Novels used to be the only way you’d get a GOOD story. Books carried you far deeper than any movie could and even delved to places TV shows couldn’t. Regardless of how long directors or screenwriters were granted, they couldn’t match the power of a five hundred page epic. Those who wanted to immerse themselves in a great tale did so with their favorite author.
Video games, on the other hand, started out with some pretty good stories. Many times, those with GREAT messages were bogged down by the system you used to push it along. The concept remained sound. Interactive storytelling. Within limitations, you control the pace, and sometimes even the direction, of the story. The right game looked a lot like the choose your own adventure books I read in high school.
I’m taking the suicide equivalent of the Pepsi challenge. A handgun sits on the left, a scalpel on the right. Modern media kindly labeled them coward and man. I never understood why we needed a distinction. Dead is dead. Whether it happens from a head on collision, a suicide bomber, a bad dose of Allegra or a pistol, you’re gone. Death is the one thing where the end doesn’t give a fuck about the means.
As an American, I don’t have much of an excuse for this course. Culturally, we’re not even in the top ten of the world for suicides. Greenland holds the distinction (or burden) of being number one by a mile. Next up is Lithuania. For one, they blame insomnia spawned from long days in the summer. The other comes from social and political shit thanks to Russia or something.
Author of several books, composer of several CDs. Please check out the rest of the site for some of my work.