. Spinning .

"Oh Christopher Lee, where you be? You wait with fangs in the wings of fog rolled in by Hollywood.  On a stage set steep in Transylvania, on pebbled roads that lead to your dark castle, you hover; black silk rustling soft above a trembling town that’s lit by one brave candle."  smg

Four-thirty in the evening on a foggy November Sunday, waiting for the vampire to cut through the mist that hangs along the trees in our backyard.  Then, the thought of virtual fog and crunching steps that seemed so real just two nights ago, but on a laptop screen.

It’s just me, once again, comparing reality to what’s not, to help make sense of it all.  Yes, I had such fun, and lost myself along a digital path of leaf-strewn roads into a mist that promised danger

And yet, I long for Christopher Lee.

In a post sometime last week, I blithely wrote something about fantasy and feeling sorry for those among us (certainly not me, Willie!) who don’t indulge.  But reference was made to the opportunity video games offer those with less creative instincts.

Well, that’s not exactly what I meant–to imply that it was geared to only those who do not have daydreams of their own.  This clarification is not being made to cover my ass in saying that I thoroughly enjoyed gaming, implying that I’m not a creative person, after getting so excited about playing one game.  But it is obvious that video games fulfill a need to escape sometimes from the mundane realities of life like jobs and laundry, just as books, movies, tv shows have always offered people.  It’s a well-established fact that romance novels serve as satisfaction to (mostly) women who are still looking for the rose on the kitchen table amidst the dinner plates and buttered squash.  People just need to sometimes make the world a little more exciting, a little more dangerous, or maybe just a little more unrealistic than it is.  My neighbor used to spend 90% of his time at home outside gardening; it was an obvious break in the stressful job he dealt with daily as an architect.  I always imagined a farmer somewhere sitting down at a table building a model airplane while Andy worked the soil next door.

Video games are one of the best doorways to another world, another place, another time because they involve the mind and the physical senses of vision, hearing, touch, and even hint through these three at the senses of taste and smell as well.  Even if a user is not clearly the protagonist (this would involve, perhaps, no visual image of the protagonist being, but the game would be viewed from his visual point of view only), his control over the character slips him into place in the virtual environment of the game.  Kind of a neat place to be until some sort of skin-stretching, smoke-blowing weird dude enters the scene. 

Reader/user involvement has always been the goal of literature in all forms.  Video games, by allowing and actually requiring user input, are the epitome of writerly accomplishment.

As mentioned previously, video games are usually based on a linear narrative structure, but one that is immeasurable in time due to where the user takes the story.  There is also the possibility, of course, that many games may have built-in flashback timelines in which clues to the present quest may be provided.  In Silent Hill, what closest approached this (in the very small portion I explored) was a music box that indicated a past event via figures atop the box and a conversation between them (as best I remember). 

The modules or scenes of the story are transitioned by fadeouts as in film technique, and are usually tied in with either a conflict or definite scene change (even from one side of a gate to another). 

The story arc is beset by conflict, and clues that I would call minor plot points.  The story arc builds with the tension of the "mission" and the necessity of solving various parts of the puzzle until a solution is reached that would signal resolution.  Under more nimble fingers and mind than my own, the arc would progress normally instead of trudging uphill (or downhill in this case, while managing not to fall off any cliffs or walk into walls) slowly and cautiously.  Here is where experience of the user/reader adds tremendously to the pace of the narrative, possibly in comparison to a rocket scientist’s versus my own text reading of a book on quantum theory.

I found myself thinking in terms of textual interactive fiction gaming, and it took me a while to acclimate myself to the graphic visuals, but what you see is a direct result of what you have offered as input.

While some plot elements may be missed or overlooked in moving through the environment, I would hope that experience with the medium would direct one to wave that cursor around or press those action buttons (requiring user input to receive information) before moving on.

Automation is obviously built into the programming of the story; things happen that neither our character nor ourselves had planned.  We must "keep our wits about us" to wind our way through the paths offered, as well as what comes upon us unexpectedly, and of course, remember to pick up, take, store, use, and check upon items and clues that we find along the way.

Experience in game playing would also aid the user in recognizing what has become the cultural code of this form of story.  For example, use of the keyboard to maneuver (I personally have only used my arrow keys when in the BIOS section of my PC), the signal by glowing or changing of the cursor or an item  which may indicate something to be noticed and reacted to or with, and the remembering to "save" or check inventory, maps, etc. during gameplay.

This form of story is one of the most obviously writerly type.  While there is a right or wrong/successful vs. unsuccessful ending, the paths one takes to a conclusion are ultimately up to the user.  The story is dynamic in that it will change with each use by even a single individual user.  This is no static piece of work hanging out there; it in fact would indeed "hang" if no input were received from the reader/user.  We are allowed to wander freely–validly or invalidly–through discrete units of a structured environment that we can see, remember, and navigate.

And talk about your "If/Then" cause and effect…well, that’s the very platform that video games are based upon. 

One of the most unusual aspects of video games is the manufacture-as-you-go time element.  Diagetic space is not a set item, is practically an unknown as the characters are moved within it to complete their mission.  I can’t say with certainty that all games—nor even this one, Silent Hill—is unmindful of relative space, but the linear narrative follows along in some manner of chronological time based only upon when the mission is started until it is successfully completed.  I do not know as yet if the characters sleep—most likely not, at least until a certain task has been accomplished.  But they are dependent upon the user to get them to a plot point that will transition the story to a new level.  Dramatic structure seems to be the timeline built into the game, and this is affected by how it is played.  Whether it takes the user (in real time) one hour or thirty hours to reach that point, the character has in fact traveled anywhere from a direct point A to point B, or allowing for my moonwalking (backwards, going nowhere) has spent a good deal more time wasted in false leads or wrong paths.  I’m sure that my “guy,” after a couple hours under my control, is a lot more wiped out physically and emotionally with nothing to show for it than had he been guided by a more experienced user.

Pausing the action is somewhat like sticking a bookmark in a book to save your place.  Saving a game is insuring that my character will not be made to suffer the whole ordeal again by going back to the starting point. 

Again, time cannot be measured within the story because of user input, and so I shouldn’t complain, I suppose, that there is no change of clothes or so much as a yawn to indicate any desire to rest.  Although the exertion is accounted for by pick-me-ups in the form of health drinks in this particular game, and it seems that I recall certain necessary “revitalizers” in interactive fiction pieces that were offered as important to the survival of the protagonist on his journey.

As for how long it takes the narrator to tell the story, the narrator being to a large degree the user, that’s wide open.  In book format, there is a difference between a second grade reader and a speed-reader, but there is the additional glitch here of where the reader/user is taking the story each time he enters it.  Even the most experienced gameplayer will no doubt stumble upon occasion within the disorderly (although clearly “ordered” software programming) narrative structure of  forest he is navigating. 

One of the benefits of being introduced to video games in group play is the ability to note the social aspects of the activity. 

Normally, I think I am a nice person, willing to share toys, thinking of other people’s wants and needs within a group atmosphere as well as on a day to day basis where one has some time to think and plan.  Well in this experiment with the writers group and the gameplay, except for the needed assistance from those who were more familiar with the controls, once I "got into" the story, the room could have disappeared for all I cared.

This is not unlike quietly sitting in a corner of the couch with a good book, but with the visual quality of watching a movie or television program with others, there is the capability of remarking upon the medium to others sharing the experience.  But with movies or tv, no one has more control (or in fact, any) over the story as it unfolds.  At the keyboard, the controlling user most likely feels more a part of the action than do the onlookers (who most likely are either bored or itching to get at the keyboard themselves), and foregoes the interaction with human people to relate instead to the virtual people on the screen with whom he/she has a shared interest in the mission of the game.  All this being just a fancy way of saying that video gaming leans toward antisocial behavior when in the midst of activity.

Sure, the gameplay is discussed after the fact, similar to discussing a book or movie, and that at least takes us out of ourselves for some sharing of the excitement or passing of information.  But what surprised me was that I never even thought to give up the controls and offer anyone else a chance at them.  Looking back, aside from the more mature audience in this scenario, I could well imagine someone whining to Steve, "She won’t let me play…!"

No doubt that it is the fact of the interaction required that fosters this selfishness, but it also relates to the notion of reader/user immersion in a well-written or presented medium.  (Reading through to the end of the page before noticing that someone’s asking you a question–"Huh, what?") There is also a sense of immediacy in a video game, and we forget the pause button is there to allow for the halt of the breakdown of family communications as well as stopping the action!

I haven’t researched the social effects of video gameplay, but I’m sure that it has had a defining influence on how we communicate with others.  Good, as well as bad; introverts may become more confident given the sense of control over the actions and outcomes of their characters as they manipulate through a narrative, while others may, as I, reveal a selfishness that would not be as evident in the reality of dealing outside of game playing.

Hmmm.  Then too, it could have been just me.  As always, learning anything new teaches us about ourselves as well.

Sometimes the best way to tackle this is just to sit down and start writing, so while this series on video games may not be as eloquent as time and more thought to sentence structure might permit, it will no longer be put off.

My first real experience with a fairly sophisticated game such as "Silent Hill" was one of hysterical laughter.  It shouldn’t have been–it’s a mystery and matter of detecting clues and following them around via an "entity" as are the majority of these adventure games.  My clumsy manipulation of the keyboard commands, both mentally in learning and trying to remember them and in their execution was the main reason for jerking my poor "other self" around like a puppet.  My other problem was that I am directionally dysfunctional, and unless the sun is shining, I don’t know east from west from north from south from left from right.

But it did add an element of fun to the game that would otherwise have manifested itself as frustration had I not had a small audience of our writers group watching along  and "playing" with me.  (Might have flung the damn thing across the room had the mood and environment been different, being a flinger of things myself.)  But there is fun of a quieter sort once the game progresses, or rather once the user progresses through it.  The excitement level increases as little things begin happening–clues such as written notes, a conversation with another character, items that were listed in the manual as important to "take", show up, and the mind starts gearing itself towards remembering what the goal is and what to look for within the virtual environment of the story. 

I found myself totally immersed in the story (to be covered in another entry) and anxious to move through the dense fog and woods, past dead vans and pickup trucks, to follow a road into a town where some great secret was waiting to be revealed, questions answered–the usual goal or mission-oriented purpose of "my" journey.  The element too of point of view, and user involvement to the point of becoming the character will also be covered later.

Just for the sheer joy of control–and this is what appeals to me most, and why I should never, ever, ever have gotten my little fingers on the keyboard in the first place–and the wonder of what will happen next, as indicated by a fadeout to transition in a new scene, was more that most–but not all–books can provide with the turning of pages.  The heart-stopping excitement of having a creature suddenly pop up in your "visual space" and threaten your protagonist would be hard to emulate by words alone (again, it’s been done by Poe and many others) and there’s only the pause button to relate to the closing of the book and if you can manage to think of it in time to save your ass.

The gaming aspect of these stories makes them a combination book, tv program or movie, and board game simultaneously. All in all, a truly fun experience that I totally plan to invest more “research” time into before making any further decisions.