. Spinning .

Some rather complicated thoughts flying through this morning; not necessarily the questioning of the creativity of the reader/player of video games–and as well, interactive fiction–versus text based story, but as to the personality traits that the user brings in along with experience to navigate narrative.

I must shamefully admit that I sought help in my journey through Silent Hill 2, and it makes me stop and think about what it is within me that circumnavigated large parts of the story to singlemindedly focus on one aspect; in this case, the monsters roaming the town.  It seems that I went through hours of sticking to my main purpose of reaching a park (I’ve since forgotten why) so that was the directional goal.  However, in learning that the monsters were numerous and everywhere, I found myself wandering up and down streets carrying the weapon at full ready and (while watching out for 1) direction and 2) additional weapons and health pick-me-ups) seemed to be on the prowl for these monsters.

I’m sure that research has been done on the gamer personality, and I’m probably just spinning my wheels in trying to decipher the relationship, but as a newbie to this medium it’s part of my personal learning process to discover the means used within the context of the story/game. 

Reading habits, aside from which books one prefers, may be telling about the reader of text just as easily as gaming habits.  Although it is possible that contradictions arise, i.e., Einstein preferring to read comics, but how one reads a book may be just as illuminating.  Does one scan, does one reread sections or seek out the dictionary if things aren’t quite clear, does one retain information throughout the reading or have the ability to pick up on and store the important data, does one read lightly or heavily through text, does one read at face value or does one seek out hidden meanings, and, is this a constant or dependent upon the narrative itself.  Maybe even more revealing, is this a trait the reader employs within real life situations and scenarios as well.

Going beyond this, once gameplay is "learned choreography" as John Timmons suggests, is the reader/player changed by the experience to bring back with him the new methods into real life dealings after the learning.  Imagine this, that parts of what I’ve learned via my methodology of gameplay is true:  I lack the nature of the explorer and I am basically non-confrontational.  Does that mean then that I am also hiding a bloodthirsty bitch within?  Does Burlington need be afraid?  Interesting concepts.

Now I’ve got to go back into town yet again, and start opening some doors.

I know I have read books that have set my heart pounding; words so set in place in planned perfection that the imagery was no less real than a bad memory that can still bring shudders.  McCarthy’s Blood Meridian being one of the more recent.

But gaming demands spontaneity, immediacy, and a good portion of common sense and recall.  No easy avenue of escape by closing the cover of the book, no covering the eyes at a movie, or skipping the gory parts in gaming.  Pause offers just temporary relief–and only if you have spotted the danger in time to press the pause key; otherwise you are in the thick of battle and must, repeat, must, do something about it. 

Your virtual life (or that of your protagonist with whom hopefully you have bonded) is on the line and in your hands in gaming; not so in non-interactive media.

As a character or participant you are often asked to make decisions that will stretch you beyond what reality offers in situational events.  This forces one to think beyond the normal range of experience.

This then, is a self analysis learning opportunity as well.  In the heat of virtual battle have we fully separated out the real from the unreal?  Do we draw on experience to react quickly in a game setting that would be mimicked should the event occur in real life as well?

Would we fight, would we kill, would we do so with pride and a self-righteous cockiness that allows us to then calmly check our progress on a scoreboard?

This question is an almost direct reversal to John Timmons’ question at Five Fingers that seeks to supply a memory and life experience to the characters within IF narrative.  But, aren’t the two interdependent; doesn’t game play depend upon the change (although limited by the writer) that the reader brings into it, as well as the reader being changed by the experience of the game?

Hell’s bells–how many of those monster things are in this town anyway?  I must have killed eight or ten of them already, poised with one finger on the F button (aimlock) and another on the spacebar (action) and just kept swingin’ away at them and squishing them underfoot when I could.   

And why didn’t that noodlehead we met in the cemetary offer a little clearer warning about what was going on here?  She never said anything about monsters.

Here I was worried that I’d forget to replenish James’ health and negligently allow him to waste away, but I’ll tell ya, I’m personally winded and near chest pains so there’s no way I’m going to forget about those health drinks.

I’m not scared any more at least.  All I want to do is survive and get outta this freakin’ town of Silent Hill!

"I’m bad.  I’m bad."

From somewhere deep inside myself, I draw up thoughts of guts and glory; survival instinct–nay, some place beyond it to a thirst for blood, a crushing of mine enemy.

Silent Hill 2:

After getting quite lost in town (I’m handicapped by a horrible sense of direction) and looking to face that disgusting thing I thought I’d find right there waiting for me where I paused the game, I finally headed off in a completely different direction where I was able to pick up some health drinks and somehow feel I missed some clues along the way.  Also picked up another weapon and a radio, though I don’t recall actually being aware of them.

But met my waterloo and started smashing away without giving him (it?) a chance to say hello.  Then, because I’d repeated the control directions over and over again so I wouldn’t forget, I kept walking over the bloody mass I had vanquished to insure his death. 

I am woman.  Hear me roar.

(While feeling my Wheaties, my husband asked if I’d gotten the monster.  I told him that I planned on using the chainsaw, but another weapon appeared in my hands so I used that.  He asked, I told him, he broke up in laughter when I told him quite seriously that I had used a board with a nail in it. )

January 1st, 2005:  The discovery of self.

And why should it take a video game to reveal it? 

I was always a good, quiet child, entertaining myself with dolls and Indian teepees because of an age gap with my two older sisters.  Through puberty and early adulthood I was still timid–not overly so, but certainly not a rah-rah cheerleader nor the life of the party.  My forays into the forbidden were of the clandestine type, and I secretly took pleasure in the mystery and knowledge without need of braggadocio (Note:  thanks, hon, for the stand-up magnifier glass for Christmas–Roget’s paperback Thesaurus is impossible to read when doublechecking on language use.)

With maturity came confidence; restrained and gracious, I would hope, but a sense of being able to speak my mind without fear when necessary. However, on this first day of a new year that I have planned for as a stage for even greater things, I find…I am a mouse.

What is it that has me doing laundry while Silent Hill is stopped and saved at a point where I have come face to face with the enemy?  I’m not one to get squeamish at the thought of combat, and am not silly enough to try diplomacy (these games were not conceived by liberal minds!).  There are several possibilities that explain reader/player action/reaction.

Too fine a line between reality and fantasy.  In many ways, relating the fears of reality to control within a virtual environment where one can reign with false or underlying bravado and claim victory not available in the real world.  While I most definitely live half my life in my mind, I don’t feel repressed or particularly ineffective in my persona as Susie Housewife in Burlington, CT. 

But this immersion may hold other secrets.  This line selected in Steve’s comment from a post, "Are there monsters in me?"

Is there anything to the possibility that while I am relating to the protagonist, James, I as well see myself in the enemy?

Just was led to a site by my niece, Erica, who happens to be a web designer, that would have been a big help in one of our projects in the New Media course; that of Storyboard.

Although it’s one of her early designs, the value here is that she has both the storyboard (http://www.thefedericocolumn.com/erica/web/xmas_01.htm) and the finished piece (http://www.thefedericocolumn.com/erica/web/card.htm) available, so I am posting them here with the only purpose of adding the information to my New Media Category file.

Ooh–ooh-ooh!

Just got the brilliant idea of playing with the story below and carrying it further into audio/visual media format.  While it ain’t great, the narrative line is down already, so I can start from there.  The visuals would be easily accomplished by photography and artwork (here she pauses and thinks to herself, "Hmmm, good excuse to force learning of the digital camera use…"  And, it’s a fairly easy story line to replicate in sound and image.

So then, it’s on my list of things to do and I’m antsy to work on it.  May even try to get something ready for a Narratives workshop critique to help me out.

I’m gonna be hot this coming year; in sheer enthusiasm alone!