a few other quirks that helped it stand out from other shooters at the time. Bad Company's approach to health regeneration was unorthodox: players' health didn't recharge automatically, but they did have access to a healing syringe that instantly refilled their precious health bar. An unusual method, but one that altered the pacing from the Call of Duty template; rather than hunkering down behind a chest-high wall until my health came back, I would frantically charge enemies guns blazing, knowing that I could instantly recharge if I needed. Not very strategic. Super damn fun. I also appreciated Bad Company's "collectable" weapons, caches of rare guns stashed off the beaten path waiting to reward curious players--finding ways to tangibly reward players for exploration is always tricky, and new ways to shoot things up real good is always a great option.

I just realized I have talked exclusively about the single-player game, something precious little people actually purchase a Battlefield game for. Bad Company introduced me to one of my very favorite multiplayer modes: Gold Rush, simply called Rush in subsequent games because gold is too good a reason to shoot at people. Gold Rush puts players on two teams, one whose goal is to destroy every set of crates on the map, and another tasked with defending against the attacking forces. Teams change roles between matches, giving both sides an opportunity to plant charges and/or repelling invaders with heavy artillery. I am tremendously unskilled at Team Deathmatch, and Gold Rush's objective-based gameplay appeals more to my play style; terrible though I am at headshots, I can defend the hell out of a stationary crate. Gold Rush has since become as standard a mode as Capture The Flag and Battlefield's own Conquest, a development that makes me happy and slightly less prone at losing.

Admittedly, part of my enjoyment of Battlefield: Bad Company comes from a point of place: I first played it during the most relaxing break in school I've ever had, a cozy week during October when I had the time to lazily saunter through the campaign, occasionally pick up a pizza for lunch, and watch movies with my then-girlfriend unencumbered by homework or lengthy respawn times. Still, it was fun then and it's fun now, and I hope EA and DICE can look at Bad Company again as they take the Battlefield series forward.

Why third party matters for the Wii U

Now that the Wii U’s launch games have been announced, we can start to pick apart the more esoteric, or at least anal-retentive aspects of the list. The most important one for me, and one I pointed out a few days ago: the presence of huge-name third-party games. Call of Duty: Black Ops II. Assassin’s Creed III. Darksiders II. All major triple-A games and, crucially, all gamers’ games. The message rings loud and clear: if you’re a core gamer, you’ll probably do alright owning the Wii U.

How perplexing, then, that some gamers are already scoffing at its third-party support. I noticed a few discussions on Twitter regarding the Wii U launch games to the effect that offering widespread third-party support on such an under-supported platform is pointless, like washing your car during a hailstorm. Why, the argument goes, does Nintendo promote playing Call of Duty: Black Ops II on the Wii U when so many are going to buy it on Xbox 360 and PlayStation 3? What’s the point of coming out with Darksiders II and Batman: Arkham City so long after their initial release? Who in their right mind is going to make the Wii U their lead platform for Assassin’s Creed III?

This kind of thinking boggles my mind for a number of reasons. I suppose this is just a case of gamers on the internet acting like gamers on the internet, but I suppose it hits me closer to home than other Wii U-related topics. You see, I exclusively owned a GameCube from 2001 to 2006, and perpetually felt the absence of other ambitious third-party games, especially after 2005 when developers started running into trouble fitting games onto the GameCube’s 1.8GB proprietary discs. Granted, most of the big ones made their way to the ‘Cube; all of the Maddens and Splinter Cells and, yes, Call of Dutys all got their due on Nintendo’s li’l lunchbox that could. What it lacked were the fun B-level games, the medium-profile games with more modest expectations—games like Project Snowblind, Darkwatch, and kill.switch, none of which are stone-cold masterpieces but added spice to the rest of the Xbox and PlayStation 2 library.

So when I see gamers decrying EA’s decision to release Mass Effect 3 on its newest piece of hardware, I want to get on a chair and shout, “Are you bloody serious?!” I get the mindset that gamers who haven’t played Mass Effect 3 yet are unlikely to suddenly start the series on the Wii U, or that the sort of gamer who would buy Batman: Arkham City will likely have already done so last year. I don’t agree, though, that it’s not worthwhile to have them available to Wii U gamers in general. A console is only as good as its games, and I think Nintendo getting one of this year’s biggest games, Call of Duty: Black Ops II, is a huge move and a necessary one.

Nintendo is starting to move into the present day with an online platform, widespread third-party support, and a controller that can actually support control schemes found on other consoles (the existence of the Wii U Classic Controller Pro completely eliminates the strain of porting games like on the Wii), and I’m super damn happy about every last acknowledgement towards modern gaming. Come November, I’m going to reward Nintendo’s move towards catching up by buying Darksiders II as one of my launch games. Some of this has to do with THQ’s recent announcement of Darksiders II U’s bonus content, but I want to show both Nintendo and THQ that core gamers will buy their core Wii U games. A small gesture, but one that makes me feel nice, and besides I haven’t played Darksiders II yet.

This period in gaming is one of the least exclusive-driven in recent memory, and if Nintendo wants to catch up, they can’t just rely exclusively on their stable of killer first-party games. Somewhere, someone who owns a Wii U will want a big-time multi-platform game, and it’s up to Nintendo to try to facilitate a Wii U version. I know, because I was once the person longing for a widely-present game for the other two consoles, and it burned me that I couldn’t play them. Nintendo can’t leave the Wii U feeling like a secondary machine, the Other Device occasionally brought out to play Mario and Zelda, and widespread third-party support will bury this notion faster than anything Nintendo could pull out of its trousers. Game consoles need games, and so far Nintendo has done a good job of showing that their new baby will actually get them.

I’m playing it for the story

As I’ve stated before, I work two jobs and don’t have as much time to play videogames as I would like, making me choosy about what I do play. I have a laundry list of factors I look at before deciding on what to rent and/or buy: how long is the game, did I like its predecessors, how is its buzz online, etc. I used to choose games that were short and sweet, and that I knew I could knock out in a weekend if I had to, but lately I’ve becoming more attracted to games that I’ve heard tell a great story, sometimes planning out which games to buy months in advance in order to find out what happens. In the words of Homer Simpson, I like stories.

I’ve always like stories. I like context for my gameplay decisions, and since I play videogames for escapism purposes, I want a worthy place to escape to. I’ve been having difficulty getting into non-narrative games like FIFA and Shantae, while mobile games with the most barebones stories draw me in helplessly (Tiny Wings is a perfect example of this, offering two or three paragraphs about how the birds dream about flying and how they practice gliding until nightfall when their mother comes and takes them home, a story that makes me MELT the more I think about it).

A good story in a game isn’t necessarily the same as a “good” story in a film; go event-by-event in some of your favorite game stories (“Niko jacked a car and shot a whole bunch of dudes and now looks miffed at something another character said”) and you may have to end up grading on a curve. “Good” stories in videogames often plays second trumpet (there were no fiddles in Belgrade High School’s symphonic band) to good storytelling, which are two completely different things—if a game’s story is the Wikipedia plot summary of what happens in the game, storytelling is how it happens. That is, good dialog and character interaction and moment-to-moment events will win out over, say, “Kratos stays angry for three full games, plus side stories.”

A degree of this has to do with the interactivity in games. Precise storytelling isn’t often possible on gaming, even with the degree of scripting and narrative options available. Even story heavy-hitters like Spec Ops: The Line don’t quite stack up compared to the best in film and story. With game stories, though, gamers can fill in the blanks of their play experience and use the you-are-there sense of place in games to own their stories. Game stories are often written in a broad, simplistic manner to accommodate for killer gameplay, which is a fair tradeoff to me.

Besides, even if gaming stories aren’t very tight, I find myself filling in all of the gaps between story “events” and mentally turn what is often a basic A-to-B journey and turn it into an epic Homerian tale. Take one of my favorite game stories, The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. The Wikipedia plot summary is ridiculous: A bad dude uses unspecified magic to make everything awful for people unless a mute fairy kid collects several different-colored coasters. What it feels like, the actual storytelling, is an unlikely hero journeying through a strange land and positively impacting the lives of everyone he meets, culminating in the savior of that same land. Link, the hero, is deliberately made a blank slate, the better to encourage players to project themselves into Link’s persona, and the entire quest arc feels rooted in rewarding the player with their discovery, rather than telling a “great story.” A novelization of The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time would be dreadfully dull.

Apart from interactivity, I feel like games accommodate for backstory better than nearly every other piece of media out there. Two of my favorite game stories make extensive use of backstory: 1998’s StarCraft and Brood War expansion, and 2001’s Halo. Both are sci-fi potboilers, and likely not noteworthy to genre fans more knowledgeable than myself, but they both have extensive universe-building that isn’t shown in-game, making their stories feel deeper, or at least more expansive than their Wikipedia plot summary would suggest.

Recently, I’ve even started playing games specifically for their stories, rather than gameplay. I’m playing through Mass Effect 2 on my Xbox 360 right now after hearing so much about what Bioware has done with the series’ emphasis on storytelling, and I just started Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos yesterday because of how much I enjoyed StarCraft’s single-player. I’m currently considering trying out Dragon Age: Origins for its fantasy narrative, though this is a half-formed thought at best.

Gaming and storytelling will only continue to grow closer and closer, just like movies did as storytelling techniques and technology progressed. Some, like David Jaffe, say that story-driven games are a waste of time, but as a gent who fancies escapism, I look forward to living out new stories in my games, and new ways for videogames to tell their stories. Simple or complex, storytelling is one of my favorite aspects of game design; I love being told a story, and I like telling my own story even more.

Wii U launch games

The Wii U has an official list of launch games. Launch titles? Kyle Orland and Jason Schreier nixed the use of the word "titles" as sounding too close to marketing copy, though I've never had a problem using the phrase "launch titles" before. Whatever. Here's some stuff to play come November 18.

The list of games, which you can read on Game Informer.com, is twenty-three strong, and is a healthy mix of first-party Nintendo games, third-party exclusives, and advanced ports of games already available on Xbox 360 and PlayStation 3. Also, a game based on ABC's Wipeout, so there's that.

Looking down the list, I see only a few games that strike me as Must Haves, but there's a lot to like. Ubisoft's ZombiU had a huge presence at Nintendo's E3 press conference, and is one of the Wii U's more high-profile exclusives. I wasn't wowed by what I played of it at PAX Prime, though I think that has more to do with my general aversion of zombie shooters/anything than ZombiU's quality. I liked what I played of Rayman Legends, though I think I'll wait for the reviews to come back before I take the plunge; I liked Rayman Origins enough to buy it for $20, but I want to see how the second Rayman game in so many years holds up in its journey to a new console.

Besides, there's Mario! Having held off from playing New Super Mario Bros. Wii or the new 3DS game, I am absolutely ready for more console 2D sidescrolling, especially having tried it at PAX Prime. After playing so many dirt-colored shooters built in Unreal 3, Mario's bright HD colors are like mana in the Kalahari, where "mana" is "several thick cuts of prime rib." I will freely admit that the Mario sidescrolling formula looks more or less unaltered from 2006's New Super Mario Bros. on the DS, but I'd be a great prune if I chided Nintendo for giving me for super satisfying platforming action from Mario, and as a launch title, no less. Game. Whatever.

What excites me the most about the Wii U's launch lineup and what players can hopefully expect from it going forward, is the number of big third-party games, even if they are ports. Darksiders II, Assassin's Creed III, Call of Duty: Black Ops II--all huge games that either made a big splash (Darksiders II) or will make one when they release (Assassin's Creed, Call of Duty), and they won't be bastardized, paired-down editions like on the Wii. That Nintendo successfully convinced companies like THQ and Activision to make versions of their top properties gives me hope that the Wii U will reverse its biggest weakness since the N64: proper, widespread third-party support.

Yeah, we probably won't get Bayonetta 2, Lego City: Undercover, or even Wii Fit U any time during 2012 (I'm totally serious about that last one). Despite their absence, the lineup still looks good, or at least good enough to get me through the interim time until I can slaughter fools with high-heel pumps made of my hair/trim a few pounds here and there. \

Truthfully, the Wii U launch line-up looks about as good as any set of day-one games I've seen so far. I mean, what are we comparing it to, the GameCube? Luigi's Mansion and Wave Race: Blue Storm. The Xbox 360? A bunch of Xbox ports--stuff you'd already own if you were already a fan of Microsoft's first console effort. You'd have to go as far back as the Dreamcast to find as quality a stable of launch games, and I'm not sure if you'd find any beyond that; Lord knows I could have used more than Super Dodgeball and Castlevania: Circle of Can't See Anything Because Of This Damn Screen when I scored my Game Boy Advance.

On November 18 (give or take, depending on Toys 'R' Us shipping), I'm planning on getting two games, along with Nintendo Land which comes boxed with the console: New Super Mario Bros. U and Darksiders II. One to affirm my love of Nintendo's home grown games, and one to prove that publishers can release high-profile third-party games on the Wii U and people will buy them. Also, catharsis; after watching all of the huge third-party games miss my GameCube in favor of the PS2 and Xbox, I will take great pleasure in buying a multi-console release on a Nintendo system.

Iconoclast game bloggers say “What”

Lock down your PC and hide your Cheetos, because World of Warcraft’s new expansion, Mists of Pandaria, finally released on Tuesday. Following not-at-all-hot on the heels of its previous expansion, Cataclysm, Mists of Pandaria enters a slightly more crowded MMO market of free-to-play games and viable alternatives like Guild Wars 2 and The Secret World, though I would be shocked if it moved less than seven figures during launch week. The ads and excitement have reached even me, console gamer extraordinaire, and I’m finally going to take the plunge into the exciting world of MMOs.

That’s right, I’m rolling a character in Rift.

Okay, I’m not totally trolling the Mists of Pandaria launch date—that’s only part of the equation. In truth, I’ve wanted to try Rift since I first heard about it last year. I like the idea of a competing franchise trying to beat WoW at its own Everquest-influenced game, and I’m pleased that Trion Worlds still has a successful following even a year later; not an easy feat with a subscription fee—just look at Star Wars: The Old Republic! Beyond Rift’s apparent level of polish, I think my inner rebellious ten-year-old likes playing games that are popular, but not necessarily the most popular; this is the same side that loves games-that-reviewed-well-but-still-are-still-obscure games you find at pawn shops. Rift reviewed well, but hasn’t hit the tipping point, and I’m attracted to that.

Here’s where you come in, dear readers. I’m profoundly inexperienced with MMOs; I’ve spent maybe an hour and a half raising a night elf back in 2008, but that’s about it. MMOs are vaunted for their deep worlds and open gameplay, and for the stories they inspire between friends around the watercooler. It’s this third one that I’m going to leverage during my time with Rift: I want to try to keep a diary of my experiences in Rift, following my learning about MMO conventions and providing me with a platform to look like a complete ass (we’ll see how long it takes me to learn my macros. Also, learn what “macro” means).

My desktop absolutely runs Rift, and I think my netbook might with some coaxing. Hopefully I won’t spend as much time on Rift per day as I did Kingdoms of Amalur, because that would be intensely counter-productive to my writing, chores, and basically everything that didn’t involve Rift. Time will tell, but I’m excited. See you in Telara!

In defense of physical media

One of the biggest rallying cries around my Twitter feed—made primarily up of gamers and game journalists, with the occasional Ellen Paige tweet thrown in to spice things up—is for the death of physical media. Movies, music, videogames, many on my feed are looking forward to the day when they can shuck off the need for collecting discs and can instead pipe everything in from the cloud. Perhaps listening to folks like the ones I follow on Twitter, Sony recently announced plans to release several big-name games digitally on the same day they hit store shelves, a bold move considering how much retailers like to keep their shelf space uncontested by the likes of digital media.

I'm pleased that Sony has decided to make digitally downloads an option for consumers who want it; more options are always better than less options. Still, I'm not sure if I'm ready to throw away my discs and go download-only.

For one thing, my internet connection simply couldn't support an all-digital future. I'm not sure if I should blame my router or my service provider, but I still need to buffer my YouTube videos on occasion. I'm going to repeat it again for emphasis: my YouTube videos. If I can't even pull up a cat video without my connection huffing and puffing to catch up, I'm certainly not going to be able to simply *get* an HD movie on a whim. In fact, I tried to rent an HD movie on my Apple TV one time: the service told me to come back in six hours. Not quite what I'd call convenient. That's not even bringing up bandwidth caps, a hassle I thankfully don't have to worry about, but can be an issue for folks in bigger cities where this sort of thing exists.

As convenient as it is to click and download a game or movie from the cloud, I prefer having actual discs, if for no other reason than they help me keep track of my collection. I'm an absent-minded guy, and if i don't have a physical reminder of what's in my collection, I tend to forget. I bought the first Mass Effect digitally on my Xbox 360, but I rarely played it because I seldom remembered that I actually owned it on my Xbox. This problem doesn't extend to games I download from Xbox Live Arcade (well, not always), and I'm sure it's a mental thing. Xbox Live Arcade games are generally smaller, less intense experiences, and feel fine staying in the My Games portion of the Dashboard. In fact, maybe that's why I balk at the idea of downloading full games to my Xbox: my expectations for retail and downloadable games are different, and bringing them together under the same umbrella feels weird. Maybe I'll get over it.

Aside from my peculiar memory issues and game expectations, I simply like having physical things. Packaging often factors in to my purchase decisions (like yesterday when I have a small emotional crisis because the disc of The Avengers I bought was a bright shade of gold instead of its regular blue), and I like the way my catalog of games and movies look on my shelves. I like collecting things, and being able to marvel at my spoils is its own reward.

There's also the matter of how I share my content. I like taking my movies with me when I go on trips; I even took a Blu-ray player to PAX so I could watch The Rescuers Down Under in my hotel room. I like loaning out games to my friends or borrowing them for a spell. Digital downloads make both of these impractical. It isn't like music downloads—the most obvious analog for what movies and games are trying to accomplish—where I have plenty of options to play my new Green Day album outside of a CD player (car adapters, portable speakers, etc.). If I digitally purchase Darksiders II for my Xbox 360, it's staying there, and if I want my friends want to borrow it, they're gonna have to take the whole damn console.

Not to say that digital downloads are always a bummer. I like being able to download PC games and play them without a disc, though this has to do with my expectations of using a PC; I don't have to insert a disc every time I want to use Microsoft Word or Skype, so requiring additional steps to play videogames feels weird. I've also been eying a download version of Rock Band 3 for my Xbox 360, which also has to deal with my expectations: Rock Band has always been more of a platform than an individual game, and I never feel like I "need" the disc since I've bought so many songs as DLC. Besides, plastic instruments are huge, and there's no way I'll forget I have those.

I hope more publishers will follow Sony's lead in releasing my games day-and-date with their retail counterparts. That said, I'm not about to cast my lot in a digital-only future just yet. Instead, I'd rather see a future where both digital and physical co-exist, giving consumers the best of both worlds.