Category Archives: Writing

What’s in the Vox?

Now that the cat is out of the bag, I can finally talk about where I’m going next, what I‘m doing there and why, of all the possible things I could have done next with my career, I decided to hitch my wagon to a company few people have ever heard of and work for a guy named Grant.

Let’s tackle that last one first. When I left The Escapist in September of last year, my plan was to try and slip seamlessly into another EIC role at another gaming website. It almost happened, too. I was already mentally packing the house for a big move across the country and talking with my possible prospective employers about all of the great things we were going to do together after they theoretically gave me the keys to their kingdom. Then … fate intervened. I can’t go into too much detail about what happened without breaking a good friend’s confidence, but in spite of everyone’s best intentions – and through no fault of anyone’s – the deal fell apart, almost literally at the last minute.

Cue: Panic.

This was a month or so after leaving my once-secure job, and with no new opportunities in sight, I began working the phones, rekindling old acquaintances and trying to take the measure of the entire game media industry as rapidly as possible to see where my next best fit might be. I talked to everyone (almost). If there was an EIC level or equivalent position available, I interviewed for it and tried to scope out the people I‘d be working with and the companies I’d be working for.

After dozens of conversations and hundreds of hours of research, I came to a startling conclusion: There wasn’t a single job out there I really wanted, nor a single company with which I wanted to work.

Some people get into games journalism because they think it’s all about working in their underwear and playing games for cash. Others get into it because they believe it is an easy road into making games themselves. Both of these things are true, in part, but it can be so much more. I got into games journalism because I am passionate about games and passionate about writing and I wanted to see how far I could push the envelope with online media.

At The Escapist, with a great deal of help from some truly talented people, I pushed it pretty damn hard, and the awards, milestones and accolades that followed are all things of which I am exceptionally proud. But what I am more proud of are the hundreds of articles, interviews and reviews I wrote myself and the relationships I forged with the hundreds of freelance content creators with whom I worked; the writers and video makers who formed the backbone of the beast that broke through all those barriers. I truly believe the work we did at The E was some of the finest work that has ever been done in this industry.

So what next, then, after leaving my old job and finding myself adrift with no clear destination? I decided to take it back to the work and try to forge a freelance career, writing and editing and making videos. Recording podcasts. Taking advantage of no longer having to shoulder the success or failure of an entire website and doing the work that brought me to this industry in the first place, trying to rekindle that passion that led me here.

And then Chris Grant called me out of the blue to offer me a job.

Although I had decided that another full time job at a games publication was the last thing I wanted, I took it. Why? I’ll come to that.

The job, I can now tell you, is to be a Founding Editor at a new gaming website that Chris and I and the rest of the shockingly talented founding staff will build together, working for a company called Vox. My role, the job I was offered and that I accepted, is to be the editor in charge of features, both written and video. Basically the kind of stuff I’d been doing on my own – the kind of stuff that drives my passion – only working alongside a team comprised of some of the very best people working in games journalism today, and working for a company with the resources and vision to break whatever barriers happen to be left in online media. So … you know, a dream job, basically.

So why take another job when freelance was going so well? Believe it or not, this was the hardest part of the decision I made. Working for oneself is intoxicating. It is also, unfortunately, not very stable. The chance to do the kind of work that brings me joy – and not very much more than that – yet still have the kinds of opportunities to build something new and the stability of holding a larger role is just about the perfect arrangement possible. An opportunity that rarely comes along. I decided to take it.

So why take a step down to work for someone else instead of holding out for another EIC job or even starting my own website? Because after three years of sitting in Director’s meetings, living and dying by the pace of the back room machinations at a modern online media company, I’m perfectly fine with letting someone else wear that crown, sit on that uncomfortable throne and do the work of keeping the company in printer toner. And frankly, an EIC job that does not come with the authority to build something new, along with the full faith and support of the company for which I’d be building it, is not an EIC job I’d want to have. Remember, I talked to everyone looking to hire EICs. Most of them have no clue where game media is headed next year, much less next decade.

At Vox’s new gaming website, I will not be the EIC. Chris Grant has that job. I believe he will do a fine job with it. In the meantime, I’ll be doing work I enjoy and helping to build something that has every chance of changing the face of games journalism for a very long time. It’s hard to see that as a step down.

So why work for Vox? I’m going to paraphrase two things that were said to me about the company by its executives. The first is that they believe in building a large media company without sacrificing the quality of their content. The second is that they believe in hiring talented content creators and then getting out of the way.

Just words, to be sure. Words I’ve heard before, in fact, and that turned out to not be true. Some people working in online media today believe that quality is a four letter word. That crap is what people want, and therefore creating anything more costly than crap is a waste of time and money. Other publications pay lip service to quality, but don’t invest in it, creating “good enough” and calling it “great.” Still others just plain have no clue. All of them – every single one – use words similar to what was said to me by Vox.

So it would be easy to assume Vox was bullshitting me and selling a dream of rainbows and happy smiles just to pad the masthead – except for the fact that I believe them. Speaking with the folks at Vox, examining their operation and studying what they do, I believe they mean every word they say. Even better, I believe they can actually deliver on their promises. After all, they’ve already done it.

Late last year, Vox launched their technology website, The Verge, by attracting top talent and letting them do what they do best. As a result, The Verge is now rapidly becoming one of the top tech blogs. If you haven’t heard of The Verge yet, watch the tech news next week, during the annual CES consumer electronics show in Vegas. The Verge is an official media partner and will be all over it. The Verge is no accident. That team has been working on their site for months and the amount of support they have received from Vox to bring their vision to life is phenomenal.

Can Vox do the same thing with a games site? Why not ask these people:

Chris Grant, former EIC at Joystiq.
Brian Crecente, former EIC at Kotaku.
Justin McElroy, former Managing Editor at Joystiq.
Russ Frushtick, formerly of MTV.
Griffin McElroy, formerly of Joystiq.
Arthur Gies, formerly of IGN and Joystiq.
Chris Plante, formerly of everywhere.
And myself, formerly EIC of The Escapist and, once upon a time, a producer and writer on TV.

These are the Founding editors of Vox’s new games website. These are not people you attract with bullshit and happy rainbow PowerPoints. Neither are they people desperate to prove themselves. These are people at the top of their game. People who have literally built the world of games journalism as you know it and accomplished as much as there is to accomplish within it. Any one of them would be well qualified for any of the “lone guy with ten bucks” game blog EIC positions available right now. And yet all of them are here, working with Vox to build something new. And I’m with them.

It’s going to be some time before we can actually get to work writing and whatnot, and even more time before we have an actual website to call our own. Vox is giving us a year to design and build exactly the site we want and to get it up and running. We don’t even have a name yet, but come 2012, you’ll finally get to see what eight of the brightest minds in games journalism can do with a wad of cash and the generous support of people who believe in them. I have a feeling the result will change a lot of minds about how to grow a website, and I hope that you enjoy it as much as we will enjoy making it.

Back on the Chain Gang

I’ve been back from Texas for almost a week now and … yeah. Very hard to get plugged back in.

The trip itself was great. Lots of camping, lots of family, lots of food. I even worked in a run while I was away. And wrote about 4,000 words on business-y stuff, and a few thousand more on other things. And developed an addiction to Spell Tower for iPad. Good times all around.

One of the things I started writing while away was a story about the journey itself, which I think I have no other choice but to put up here. So look for that later this month. “Camping to Texas” is the title, and it should be fun.

As far as other writing, I have one more gaming-related feature story in the works at a major outlet. I’ll let you guys know when that goes up. They told me “later this year,” with all the specificity of a cable TV installation technician.

As an aside, and speaking of cable TV, I did finally break ties with Frontier Communications – sort of. My new 50Mbps Time Warner “Wide Band” service was installed just before I left for Texas and it is very, very fast. And so far the service has been about what I’ve expected from Time Warner, but they have yet to generate as colossal a customer service clusterfuck as Frontier, so fingers crossed. The Frontier DSL has been cancelled, but we’re keeping their landline telephone service for now. It’s hooked into our security system and we’ve learned the hard way that VOIP doesn’t work very well or reliably for that. Also, I kind of want to keep the account number active in case they do, at some point, turn things around. Maybe that’s a cop-out, but I prefer the term “diplomatic.” Aside over.

After that next story goes up, that’s it from me until next year some time. While I still can’t say yet what my new job is, I can say that in addition to being asked to not say what it is, I’ve been asked to not work anywhere else. Which, while perfectly reasonable, means I’ll be all but disappearing from the internet shortly and for an unspecified amount of time.

As far as the AAK Podcast, I’m slowly getting booted back up and hope to record a new episode this week sometime. Still a bit exhausted from driving 3,000 miles and all of the familial stuff that prompted that. Looking forward to unplugging again for my birthday (December 24th) and the Christmas/New Year holiday. Between now and then, however, I will do my best to get some AAK and other goodness up here.

As for what the new year holds … still don’t know for sure, but it’s shaping up to be awesome.

The Bar

It was a dive bar in the heart of the Emerald City. A few blocks from my hotel. I was in town to meet a friend. A business associate with a grudge. We had dinner planned and a tour of the city. It was my first time. I had a few hours to kill. I’d just finished walking uptown to find a place to get a bite and failing. People eat early in Seattle. Or else, I eat late. I decided a drink would do fine instead. And so: the bar.

A good bar should have no windows. It should be light enough to see the label on the bottle, but dark enough that your mind can fill in the blanks. Conversation. The dimness should make you want to open up and be opened up to. Our eyes tell us the story more often than not, but in the bar the story should be the story, not the look on the story’s face.

This bar had no windows. It was a step down from the street. Tables as old as the city, but lacquered new. Jukebox in the corner playing the eternal classics: album rock from the seventies and eighties. Foreigner. This was a bar in which the 90s had never happened. This was a bar meant for adults. It was not a dance joint or a beer-and-Jaeger binge party shop or a meet-up spot or a place where single ladies gathered before herding somewhere else, trailing suitors like flies. This was a bar. A place where grown men and women might stop for a drink after work, before going home to wife/husband/common law spouse and the kids. On Fridays, maybe that drink would be four, but nobody called a cab home from this bar. It wasn’t a party, it was just a bar. All it ever was. All it ever wanted to be.

I felt self-conscious, briefly, about taking out my phone and scrolling through emails, social network updates, photos. Whatever. The things one looks at in the absence of conversation. Then I noticed everyone else in the bar had a phone, young or old, and those phones in their hands were the newest things in that bar. The phone had penetrated, even if nothing else could.

There were three or four tables and a row of booths along the wall, but the heart of the bar was the bar itself, tucked half-assed into a corner and raised a half-step. If you’d just stumbled in off the street, if you were a grad student or a nascent hipster or a man from out of town you might take an empty table, drink your drink and leave. If you were a regular, or a curious writer, you’d venture a few steps farther into the murk and enter another world.

I took my seat at the bar. Two stools to the left a couple of dockworkers drank domestic beer out of bottles. One gave me half an eye and didn’t speak. I nodded, but he was already looking the other way, peeling a bill off a roll and walking away in one smooth motion. His friend followed. Two stools to the right a couple of office matrons were chatting up the bartender, a solid-looking lady, attractive in the world-weary way of small town waitresses. A woman who, in any other bar in the city might look out of place, but this bar wasn’t in the city. It was an island unto itself. I caught her eye and waited, patiently.

She asked me what I’d have. She called me “Hon.” I ordered a Jack and Coke and watched her while she poured it. There was a lilt in her manner, a spring in her step. I wondered, briefly, if she was flirting with me, but this wasn’t that kind of place and she wasn’t that kind of lady.

I drank my drink and listened to the talk of others without feeling obligated to interject or ignore, as one does in a bar. I soon learned why the bartender was so cheerful: This was her last day on the job. She had the vigor of the soon-to-be-leaving. That certain glow that infuses one’s aura just before one leaves a party early or quits a job. Short-timer’s shine. I was jealous.

My business meeting was planned as a friendly get-together, but it would be anything but and I knew it. There was bad blood and it was my job to make it good. Like a filter clearing the air. In the end, the air might be cleaner, but the filter always gets dirty. Eventually you throw it out. By the end of that evening I would want a shower, another drink and a different job. But that was later. For now, I had just gotten started laying the foundation and I was ready for another drink.

The lady bartender brought me another round and I chatted her up. Asked her why she was leaving. Turns out the man she worked for, the owner of the bar, was an asshole. Go figure. He favored the younger girls and was giving her a hard time. Same old story. She’d gotten on at another bar where the pay was better and the owner wasn’t a letch. She’d miss her regulars, but she’d work fewer late nights. Better for her kids. She was moving up by moving out.

As we talked, the office lifers chimed in, which led the conversation back to their end of the bar with an occasional volley to my court. Another man took the seat just now cooling from the dock worker’s ass and he, too, joined in. Minutes ago we’d been strangers. Now we were The People at the Bar. A transformation as tenuous as it was sudden, but no less real.

I wished I could stay all night in that bar. Its timelessness gave it a feeling of remove, which was the chief characteristic that drew us here, the people at the bar. Out on the street we wouldn’t know each other. We’d be just a handful of citizens on our way to or from whatever filled our calendars, but in the bar, we were a part of something even if that something was merely each other’s shared attention. The timed and rehearsed nods to each other’s tales of woe.

I finished my drink and rose to pay. The bartender thanked me. Called me “Hon.” I wished her luck with her new job and knew from the light in her eyes that she didn’t need it.

As my hand pushed the door open and I took that first step out from the dark, dim room into the noise and brightness of the city street, I wanted what she had. I wanted to know that feeling again of new horizons and fresh goodbyes. I wanted to feel that giddy flavor of hope at the thought of a tomorrow that was better than today.

The wanting wasn’t new. It had been there, bubbling under the surface of my days for a long time. Longer than I cared to admit. Now I had let the want seep up from the basement and into the light of my attention and it would not be ignored. I reveled in it. That is the power of a good bar.

Catwoman Was Asking For It

The argument goes like this: Although Batman: Arkham City is a game featuring massive violence and other dark themes, the frequent employment of the word “bitch” by male characters to describe female characters is one colorful epithet too far. I.e.: Just because we’re playing rough doesn’t mean we have to be sexist, too.

Kotaku’s Kirk Hamilton phrases the argument best:

[S]omething about the constant “Bitch” yelling turns me off more than Sexy Catwoman or Sexy Talia Al-Ghul. It’s said with such anger, and often screamed as an impotent threat just before Catwoman knocks a dude out. It comes off like the writers are either misjudging their audience, or possibly aren’t comfortable portraying fearsome female characters without having the male characters attempt to belittle them with the world’s most famous gendered insult.

To which I must reply: Fuck that. She was asking for it; wearing that cat suit, walking that way.

Hyperbole aside, let’s take a look at the offending word: Bitch. The word derives from the Old English “bicce” meaning “female of the dog,” and it retains that definition in modern usage, although it is not often employed that way.

More commonly the word bitch is used in modern English as an insult to either women or men. To call a man a bitch is to suggest he is subservient to another person (usually his girlfriend or wife). To call a woman a bitch is to suggest that she is strong-willed or insulting. Interestingly, the insult can be unisex as well, implying that a man or woman complains too much or, oddly, sits in the middle seat of a car.

In terms of gender-specific usage of the word bitch as an insult, women come first, chronologically. The use of the word bitch as an insult against women dates back to approximately 1400 AD. Meaning that when Columbus sailed the ocean blue, he or his sailors may have commented on the angry bitches they found in the New World. As an insult against men, the word fell into common usage about a century later, meaning Michelangelo might have been called a bitch for sucking up to the Medicis. No one knows for sure when it became bitch-worthy to sit in the middle seat of a car. One must assume this began no earlier than the 20th Century.

So there’s your history lesson. Now it’s not exactly a secret that women have had it rough for the past several million years, but as far as use of the word “bitch” as an insult to women goes, I think it’s safe to say that it’s not a new phenomenon. What’s interesting about its use, however, is not how frequently it’s used, but toward whom.

Urban Dictionary lists several definitions of the word bitch, but this one is the most intriguing:

A woman that doesn’t give a flying f*ck anymore and that can and will be cruel to men.

This suggests that’s it not a random insult used indiscriminately, but rather an epithet employed against specific women behaving in a specific way: Aggressively.

Contrast this to the definition UD lists for the use of the word as an insult to men:

An exceedingly whipped guy who does/wears/thinks/says whatever his girlfriend tells him to.

This suggests the insult takes a radical shift in tone as it shifts genders, describing a man who is acting submissively.

And then there’s this alternate definition:

A woman who would say things that if she were a man, she would be confronted or assaulted. (using her position as a woman as a shield)

And here we get to the crux of the overt gender assualt inherent in the use of the word bitch. It is employed by men against women at whom they would throw a punch were the woman not a woman. It is a recognition by that man (rightly or wrongly) that men should not employ violence against women no matter how much she may piss him off. This is absolutely sexist, to be sure, but in more ways than one.

For an aggressive man to hurl an epithet (instead of throwing a punch) at a woman whose only crime is to act like an aggressive man is to suggest that A) women should not act like men, and B) women do not deserve to be treated like men. It is overtly as well as subtextually demeaning. It implies that aggression and strength are the sole dominions of the male members of the species and that women are as unfit to display these characteristics as they are to have aggression and strength employed against them. It is a tacit admission that women are not considered equal and are not to be permitted to compete with men on male terms. It is a subtle subjugation that allows a man to persist in perceiving woman as weaker than and subservient to men without allowing women the opportunity to prove that perception wrong. Further, it suggests that the man in question is entitled to set the rules for this interaction.

If the argument against the use of the word bitch in Batman: Arkham City is that the word is over-used and inaccurate, then the argument is flawed. As employed by male characters who are hardened criminals and inveterate thugs against a woman who is acting aggressively toward them, it is perhaps the most perfect embodiment of true language possible. It is exactly what these men would say to this woman in that situation. It may not be good writing in terms of creating a dialogue tree that will not distract from enjoyment of the game as a whole, but it is not bad writing in the sense that it is employing language that is entirely appropriate to the situation and the characters being presented.

If the argument is that the frequent use of the word bitch does not fit the overall tone of the creative work, then that’s harder to argue against, but not impossible. We are, after all, talking about a videogame in which the player, as Batman, frequently dislocates, chokes, pummels, stomps, electrocutes, interrogates and beats the living crap out of hundreds of men. It is a game in which people are poisoned, hit with hammers and dangled over pits of acid. A game in which every female character is presented as a lascivious sex object (and relishes the role) and every male character is presented as aggressive, dominant and capable of superhuman menace – even the hero. Batman may be a comic book hero presented, in some forms, to children, but this game is not a child’s game, and in this context, the use of a 600 year old word that appears on prime time television is entirely fair.

Finally, if the argument is that the use of the word bitch is sexist, then the argument is correct, but irrelevant. It is quite right – supremely correct, even – to consider the use of the word bitch to be sexist. It is, in fact, the most sexist of all sexist insults. But it is overt sexism, at its core, and its employment in this game is not a subtextual assault against the sanctity of the female race or a subtle assertion that women are inferior to men, or should not play this game.

The word bitch, as employed in Batman: Arkham City by male characters against the strong, aggressive female characters who are kicking those men’s asses, is a candid acknowledgement that these men are classless thugs who are weaker than the women they would subjugate. It is a recognition that might does not make right or that testosterone does not equal triumph. The fact that these female characters are called “bitch” and yet keep on fighting is a celebration of the determination of strong, capable women, and their ability to overcome traditional gender roles and male oppression. It is not an insult, it is a compliment.

The game is not saying “these women are bitches.” The game is saying “these women are badass, ” and “the men calling them bitches are thugs.”

There is a growing trend toward voluntary self-emasculation among men in modern geek culture and this manufactured controversy is but one symptom. I would argue that the suggestion that geek women can’t stand up for their own gender rights and need well-meaning but misled geek men to fight their etymological battles for them is a less obvious but more insidious form of sexism. It suggests that in order for women to feel comfortable, men must first pave the way for their arrival. That women can not, or will not, independently either adjust to or rally against the slings and arrows the gaming world may throw at them. It presupposes that women are not native to our culture and must be protected from it. It is, in other words, merely an extension of the Victorian-esque form of sexism employed by supposed gentlemen in the alleged pursuit of sheltering the “fairer sex.”

This argument against the use of the word bitch in Batman: Arkham Asylum, in other words, is a sexist insult, not an argument against sexism insults. The existence of videogame dialogue in which a videogame character calls another videogame character a “bitch” is not demeaning to women. The argument that this is somehow a crisis of culture that a man must rally against on behalf of all women, however, is.

Tending the Idea Garden

I set myself a goal this week of writing at least one saleable article per day, writing one blog post per day, pitching at least one article per day and doing one WILDCARD (to be defined). I honestly can’t tell if this is an aggressive goal or taking it easy, but I need to start somewhere.

I’m used to having a LOT more on my plate than I do now and the lack of adrenaline is starting to make me go bonkers. I figure, worst case, I’ll miss the mark some day and get to feel bad at myself and that that then would provide motivation for doing better the next day. And then maybe I’ll over-achieve and get to feel good about myself.

Yes. I know. I know.

Listen, when you’re working with steel, your leverage is strength. Apply enough of it to the problem and the solution will present itself. When you’re working with the mind, the leverage is psychology and the same rule applies.

Anyone who has written for a living will eventually face the miserable question “Where do your ideas come from?” This question is unanswerable because ideas come from the same place as everything else that you are, will be and will ever want to be, which is to say “everywhere and nowhere.” May as well ask where the urge to ask that question came from, or the decision to wear that horrible pair of shoes (I’m sorry, but they are horrible).

Where do my ideas come from? They come from the dark recesses of my mind. The motivation to write comes from the place of insecurity that also motivates me to mow the lawn. My ideas come from the same source of strength that enervates me to keep trying to better myself in the face of failure and disappointment. They come from the same place as my desires, my passions, my loves, hates, wishes, dreams, hopes, fantasies, frustrations and angry, angry thoughts. They come from me, yet I can’t touch them or feel them or build them out of clever combinations of everyday household objects and chewing gum. They have to be mentally manhandled and psychically cajoled. They have to be sown and tended and harvested in ways that even I do not fully understand, but the process begins with opening the door to the mind and placing a piece of metaphorical cheese in just the right spot, then waiting. Meanwhile, one constructs the maze.

Or at least that’s how it works for me. Your mileage may vary.

So it’s Tuesday and how are we doing? Well, you’re reading the blog post. Congratulations! The saleable piece of writing is still a no-show, but I’ve pitched an article and today’s WILDCARD is also taken care of: I applied for a handful of jobs that looked good. I’m also going to be editing a podcast later today. So, all-in-all, I’m feeling like I’m on-target.

And so, after a few more bits of housekeeping, perhaps another attempt at writing something I can sell and a short run on the treadmill, I’m going to play a fuck ton of Batman: Arkham City. Because as much as the idea garden needs tending, Daddy needs his candy.